Reading to spew Diet Coke all over your monitor for.
I was doing my daily scan of the blogs when I ran across this at http://oxblog.blogspot.com/:
Wednesday, June 04, 2003
Posted 1:19 PM by Patrick Belton
THE COMPARATIVE LITERATURE OF PERSONALS ADS: It's rainy. So let's play, New York vs. London Review of Books in personals ads.
First off we have the New York Review of Books (print ed., June 12, 2003). Here, we see many entries, and they're…basically…all the same. That is, they're people who “love cats” and “classical music.” They're “confident, yet sensitive.” They even look good in earth-toned sweater vests. In a word: annoying, ingratiating wimps.
“ADVENTUROUS, INTELLECTUAL DJM, 47, periodontist…cat-lover, seeks full-figured woman for passionate sex and scintillating discussions”
“BEAUTIFUL, BRAINY SJF, 54, earthmother…passionate about art…knows Paris well…Reply only if you can increase my joy. Handwritten replies only.”
“Single Jewish Male interested in fathering a child in a flexible, supportive parenting partnership. Open to many possibilities, including marriage.”
“ALL FETISHES, DOMINATION/SUBMISSION FANTASIES explored by Ivy League educated Goddesses.”
And that's leaving out the “Ph.D. Yankee with a twist, spirited not spiritual, California-raised, supportive yet strong, believes humor is key.” The passionate, warm, almond-eyed academic (good shoulders)… And lots of avid tennis players, sweater-vest wearers, and strong but compassionate cat lovers who can't live without classical music, and would love to “return to Prague, Vienna, France,” with an “educated, financially stable, kind,” etc.
etc., etc., etc. Boring, pretentious wimps.
Now, for round two, it's time to turn to the inside back page of the London Review of Books (print ed., 22 May 2003). Yes, even here we do have one or two “passionate, academic, liberal female[s], seeking similar male, also emotionally aware, empathetic, communicative, proactive and progressive.” (Et in Londono ego.) But then, we have these:
“EITHER I'M DESPERATELY UNATTRACTIVE, or you are all lesbians. Bald, pasty man (61) with nervous tick and unclassifiable skin complaint believes it to be the latter but holds out hope for dominant (yet straight) fems at box no. 10/18.”
“FAT FRISKY AND 42. Not me, it's the wife. Complex M dullard, 43, seeking younger, slimmer and downright unlibidinal replacement to avoid another night of force-fed Viagra. Must enjoy computer battleships, segregated bathrooms and respect my mother by wearing clothes just like hers (calvary twill, mainly). Box no. 10/17.”
“BOOKLOVERS! Ask for The Cambridge Companion to My Butt” when you're next in the LRB shop. Embittered overeducated Boston third age gay…not so much disruptive, just plain choleric. Box no. 10/13.”
“THEY CALL ME MR BOOMBASTIC. You can call me Monty. My real name, however, is Quentin. But only Mother uses that. And Nanny. Monty is fine, though. Anything but Peg Leg (Shrewsbury Prep, 1956, 'please don't make me do cross-country, sir'). Box no. 10/17”
“MEET A LARDARSE FOR THE THINKING GAY F. Only I'm a man. Difficult to classify bisexual couch potato, 39. Seeking more of the same, only without so many doughnuts this time. Bristol.”
“GERMANY IS THE NEW DETROIT” (no text can live up to that, so I'm not quoting it)
“WHEN MY MUM IS IN, I can't make any noise. But when my mum goes out, then I can make a noise. NW M, 38…. Large head. Box. no. 09/02.”
“THIS COLUMN IS THE PLACE TO SEE AND BE SEEN. But not too often. Certainly not eight times in the last twelve months. So know when you're beatn G. P.-J., and throw in the towel. Hope for singles nights at the LRB bookshop; failing that, there's always rhumba mornings at the Golden Age Drop-In Centre. Box no. 09/09.”
Oh, and the winner,
“MY CURRENT RESEARCH CONSISTS OF UTILISING FRESHWATER and marine isolates for the possibility of Lignin Modifying Enzyme production, Bioremediation of Xenobiotics and Phanerochaete chrysosporium. All this to be blonde. Postgraduate Scottish beauty tired of trans-Euro mousey brown and nights alone with a jigsaw and a chemistry set. Seeking Cambridge hunk, thirties or upwards, for outre bathtime fun and games. Box no. 09/10.” (Heck, I'm even writing a couple of hunky Cantabridgian friends about her right now…)
Wow, the difference is striking. So in conclusion: if you want love, go to England.
I have no comment. Except for that my Apple Cinema Display was *this* close to a Diet Coke drowning.
Moment of Zen