Your Account Has Been Deleted

Online dating has changed since I first tried it 10 years ago. When I started, there were a lot more men than women. Dating was fun, and if you didn't hook up with someone for a while, you at least made friends. I remember talking late into the night about Margaret Thatcher and Ireland, going on silly dates to the paint-your-own-pottery place, and dancing with the only straight guy in a gay club. Maybe it's because we were all 20-something nerds, but everyone seemed decent and clean and just fun.

Something shifted as online dating became more popular. I started uncovering more liars, more married men, more flat-out assholes. I met a serial Internet-dater who thought appropriate first-date conversation was to tell me about the Excel spreadsheet he kept of his sexual experiences with over 100 women.

Now that I consider it, that was great first date conversation. I knew right away I didn't want to see him again.

One fellah didn't even make it to a date because in his first e-mail he told me I was going to have to get rid of my cat. Another guy broke the ice by asking if I shaved my pubis.

The Internet was supposed to make a meeting of minds possible, with a focus on content and personality. But online dating has turned out to emphasize the shallower aspects of the human mating dance. It's a marketplace now, and you must meet your "customer's" checklist of requirements as if you were a house, a car, or some other product with fixed specifications: you must be the exact height and weight they want; have the proper advanced degree; exhibit an unfailingly chipper, positive attitude; possess a willingness to have butt sex. Searching by superficialities is okay, I suppose, if that's your game, but it's not so hot for those of us (okay, me) who are sincere in our attempts to make meaningful connections with actual complex, mutable human beings. It took me quite a while to come to the understanding that it is, really, just a huge online role-playing game.

For me, the death knell rang for online dating after I moved to the third circle of dating Hell, printed on the maps as "Ann Arbor." I hung on for a few disasters and then took down my profiles from the two sites I had been using.

That was over a year ago. My accounts were still there, my winks and smiles and IM credits gathering virtual dust. Finally, this weekend, I just felt tired after opening another one of the increasingly porntastic e-mails they've continued to send me. I sent a reply to one site, informing them that pictures of other women's asses do not induce me to spend money, and I went in and totally, irrevocably blew my dormant accounts away.

Can I tell you how glad I am to be completely off that merry-go-round?

So good luck out there, George_Canton and Birdwatcher25. Have fun and be safe, DJ4LUV. And DaveAnonymous, you need to put the spreadsheet away and find a man.

And Drink Some Cherry Wine, Uh-Huh

Me: 08:17 I am contemplating the cherry champagne
K: 08:17 Hit it. Give us a blow-by-blow account.
Me: 08:17 I dunno.
K: 08:17 Iz it chillaxin'?
Me: 08:17 Once it's open you gotta drink it all.
K: 08:18 True. true. Tomorrow's Monday.
Me: 08:18 Yez, been in da fridge since yesterday.
08:18 I don't do any officin' on Mondays.
K: 08:18 Troubles still far away, I hope? LOL
Me: 08:25 Hm. There is no cork.
K: 08:25 No corkage?
Me: 08:25 No.
K: 08:25 Huh
Me: 08:26 It's a white plastic cap of some sort.
08:26 I'm afraid.
08:26 Will it explode if I twist it off?
K: 08:26 Nah
Me: 08:26 It appears to be screw-cap champagne.
08:26 Sorry, "Sparkling wine"
08:28 Yep.
08:28 Screw cap
08:28 No pop.
08:28 That is high class, right there.
08:28 It has nice bubbles, actually.
08:29 Smells like malt liquor.
K: 08:29 Ew
Me: 08:29 Yep. Tastes like cherry.
K: 08:29 Cheery.
Me: 08:29 Nice fizzy.
08:29 Not a strong flavor. Not too sweet either.
08:30 It's pretty good.
K: 08:30 Good
Me: 08:30 I am pleased with my $9.99 purchase.
K: 08:30 Excellent

Leelanau Sunsets

Sleeping Bear Dunes

Despite the warning, people still went down over the dune. See those teeny-weeny little specks on the right side of the picture? Those are people. Climbing back up. On their hands and knees.



The day was hazy and we couldn't really make out the islands on the horizon.

View of the "Dune Climb" from the Cottonwood Trail.

Glen Lake.

Traverse Bay Lighthouses

Grand Traverse Lighthouse, Leelanau State Park.



Old Mission Lighthouse, Old Mission Peninsula, Grand Traverse Bay.

I Can Has Peanut?

