Dating In The 21st Century: Part One

Dating used to be so easy. You could ask nearly anyone out whom you thought wasn't taken and nearly almost start a new friendship/relationship and you were well on your way to something wonderful. Sadly for me, those days are so far away that now those days have turned into weeks, months and sometimes, years. The 1990s were such good times to date. I was in my 30s, women were as plentiful as sweet flowers dotted along highways and street corners. I was in a few good relationships back in the day, but relationships are like crap games, when you give the goods away, you may as well end up with less than perfect or shit. To put it mildly, one relationship was toast after a barrage of insults made me pack and look elsewhere, while the elsewhere relationship wanted the finer things in life like a house and more stability, something that the elsewhere didn't have and expected the other half to provide it all for them.

Enter the 21st Century. Dating as I know it changes overnight with the advent of internet dating websites and subsequent phone apps. On the internet, people can be anyone to anybody and can bait and switch and if you play your cards wrong, you can be  scammed out of several thousands of dollars and I don't mean just dates. I mean scammers who are looking to empty your life savings in a hurry. Their stories can be heartfelt almost realistic at first, but you know there's going to be trouble when in the first message they immediately call you "dear, honey and handsome." Then in comes the photo exchange, where the intended date sends you what is supposed to depict them. Thank the stars for tools like Reversee, a great app tool that allows you to search out a photo and see if it's an accurate photo of a person. I remember losing a friend over this very situation after it was determined that she was scamming him, he still chose to be with her and exxed me out even after I did the research for him.

Dating these days seems more of a complexity, followed closely by complications of all kinds. it's a lot like walking through a field full of land mines in that you'll never know what you'll step onto or in. I've scoured the profiles on one of many internet dating sites and sometimes it's like reading a grocery shopping list, what with phrases like: "must like/love dogs, cats, fill in the blank." "My kids will always come first."  "No baggage, no drama." Let's start with these. I personally like dogs and cats if they are friendly and don't try to hiss or bite me, but the very suggestion that I must like their animal, is crazy. What if i have allergies to their domesticated pet? I do happen to have an allergy to short haired cats, so i guess crazy cat ladies are out. 

Children are as important to relationships as they are to their parents, however, a good parent sees through the obstacle and doesn't put off her potential date to help their 27 year-old child through a crybaby episode of "finance and I had another fight, mom help me," which is what I had some years ago while on a date with a woman, whose son called her every 10 minutes while we were out on a date. He did it so much and even wanted to pick her up on his way home from where he was at, I suggested to her that she just get with him and we could see each other another time. She was quick to agree and lo and behold I got out of that disaster of a date. 

Later that evening, I received a long text from this woman, reiterating that her son would always come first (it's what I told her), that people don't use dating websites to look for collaborative art partners (attention Valentina Vella and countless others) and that I wasn't in a real band (I promised to bring a CD-it was in my back pocket the whole time and I was poised to give it to her, but her son just kept calling and I couldn't give it to her because I couldn't get a word in edgewise). Not sure she would have enjoyed it as much, as Sid Yiddish And His Candy Store Henchmen is an acquired taste. Some months later after the long browbeating text, there she was again, this time stalking my Facebook page, posting a painted photo of me. I can't tell if it was flattery or pure unbridled stalking, yet I'll believe the latter.

I haven't decided where the concept of calling oneself or for looking for that matter of their king, queen, prince and princess came from and yet i see a lot of that lingo going down on traditional websites. The way some people write their profiles, inserting those four particular words boggles my mind. Perhaps their parents called them that, I do remember way back that my mom called me "bonny prince" though it was more of a term of endearment than an actual name itself. When the fad of being a diva came along, suddenly everyone i didn't know became a diva and as a result, some even appeared on dating websites. Same thing with the word "goddess." I'd just assume not date any of these types, as it's a narcissistic moment waiting to happen. 

