Ace Weekly

Corn Dogs to Do

What you characterize as fault-finding, I prefer to see as a steadfast refusal to settle.

-Frasier

Apparently, I posed a really stupid question in this space last week.

(Wouldn't be the first time.)

It was along the lines of asking if anyone could remember a simpler time, when you divided the world into two camps: people you'd do, and people you would not.

My male friends nearly crashed our server in their haste to tell me that they can neither remember, nor foresee, a day when they did NOT, or will not, divide the world into those camps.

Huh.

My buddy Satish was the most forthcoming. He assured me, in a lengthy conversation, "that ratio is about 80 to 20 for most of us." (Eighty being the ratio of do-able, and 20 being the ratio of NOT.)

A reader then sent me an email, adding, "[That's] just a classification based upon the fact that the person they're looking at isn't immediately repulsive."

Yeahhh. I know. (And hey, thanks for sharing, by the way.)

Steed also had a few laughs at my expense. As we pulled into the driveway Saturday night after a concert (apparently interrupting some mid-progress party next door), he eagerly asked, "hey, are those the guys who wanna do you?"

First, I patiently explained, NO ONE on my street said they WANTED to do me. They said they "would." (I suppose meaning, if called upon, they would serve; nobody was volunteering).

Second, I added, that camp was several houses away. I've never even seen anybody there.

Still, I really thought the issues I was yammering about last week were more generational, than gender-related.

But I guess I was wrong.

Satish tells me that he's modified his "focus," insisting: "I'm stickin' with the 24 and under set. At that age, you don't need game; you just need to keep buyin' 'em drinks."

Until what? I ask innocently.

"Until, you know the job is done," he admits without a trace of shame.

Well versed in my standards, he tells me he doesn't feel "up to" trying to "bag women in their 30s."

Because, he confesses, "then I might have to talk world issues or something. They'd ask me 'did you see today's paper?' and I'd have to say, 'No I logged onto ESPN.com though.'"

I told him the last guy who "bagged" me won me over with enlightened discourse on deficit reduction and constitutional law. By the time he got to a comparative analysis of military history in contemporary cinema, my little black CK cocktail dress was somehow shimmering in a pool on the floor.

Pausing for reflection, he amended his response, "yeahhhh... maybe I need to figure out how to save Social Security or something? I think I'll give that a look-see this afternoon."

Steed, on the other hand, steadfastly insists that thirtysomething women are preferable, because "they've lost their fear of sex."

Huh.

"Were we supposed to fear sex in our 20s?" I asked.

Was I absent that day?

Did I miss that memo?

And how much do I really want to commit to print anyway?

Before I have to join some kind of witness protection program.

I already ended up hurting one guy's feelings after printing my propensity for volume dating last week. (Apparently, that was the first he'd heard of it.)

As I was telling Steed on the phone last night though, it's just dating. Why do people persist in confusing that with a relationship?

For one thing, there's no sex involved - bearing in mind that while I am a devout Clintonian literalist in defining it (and what "it" is), in this circumstance, I really do mean NONE. It simplifies things.

(Of course you can have perfectly recreational sex well outside the bonds of a relationship. As Dr. Seuss might put it, You can have it in a car. You can have it in a bar...." If he'd written porn.)

I'm no stickler for Victorian morality what I am is 1. absent-minded, and 2. really busy. That's a bad combination if you strive to be a real Player, with multiple partners - and I don't.

I can barely keep people's names straight on the phone; add nudity to the mix and you're A. Asking for trouble; and B. Going to confuse me.

I'd have to add staff to keep up with names and dates, because there's a limit to what the interns will and won't do. So far, they've drawn the line at breaking up with anyone on my behalf (though they have returned various and sundry personal effects to the guys who've - for varying reasons - stepped down a caste).

Because, eventually, sooner or later, the pack thins itself on its own; the herd is culled.

C'mon, doesn't ANYbody watch the Discovery Channel? It's all just NATURE.

Still, a reader wrote in this morning to tell me that he wished I'd change the subject, because "You're confirming the distressing position of being single, in your thirties, and dating."

Hmmm. I never meant to give anybody the impression that I'm "distressed" by any of this. Entertained maybe. Sometimes bemused. Often flummoxed.

Then he added something which I think is worth sharing. Something from which we can all benefit, regardless of gender, marital status, orientation, race, or religion. Something to bring us together: "[Today] is National Corn Dog Day. While I'm not affiliated with corn dogs in any way I do know that they are available in the frozen food section at your local grocer (vegetarian and meat). I like corn dogs and they're actually not that bad for you. Plus they're perfect for the bachelor or bachelorette on the go. Thank you for your attention to this matter."