"No, I'm not feeding you," I told the chipmunk that ran over and stood on my foot as soon as we got out of the car. The rangers warned us about raccoons. They didn't say anything about extremely bold chipmunks.

Big softie K. was enchanted. "It's so cute," he said several times while we set up camp, even when he had to shoo it away from the open car door. Getting ready for dinner, he reached for the bag of peanuts.

"Don't feed it," I said.
"Look how cute he is." He shelled a peanut and tossed it on the dirt, where it sat for approximately .2 seconds before the chipmunk stuffed it in a cheek pouch.
"Look! It's like a hamster. I didn't know they did that."
"We're never going to get rid of it now."
K. flipped an empty shell on the ground near the chipmunk. It didn't even turn its head. "Look! He knows physics. He knew that didn't hit with the right velocity."
"Yeah," I said.
"I wonder what he would do with a whole one." K. tossed out an unshelled peanut. "Wow! He got that whole thing in his mouth!"

The chipmunk scampered off to cache its findings and we started preparing our own meal. Next thing I knew, K. bellowed and jumped up, flailing like a windmill. The chipmunk went flying in the opposite direction. "Little fucker was on my knee!"

Now in hyper-peanut-seeking mode, the chipmunk jumped into my lap. I swatted it with a towel. It bounced off the ground and into K.'s lap. "Gaaaahhh!" he yelled, waving his arms. The chipmunk ricocheted off the folding chair and into the picnic basket. I brandished the lighter at it and it jumped out. Ground squirrel and woman faced off for a tense moment.

"Knock it off," I said.
"He doesn't understand you," K. said.
"It understands my tone."

The chipmunk put its head down and moved on to stuffing leaves in its cheeks. It was pretty much our constant companion during the day, except for when the red squirrels were running laps around the tent.

Only one raccoon paid us a visit. It said something to K., but he didn't understand.

Views from the Campsite

Leelanau State Park, tip of the "pinkie" of Michigan. Lake Michigan on two sides, Grand Traverse Bay on one side.

Failed Experiment

Home from vacation and no groceries in the house. This is my attempt at "Twisted Tea": Green tea mixed with orange-flavored vodka.

It is disgusting.

Vacation pix tomorrow.

Talk to the Hand

Back in a week.

Mmm...Nectar Good

I believe this small, dark butterfly is a silver-spotted skipper, Epargyreus clarus.

Art Fair

State Street Area Art Fair. Difficult for a short photographer to get a picture of anything down in the fray.

Da-da-da-DAA!

It's Friday! And!

I am on vacation and the next time I will see this trumpet vine growing in the parking lot at work will be Tuesday the 31st.

Brand Manager of Faith

Notice that Jesus Brand® spirituality makes no claim of compassion. It only "leans toward" it.

I lean toward not using ITC Eras and Lithos on the same postcard. Actually, I lean toward not using ITC Eras at all.

I am a Horrible Person

This morning I made this poor creature throw up and cry.

Earlier in the week, I had to go to the vet to pick up her insulin. I hoped that they wouldn't remember that she's been licking her fur off, but of course they did, and I left with the insulin and a new prescription for a pill to calm her compulsive hair removal.

When I was growing up, Dad would always give the cats their medicine, so he could be the bad guy and my sister and I could be the good guys. Living alone, I am both good guy and bad guy to Sylvie.

She's a handful. I'd rather give a pill to a great horned owl.

To administer the pill, I wrap her up in a towel like a kitty burrito, with her head poking out one end. I have a pill shooter that supposedly puts the pill on the back of the tongue for immediate swallowfication. As soon as I walked out with the towel, she started drooling and tried to hide under the futon.

I dragged her out. I folded up a kitty burrito. I shot the pill into her mouth. Thick, viscous drool foamed from her lips. The pill dangled from one fibrous strand. I stuck it back into the pill shooter and tried again. The burrito unraveled. The pill fell on the towel. I stuck it back into the pill shooter and tried again. The whole cat spasmed and the burrito completely unfurled and she barfed up a big wad of compacted hair and food onto the towel. She moaned and two huge tears squeezed out of her eyes.

I'm sorry, kitty.

I held her until the drooling stopped. I opened some canned chicken for her as a treat. She lapped it up and wrapped around my ankles, looking up for more. When I got home from work, she was as affectionate as she's ever been.

Of course in this picture she looks pissed. "What u doin' wakin' me up?"