I get a lot of women often complimenting me for the photos I've chosen for my profile-some complain that photos should be fresh and i know my personal favorite beef is that the person I choose to meet up with and possibly date, their photos should match them too. I'll never forget a date I had, a prestigious professor type from DePaul University in Chicago showed up at a now-shuttered coffeehouse on Chicago's north side. looking like a terribly bloated version of herself-if you think that's being mean-spirited, she confessed that all of her photos of herself were from her grad school days. which at that time was 20 years ago! I was not happy and really hoped the photos would have matched her someone instead of seeing a swelling bellied woman trying to squeeze into a nailed down table that wasn't made for obesity. 

To be honest, there are a lot of overweight women on dating websites, whom yes I know want and need love too. My mom always said that maybe I could inspire them with my looks. Nothing doing. I did date a few other obese women, one who is married now and still refuses to acknowledge that we ever dated. Her philosophy was to eat a salad everyday for breakfast, lunch and dinner and that was her way of losing weight period. It didn't work and to this day, I know that she married someone more overweight than her, but if they get on well, then it's alright I guess. My philosophy on being overweight stems from someone I was dating nearly two decades ago who was worried that when I turned 60. that I would have a massive heart attack and die instantly. I took it as a sign and began again to lose weight and while I admit it's not an easy task to accomplish, it can be done with motivation, inspiration and a lot goal attainment. 

Then there's this puzzling question: why do African American women call themselves screen names like "Chocolate," "Chocolit," "Brownie" and "Cocoa" and then proclaim "Black Lives Matter"?  That absolutely makes no sense. considering how it is insulting to the movement, I mean why would anyone treat themselves like a second class citizen with a dumber than dumb screen name like that and then proclaim to be part of a movement that prides itself on racial equality? Are these women just not aware? Or are they doing it for another reason? And it's not just 10 women giving themselves these screen names, it's in the thousands. I mean it's bad enough when I've seen the word "Kike" used as a screen name and it would be an absolute abomination and a lot of screaming would go on as well as public outcry and shaming if a caucasian man or woman used the screen name "White Girl/Woman" and "White Boy/Man." it just doesn't belong. Period.

And while i'm talking about it, why can't a person use a real first name as opposed to a screen name like "Thin," "My Sunshine," Independent," "Lady T," "Fully Vaccinated," "Aloha Amy," "Sugar Magnolia," "Hannah Montana" and initials like "AJ," "BJ," "KJ,  ""PK," and a lot of other similar screen names. What's are they trying  to hide? Plenty, I'm sure.

Then there are the serial daters the one-daters, out for a free drink or meal or recommend the most expensive restaurant, just knowing that they don't have to pay. I've had it happen to me at least four times, one at least decided to share the salad that I reluctantly paid for. Another yelled at me for "nickel and dime treatment" her only for her to realize later that she was the one in the wrong. Still another one didn't like the diner I picked and insisted on going to her favorite restaurant which had her favorite wine served in child's glassware for a mere $20. it was worse that she gave herself away by bringing her dog with her, thinking she was on a date with a dog. Or just maybe doing the dog in a whole other way. And the last one only wanted to do lunch. I said i only do drinks on the first date. She responded by saying "good luck on your search" and blocked me. 

The one-daters are often similar, though they have a style which is rather upfront and sweeping. They meet you at a designated spot, give you the once over, interrogate you for a few minutes and decide based on one date, that it isn't going to work out. The fastest once-over I received was 12 minutes. A lot of it seems to be based on, online conversation, then to phone and then in person by which time there might not be a lot left to talk about. But also, it's based on how you dress and or look. it's liked being judged for looking homeless (see previous blog entry) and out the door they go.

There are plenty of women looking for sugar daddies, so i won't talk about that nor will I say much about the overdressed and the underdressed other than to say, it's a date, not a holiday costume party. If you're dressing to impress you should remember where you're going, to a coffee shop on the first date, not a fancy restaurant and just dress appropriately, no makeup required. And bring something with you in your brain to talk about and don't expect the man to talk about everything and hold your end of the conversation up for you, while you sit there silent, drinking the cup of coffee he bought for you and later you don't even thank him.

