Hillery Occasionally

I’m going to admit it right up front, I hate dating.  I’ve done a lot of it, mostly in New York, and while I’ve wound up with a couple of nice boyfriends my statistics would suggest it’s a losing proposition…for me.  That’s why anytime I see something I like, someone who captures my loser-magnet gravitational pull, I dub him my future ex.  Best-case scenario, from a historical perspective, that’s what he’ll be.

I haven’t always been so jaded.  Like Janet Livermore, Bridget Fonda’s naïve character in Singles, I used to have a list of things I looked for in a man. 

1.  Employed

I didn’t care so much what the job was, janitor or journalist, just so long as the guy had somewhere to go and something to do from day to day…and at least a modest income.  I used to live in Williamsburg and I was particularly looking to avoid two similar strains of young men—the trust-funded and the lay-about.  The former, in my opinion, had no real perspective on life and the latter was not at all interested in gaining one.  Furthermore, men without drive are not the kind of men you want to get into the habit of sleeping with, or so went my logic.

2.  Hygienic

Me, I like a good bather.  Either I don’t know how to rationalize this one or I don’t understand why I need to.  I never did get you, dirty boys.  I know it’s a look, but what is it saying?  Are you too high?  Too lazy?  Too constantly inspired by your own brilliance to give yourself a wash?  Not interested.

3.  Coiffed

I’m not talking about a pompadour here, just a haircut.  I’ve always felt that if a man cannot choose and maintain a haircut—be it a ponytail, a buzz cut, or an afro—there’s something indicative of other character flaws in that inability…to commit.

4.  Aware

This does not apply to blind dates, but if you want to go out with me I always felt you should have at least an inkling of how fantastic I am.  In New York, especially, men and women scam and hook up for so many different reasons.  If you’re going to the trouble of dating though, you should probably have some interest in the other person’s…interests…and perhaps less concern over their look, or job, or income, or sexual ease.  I know all of these things come together in one’s subconscious calculation of attraction, but if you’re looking to see this person again and again and again it might be cool to, you know, dig what she’s about.

For a long time that was my Livermore list.  Some of my friends laughed at it and others thought it was obsolete, “Hillery, who would consider anyone missing any of those things?”  Then over time and for no particular reason, like Janet, I condensed the list considerably.  When people would ask me what I was looking for I’d say, “Oh, you know, someone who’s nice, but not dull.”

Nice and not dull?  Nice and not dull isn’t even nice and a refreshing change of pace.  Nice and not dull is hoping, at best, to avoid someone who beats you but otherwise bores you to tears.  Are you kidding me?  Talk about reducing your expectations to the point where you’re sure you won’t be disappointed and then having to roll them back again, and again.  I’m fairly sure that’s what got me to nice and not dull.

I don’t think we ever really give up our list.  Experience may influence the contents and we may deny its existence, but everyone I know who’s single clings to a romantic ideal of one sort or another.  I call mine my fantasy future ex-boyfriend.  He’s the guy I design for myself from time to time, molded on a handful of details I might pull together about men I’ve met casually or seen on TV.  My fantasy future ex interactions are often more fulfilling than those with the actual men who float through my life because they give me the rare opportunity to admit, if only to myself, what I really want in a partner…or at least what I’m craving.

This is a little game we all play from one degree to another.  What I find interesting is that in examining how we construct our ideal other we can in effect deconstruct our own desires, I think.  Anyway, it’s my excuse for dishing on my ultimate fantasy future ex-boyfriend.  Tune in next time for: The Girl Who Loved Henry Rollins.

Turns out, it’s not all that hard in here for a pimp…not if you don’t have to leave your bed to get the word out.  Okay, not exactly the same thing, but it’s working for me…sort of.  I’m well aware that I don’t have a ginormous media footprint, what with my six regular readers and all, but here I am nonetheless.  What am I doing?  Oh right, let me tell you about my friends who actually get things done, rather than moi (who yammers and dodders). 

Once upon a time, I was a barfly.  Hard to believe, I know.  I went to the same bar all the time and I was very attached to my bartenders.  When they left I would grieve.  In an attempt to hand me over cleanly, without the dénouement, David told me he had hand-picked Katherine as his replacement with me in mind.  She was a writer…a good one…I had nothing to worry about.  Years later after she’d left the bar and we were friends I told her this story and then Katherine told me the truth, which was a very different story indeed.  She’s quite good at knowing the difference between the two, which she proves expertly in her debut novel Rules for Saying Goodbye. 
The main character is also called Katherine Taylor and while the truth is omnipresent in every description, these are not strictly the facts of Katherine’s life.  I know Katherine and I know her stories and yet I couldn’t put this book down, partly because I couldn’t wait to see how it ended.  I laughed out loud at how smart her humor is in prose and paused at how gently she can provoke emotion.  Glamorous and enviable at times and all alone in a crowd (even if it’s a crowd of two) at others, the fictional Katherine Taylor wears shoes well worth walking in.  Buy the book!

So, before I departed Corporate America to pursue creative endeavors that’s exactly what my friend Russell Brown did.  I totally copied his paper, except he finished the test.  He made a movie!  I know everybody’s friend made their first feature the other day and they can’t all be good, so I had fairly low expectations when I sat down at the screening.  I was totally floored!  It was beautiful to look at and meaningful and there are real actors, you know, doing real acting—not like in everybody else’s friend’s first feature.  I knew Russell was smart and savvy, but I had no idea he had full-blown characters in him who felt so much and could move me so deeply.  The film is called Race You to the Bottom and it’s available on DVD right now.  Check it out!

Back when I had the office job I wasted time trolling strange websites, just like you.  My favorite was TheSpark.com where Christian Rudder operated this quirky corner of bizarre experiments wherein he cultivated a nasty case of Athlete’s Foot and got people to gain 30 pounds in 30 days.  Once I saw the Date My Sister Project, I had to meet the guy. 
I tried to get him and his partner to do a book and he said, “Thanks.  I just started this band with my friend Justin and I’m going to see how that goes.”  I may have scoffed.  He sent me their demo and I’ve been hooked ever since.  The band is Bishop Allen and their new record is The Broken String.  You should totally buy it and listen to it and love it, but don’t forget the buying it part!  My new favorite song is, you guessed it, The News from Your Bed.  Oh and they’re currently on tour, maybe coming to your town this very day.

Hopefully, at the very least, Katherine will listen to The Broken String, Russell will read Rules for Saying Goodbye, and Christian will see Race You to the Bottom—they’ll tell their other friends who actually do things, everyone will be duly admired and appreciated, and I’ll have it in writing that they heard it here first…my pimpin’ cred established for doing not very much at all, as per usual.