I couldn't have put it better myself.

NEWS & VIEWS Corn Dogs to Do What you characterize as fault-finding, I prefer to see as a steadfast refusal to settle. -Frasier Apparently, I posed a really stupid question in this space last week. (Wouldn't be the first time.) It was along the lines of asking if anyone could remember a simpler time, when you divided the world into two camps: people you'd do, and people you would not. My male friends nearly crashed our server in their haste to tell me that they can neither remember, nor foresee, a day when they did NOT, or will not, divide the world into those camps. Huh. My buddy Satish was the most forthcoming. He assured me, in a lengthy conversation, "that ratio is about 80 to 20 for most of us." (Eighty being the ratio of do-able, and 20 being the ratio of NOT.) A reader then sent me an email, adding, "[That's] just a classification based upon the fact that the person they're looking at isn't immediately repulsive." Yeahhh. I know. (And hey, thanks for sharing, by the way.) Steed also had a few laughs at my expense. As we pulled into the driveway Saturday night after a concert (apparently interrupting some mid-progress party next door), he eagerly asked, "hey, are those the guys who wanna do you?" First, I patiently explained, NO ONE on my street said they WANTED to do me. They said they "would." (I suppose meaning, if called upon, they would serve; nobody was volunteering). Second, I added, that camp was several houses away. I've never even seen anybody there. Still, I really thought the issues I was yammering about last week were more generational, than gender-related. But I guess I was wrong. Satish tells me that he's modified his "focus," insisting: "I'm stickin' with the 24 and under set. At that age, you don't need game; you just need to keep buyin' 'em drinks." Until what? I ask innocently. "Until, you know the job is done," he admits without a trace of shame. Well versed in my standards, he tells me he doesn't feel "up to" trying to "bag women in their 30s." Because, he confesses, "then I might have to talk world issues or something. They'd ask me 'did you see today's paper?' and I'd have to say, 'No I logged onto ESPN.com though.'" I told him the last guy who "bagged" me won me over with enlightened discourse on deficit reduction and constitutional law. By the time he got to a comparative analysis of military history in contemporary cinema, my little black CK cocktail dress was somehow shimmering in a pool on the floor. Pausing for reflection, he amended his response, "yeahhhh... maybe I need to figure out how to save Social Security or something? I think I'll give that a look-see this afternoon." Steed, on the other hand, steadfastly insists that thirtysomething women are preferable, because "they've lost their fear of sex." Huh. "Were we supposed to fear sex in our 20s?" I asked. Was I absent that day? Did I miss that memo? And how much do I really want to commit to print anyway? Before I have to join some kind of witness protection program. I already ended up hurting one guy's feelings after printing my propensity for volume dating last week. (Apparently, that was the first he'd heard of it.) As I was telling Steed on the phone last night though, it's just dating. Why do people persist in confusing that with a relationship? For one thing, there's no sex involved - bearing in mind that while I am a devout Clintonian literalist in defining it (and what "it" is), in this circumstance, I really do mean NONE. It simplifies things. (Of course you can have perfectly recreational sex well outside the bonds of a relationship. As Dr. Seuss might put it, You can have it in a car. You can have it in a bar...." If he'd written porn.) I'm no stickler for Victorian morality what I am is 1. absent-minded, and 2. really busy. That's a bad combination if you strive to be a real Player, with multiple partners - and I don't. I can barely keep people's names straight on the phone; add nudity to the mix and you're A. Asking for trouble; and B. Going to confuse me. I'd have to add staff to keep up with names and dates, because there's a limit to what the interns will and won't do. So far, they've drawn the line at breaking up with anyone on my behalf (though they have returned various and sundry personal effects to the guys who've - for varying reasons - stepped down a caste). Because, eventually, sooner or later, the pack thins itself on its own; the herd is culled. C'mon, doesn't ANYbody watch the Discovery Channel? It's all just NATURE. Still, a reader wrote in this morning to tell me that he wished I'd change the subject, because "You're confirming the distressing position of being single, in your thirties, and dating." Hmmm. I never meant to give anybody the impression that I'm "distressed" by any of this. Entertained maybe. Sometimes bemused. Often flummoxed. Then he added something which I think is worth sharing. Something from which we can all benefit, regardless of gender, marital status, orientation, race, or religion. Something to bring us together: "[Today] is National Corn Dog Day. While I'm not affiliated with corn dogs in any way I do know that they are available in the frozen food section at your local grocer (vegetarian and meat). I like corn dogs and they're actually not that bad for you. Plus they're perfect for the bachelor or bachelorette on the go. Thank you for your attention to this matter." I couldn't have put it better myself.

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