Yet dating hasn't exactly been a piece of cake for me either. It's been challenging for me-I'd like to honestly think that the glory days of dating are well behind me and now and now I'm stuck with what's left of an old broken up society, meaning women who can't function mentally without medication or are on a tear to prove something to the world. Only a small percentage are out there, trying hard to make relationships flow cohesively and are trying hard to make a difference. That's a good start. As for me, my relationships haven't always worked out because of the weirdness I seem to attract. And I don't mean because I'm some quasi-celebrity status that I have going on, in that everyone wants a piece of my skin. Women aren't exactly breaking down my door or tearing my clothes off when they've watched me perform and they're certainly not hanging outside waiting for me when I have finished up and heading home, contrary to what one of my close friends always says.

No, I've had difficult times. I'd like to think of myself as a shit magnet, drawing in the worst of the worst dreck ever. 

Here's some really terrible examples of relationships I've been in over the past decade. The names are changed to protect the guilty and my own ass. 

There was the rebound relationship where Stella was heavily dependent on her parents, drugs and medication. Mentally, she wasn't all there and pretty much crushed what we had in hours like a cigarette butt in an ashtray the night she left to go sell an piece of art and left me to babysit her pet dinosaur that woke up in the middle of the night just to yawn. It didn't help much that her ex-boyfriend lived a few blocks away and had a spare key to her apartment. He was known to come over unannounced and I prayed that night i was there he wouldn't. And he didn't. Thank God. 

Then there was Carole, the internet superstar wannabe, who wrote books on all of her exes; I'm probably next. She was also dependent on her parents, tried every drug illegal and legal on the market and off the market. Was disabled and was a hooker on the side. She was mentally incompetent, but did have some intelligence inside...somewhere. It was probably a bad idea to date someone during my grad school days, as my concentration deteriorated rapidly. I had a very bad second year fall semester as a result, failing a basic class while flying though other classes like I was high. She broke up with me while I was away on a fellowship retreat. She would consistently change the story of how we broke up. She was downright mean and evil and used people to her advantage. Later on, she would use an ex boyfriend to try and destroy my remaining days in grad school.   

And then came Margaret, complicated Margaret, who didn't like having her photograph taken by anyone; earlier in life her mother told her she was ugly and apparently the idea stuck hard like glue inside her addled brain. She used to bring her teenage children out on dates with us, as she was worried that her soon-to-be ex husband would be a bad influence on her children. She tried hard to destroy my career, education, other friendships/relationships I had with other people; if i couldn't be exclusively with her, no one could. She would a few years later, kill herself because of threats her ex husband made to her. Carole always blamed me for her death. There are far more elements to this relationship, that one day soon, I'll go more into detail with.

Finally, there was Estelle.The relationship I had with Estelle was actually a pretty good relationship, that is until her mother became involved in the worst of ways. As always on this particular evening, Estelle had picked me up from my apartment and away we'd go, first to walk at nearby park, ended up smooching for a bit and head back to her parents place. She depended on her parents, as she lived at home because she had a retail job and couldn't afford a real apartment. She had been married recently and had a 23-year old daughter who managed to move out on her own. To be honest I don't know what the exact arrangement was, but what i do know, is that her mother would text her while we were out and Estelle never shared with me who it was until the end. Often times her 70 year old mother would be waiting up for her when we came crashing through the front door and up the stairs to play. It was this -particular evening though that changed our future. Estelle and I were sitting at the kitchen table of her parents home trying to figure out what dinner would be, when out of nowhere, her mother appeared behind me and began massaging my shoulders. This sickened me greatly and even though Estelle saw it with her own eyes, she refused to acknowledge the fact that her mother had just inappropriately touched me and had subsequently made a pass at me.  

