When I was younger, I was a bouncer. I walked through crowds, wearing the “I’m in charge here” shirt, broke up fights, threw out drunks and tried (tried) to pick up girls. It was a great time. Even after my bouncer days were over, I would still jump in and break up fights, though it proved more dangerous without the shirt (I’ve heard ‘who the fuck are you?’ more than once).
Online dating — where we take the culmination of mankind’s technological advances that could be used to cure cancer, bring universal peace and allow for the expansion of truth and knowledge throughout the world, and instead use it to post pictures of ourselves and tell total strangers who we are.
The first thing I need to say is that Boots and Sparkle are not strippers.
We all board the train. After one stop, Amanda, her boyfriend, whom we’ll call ‘Paul’ (because that’s his name), and my youngest son got off, leaving myself, my other son, my ex-wife and her boyfriend behind to finish the journey. The doors closed, and we were off to Jersey City.
At least, that was the plan.
I tell my kids they are lucky to be living in a time where there are so many outlets available to them which allow people to read their stories or essays, or listen to their music. “Not like when I was a kid,” I lecture, one cliché away from telling them how I walked ten miles to school in the snow, or how we had to actually get up and change the channel on the TV by hand. Apparently I grew up during a technological Dust Bowl; if John Steinbeck were alive today he would most definitely blog about it.