Giving this cat pills simply doesn't work. I am at a loss trying to help her with the fur-pulling compulsion. Anybody out there have any ideas?

Charley Harper

I hate seeing "R.I.P." next to the names of people who have died. I've always hated it; it seems unserious to me, like it belongs on a cartoon gravestone in a Bugs Bunny animation.

So I really didn't like seeing this headline from Treehugger come through my RSS feed last night, bringing me news of the death of illustrator Charley Harper. I've always wanted to buy his prints, but I've neverbeen able to decide on just one.

My Final Class Project Ate My Weekend

First, I underestimated the time it takes to design and code a Web site using CSS-based navigation and layout. I'm an intuitive sort. I like to pick things up and rearrange them, move them around on the page, draw over them, eyeball shit to see if it looks right. This combing through pages of inexorable computer logic to find where I forgot a semicolon is not the kind of design I want to do. Dead trees, give me dead trees. Yay me for picking a new career in the shrinking field of print design.

I have to take Flash next semester. Double yay.

Second, I procrastinated, thus ensuring my membership status with the Society of Two-Headed Turtles. As soon as I get the application in.

Third, I forgot I had a blog until about 15 minutes ago. It's night and raining and the cat is not cooperating, so here's my 'fridge.



Fourth, is that a can of chocolate syrup on the door? I forgot that was in there. Hmm.

Breakfast table

If I hadn’t

had a Russian Cabbage Patch doll
liked literature
stayed in touch with friends
dropped out of grad school
stayed in that apartment
cracked a bad joke
learned the yellow-rumped warbler’s name
read a book on particle physics
bought a pin-striped suit
been abandoned
decided to forgive you

If I had

converted to Judaism
married that medical student
gone back home
taught English in Hungary
hated Les Miserables
listened to my parents
liked Phoenix
started a successful soap-making business
held onto my anger
let you scare me
blocked your e-mail

I wouldn’t be

scrambling these eggs for you

Deconstruction/Construction

Remnant of the Frieze Building waiting to be incorporated into a new structure.

Friday Arthropod Blogging

Check out these awesome photos by Igor Siwanowicz.

Next Door Neighbor

Don't mind me; I'm just taking pictures of your hibiscus through the fence.

Shangri-La

Among the ants there is a legend, a tale they tell of a place of unbearable sweetness in the sky.

Intrepid explorers, worn haggard from their trek across concrete and stubble, returned from the edge of world with the news. Limitless nectar is there, an ocean of it, sweet and precious. After an arduous climb up a massive black metal structure, the ants crossed a tenuous bridge and clung to the slippery slope around the nectar, so close they smelled the sugar.

But those who have returned are the ones who retreated from the slope. No ant has ever reached the sea of sweetness itself and come back alive. The explorers remain haunted by their brush with paradise. They wander the colony aimlessly, twitching their antennae at anyone who will listen. It is out there, this heaven, their waving feelers sign. It is, it is.

Eh, it’s a story, the other ants reply, and go on stroking the queen.

Forgot My Lunch

Thankfully I forgot it in the refrigerator.

Drought Resistant

Some plants don't ask for much from the gardener:
Take me from my pot, please, and put me in a sunny corner.

Music To Sweat To

¡Azúcar!

Problem Solving

How to get water to suffering plants at the front of the house when the tap is at the back of the house and you only have a 30' hose?

Fledged

This fledgling chipping sparrow twitters continusously while scratching through the desiccated mulch in an unplanted area of the flower bed. The parent birds remain nearby, protective, and still bring food to their chick.

...And We're Back

The computer and the camera seem to have worked out their differences.

What does "lol" mean?
Knitting pattern for a "Tetris" baby blanket.
Came across these road signs while researching a design project. I can't decide whether I like the jetty edge or the warthog better.

No Camera Was Found

After - what? Two years? And innumerable photos, the Mac has decided it no longer wants to recognize the Canon PowerShot.

After 20 minutes, the Kimmijo has decided she no longer wants to fart around with it tonight.

Perhaps the morning will see improved relations between the two.

Update: For folks experiencing similar difficulties - try changing the batteries in the camera and then reconnecting.

Late Night Streetcorner Fireworks Sales

Rock On

Meandering the west side of Ann Arbor this morning, I discovered a yard decorated with large rocks. Not boring old rocks, but interesting ones with shiny veins of ore, deep glacial grooves, or unusual shapes. This one, flecked with sparkling mica, was my favorite.

Midpoint

Half way through my blog-a-day year.