Only days earlier, Estelle confessed to me that she had been inappropriately touched by an uncle and I wondered to myself if this was a cover to things that were about to transpire? Before she took me home much later that night, she and I argued about what her mother didn't do to me. "We're a loving and affectionate family, " she emphasized. Yeah right I thought as she drove me home in the darken silence.  That night, I didn't slept well. Our relationship carried on through mid-summer only to have it burn and crash due to the denial of her mother's inappropriateness. Estelle just couldn't live with it. Neither could I as I hung up the cell call, heading out to an early morning TV series call.

As for other dating schemers, scammers, red flags and mail order brides, that's a whole other ballgame that I'll tell you about soon enough in part two.

I'm thankful for my dear friend Tess on the east coast and Lene on the west coast, who've both been a good source of information and pillars I can lean against when times get rough in the dating world.     

And ladies, when posting your photos, does it hurt you that much to flash a smile once in a while? Nothing says swipe to the left faster for me, than an angry, confused or expressionless face. After all, it takes less facial muscles to frown (11), as opposed to smiling (12). So what are you waiting for? Smile! 

Oh to find love in the 21st Century. A difficult task indeed. I'll keep trying though and as the Japanese say, "nebagibuappu," which simply means never give up. And neither will I.-

What I'm Not Verses What I Am

 It was early afternoon on Saturday, February 12, 2022 when I walked into the Bryn Mawr Red Line transit station in Chicago. I was dressed in my red hemp coat, with multi-colored mittens, my white dog hat covering my head, a dark green duffle bag with my overnight clothes and things from the night before, plus my red Nikon camera bag, which houses my cell phone, outer battery charger gym lock and a slew of other stuff, including my reading glasses, both slung around me. I was squinting, reading the machine, trying to figure out how to buy a temporary bus pass, as my other pass failed on me miserably the night before. As I was doing that, a middle-aged African-American CTA booth lady had an angry look on her face, as she came out of the information booth and at first snarled at me, followed by a series of angry words "There's no change in the CTA machines!" I was astonished to say the least. 

Then I began thinking that she actually thought I was homeless. I laughed to myself and responded that I wasn't I homeless, that I lived in Evanston and I was just trying to read the top of the vending machine for instructions on how to purchase a card. She wasn't convinced, not that I was trying to convince her of anything really, she just didn't seem convinced that anything I was saying to her was truthful. So, in order to convince her, I used her tone because it was the only level she seemed to understand. Once I explained to her that I wanted to buy a Ventra card and put money onto the card, she talked to me as opposed to talking at me, yet still in a loud overtone. 

This isn't the first time that this homelessness judgement has been applied to me. It has in fact been applied to me several times, around the world in my travels over the last few decades, dating back as far as the mid-1980s and to be honest, it's not very nice. Sure, I've played homeless characters as a background actor on network and cable TV shows like Shameless, Empire, Chicago Fire and Chicago PD and in indie films, but thats not the point.

Back in 1984, while waiting for a friend to come home from his job, he used to live in the Hubbard Street Lofts down on West Hubbard Street within he Gold Coast district in the early days of gentrification. I was sitting on his building's concrete stoop, when a Chicago Police Department paddy wagon rolled up with three cops sitting inside. "What are you doing," growled one cop, as he jumped out of the truck and asked me for ID. I was dressed in a gray sweat shirt with hoodie attached, blue jeans and an orange duffle bag. The cop eyed me up and down and asked me if i was homeless. I told him no as he continued to check my ID. When he saw that i lived in suburbs and not the city, he snarled, "you don't belong here. Go back home," as he climbed back into the vehicle and proceeded to wait for a little while longer to scare me, until my friend came home and they left in a hurry. 

A long time ago, more than likely back in the 1990s, I remember being at an Orange Line CTA station waiting for a bus, I was dressed in another colored hemp coat, sporting a warm hat on my head, wearing warm patterned mittens and had a backpack on, with a darker orange duffle bag slung around my shoulder. Without warning, an older middle-aged man approached me and asked me how long I had been in the city. He told me it was going to get colder and it was not advisable to be on the streets. He suggested I go to Pacific Garden Mission in Chicago, a mecca for those lost, homeless and looking for the lord. "I used to stay there when I first arrived in the city over 20 years ago," he explained, as he reached into his wallet and handed me a $20 bill. "You're going to need this. Buy yourself something warm and something to eat," he said. "I'm a construction worker now. Good luck and may the lord be with you, " he said as he disappeared into the crowd of commuters.

Shortly after I began traveling to New York in the early 2000s, I was in New York City for a late November 2007 ( I think), for an off-Broadway spoken word-interdisciplinary performance and was dressed in red hemp coat, my red fish cap possibly adorned with buttons on my head, a backpack on my back and a shofar (ram's horn) inside a cloth bag. I was sitting on a curb in Times Square near the bleacher area. It was a Friday night, the garbage piled high in the garbage can I was sitting next to. I was in deep thought-show preparation most likely as it was at least one hour away, when i was suddenly startled by an overweight woman who said "Oh here." pushing a brown bag which was presumably food inside. "It's okay, she replied, "there's plenty of food inside, go on take it; I'm giving it to you." i thought for a minute, then i discovered that she thought I was homeless.  "Oh no-no-no, " I replied, but she insisted even harder. "Please take it. I'm giving it to you, as she pushed the bag into my hands and left just as fast as she entered my space moments earlier. 

I started getting used to the idea that this was going to occur in my life more and more and sure enough it did. I would be waiting for buses and trains, between 2007-2022 and out of the blue strangers would approach me, asking me if i needed a helping hand. In my mind I didn't but i knew i couldn't convince them, no matter how hard i tried. I don't know if it was my innocent looking face that made them approach me or if it was my clothes I wore on those occasions or even the places I would choose to sit, not conscious of what was placed next to me.

During the height of the pandemic, one sunny afternoon, I took a walk to a local Dollar Tree, armed with a deep spaced backpack and a strong tote bag to carry all of my groceries. After I exited the store, I sat on the curb, downing a Gatorade and then began to arrange my bags. As I was arranging my groceries, I noticed a man on a red moped zip past me, waving and then did a U-turn and drove up next to me and asked me if I was okay. I had to admit I was exhausted and resting before I had to make that seven block walk back to my studio apartment. This time I was wearing my red fish cap adorned with several pins, a faded I LOVE NY white tee shirt, faded shorts, white athletic socks and a pair of grubby gym shoes. Sweat poured down my brow, as I wiped it away with a bandana i had in my back pocket. The man on the moped was fairly well dressed, as he addressed me and asked me if I lived in the area. I nodded yes. Then he asked me how i was doing financially. I didn't say much, as he opened his wallet and handed me a $20 bill and said to me, "You look like the honest type who wouldn't spend all this money on beer." I laughed and thanked him as he sped off and out of the parking lot.  

Sometime in September 2021, when i was in Watseka, Illinois, approximately 105 miles south of Evanston. I was sitting at a bench, resting after walking around a mostly empty downtown and doing a little shopping before i left the next morning by Amtrak. as I was resting my feet, a man who was walking past me, asked me if i was alright. I nodded yes, as he reached into his pocket and handed me two dollars, at first thought I knew that he thought that I was homeless, when in fact I wasn't, but instead of fighting with him telling him I wasn't, I just accepted the cash from him as he walked on by. Later as he passed me by again, he asked me again if i was alright and if I needed anymore money or help of any kind. I nodded no, as he reached into his pocket and then stopped. He wished me a great day and walked away. Later that hour, as I returned to where I was staying, only to hear a friend of his remark, "I saw you as i was driving you looked like a homeless person but with familiarity."

And there you have it. My own experience of looking homeless when in fact I'm not. I like wearing what I am wearing because i want to feel comfortable, not fashionable and is't that what life is all about comfort? So what if my beard is whiskery and my hair is long and my other bits of clothing is outside the normal structure? I'm not in it to win it, I'm in it to be me. 

It's not what you look like that counts, it's who you become, that sets the sun.