Group therapy in a blog.
Relationships
Dating Advice From Celebrities: Harry Shearer
417 years
What? Harry Shearer’s single? Nope. But that doesn’t stop JDate’s JMag from asking him for dating advice that’s completely unrelated to the promotional tour for “For Your Consideration.”
GREG: You’re a married man; do you have any relationship advice for the singles on our website?
HARRY: Relationship advice… That would amuse my wife, if she heard that question being posed to me – there she is now! [phone ringing]. “Honey, don’t tell them that!†Just when you think it’s important to share your feelings about something is the moment when you should think twice about it…
I really wish he had just advised everyone to take their dating game to 11. Because it’s one higher than 10.
Is “Playing Hard to Get” a Non-Issue in the Digital Age?
917 years
This past Friday night, I did a Bloggers’ Roundtable at the Town & Village Synagogue in downtown NYC, featuring participation from the venerable bloggers of BlogsofZion, Kesher Talk, Shabot6000 and Jewschool. And my column in the Jewish Week for this week focused on “Dating 2.0“–a new model for approaching relationships in the digital age. So when a reader/attendee at the roundtable approached me afterwards and asked me about “playing hard to get” and whether women should engage in this, I thought before answering.
My immediate response was that playing hard to get, a la “The Rules” was ridiculous. That there’s a number of days minimum that women should wait before agreeing to date a particular gentleman caller seems antiquated and a little too game-oriented for my taste. But anecdotal evidence does seem to suggest that men do enjoy a bit of a challenge–if something or someone is accessible, it doesn’t seem to be as thrilling or filled with accomplishment as something that’s a little less so. So being available at every moment–or to quote Ms. Roberts-as-celluloid-hooker, “a beck-and-call girl”–might not be the best idea either. Not always being available when he calls also helps to avoid becoming his melancholy booty call baby or his inadvertent friend-with-not-all-the-
benefits-you-were-looking-for, and might help weed out people who don’t have a serious interest.
But once you’re playing the game, there are risks. Not being available can also be interpreted as lack of interest. (Not disinterest, which is something different: see William Safire in this weekend’s NY Times Magazine.) Plus, in the digital age, people are a lot more accessible than they used to be. Back in the day, if you left your house or your office, you couldn’t be reached by telephone. You were off the grid. But today, people can always get a hold of you, via phone, cell, email, pager, Sidekick, texting or whatever. “Hard to get” isn’t the problem.
So my response is this: one should not “play” anything. But constant availability, to the detriment of your own emotional well-being, is also not good. It’s about knowing your balance and what you want out of a relationship. If you want long-term serious, don’t settle for being an FWB. If what you want is an FWB, then don’t get involved with someone who wants a long-term relationship. If you tend to get sucked into long IM conversations with “potentials” who never make a move beyond the message window, just say no. If you tend to respond too eagerly when a potential calls, screen your incoming calls…you can always call them right back if it’s urgent, and if it isn’t, it can wait, and probably should.
So in short, gameplaying, bad. Knowing what you need, good.
But that’s just one person’s opinion. Now’s the part when you tell me that I’m wrong, or that I’m “right, but…”
Intimacy Intermezzo
1217 years
[reposted from MyUrbanKvetch]
I walk into Starbucks and take a seat, setting up my computer near an available outlet. Behind me, a couple sits at a table and ponders the state of their relationship and the slate of medications that they’re currently on. The woman, an attractive Latina in her thirties, tries not to sniffle into her decaf skim macchiato, while her companion, a fortysomething man with wild, graying hair and strongly accented speech, makes excuses for his mental state.
He runs through the litany, one after another, in a cascade of whining so cliched that it seems like a mantra or a roadblock in a bad romantic comedy. He’s not ready, he’s not mature, he likes her a lot and enjoys her company but isn’t ready to “take life serious.†She pleads meekly, barely audibly, to the man from whom she wants something more. She whispers, her pain muting her words. He prattles on, loud enough for us all to hear. I feel kind of bad listening, taking notes on their conflict, but I’m a student in the university of life; when a high-volume lesson comes along, I take notes, no matter where and when.
He soldiers on, “trying not to lie to her” and “trying not to be one of those people,†but that he can’t rise to the level that she wants. “Why can’t you just leave things the way they are? I’m immature. I never grew up. I can’t rise to the level. I won’t do it to you or to anyone else. I’m damaged goods. My parents screwed me up. I had bad parents. I’m bad news, I’m telling you. I don’t have the goods that can make you happy. I like your scarf.â€Â
He recaps what he wants (to not be serious) and what she wants (a relationship) and notes that the two are incompatible. All the while, I eavesdrop on the attempted honesty and feel complicit in the deception. Every time he says “I’m not going to lie to you,” the “honesty” of what comes next seems suspect.
“I enjoy your company,” he says. “Let’s change the subject. Is anything good on TV tonight? ” “CSI,” she says, somewhat weakly. Meantime, I perform my own autopsy, on the conversation itself and on these two pathetic peopleâ€â€one incapable of connection, the other making a poor choice in her heart’s pursuit. They transition from the serious to small talk about stores that have gone bankrupt and closed, despite the fact that they were a great addition to the neighborhood. After some deliberation over that most citycentric of conundra–where the original Original Ray’s Pizza actually is–the two pulled up their conversational roots and took their leave of my living conversational laboratory.
As they walk out the front door and disappear into the throng of Saturday night dates on Broadway, I exhale as I intone, “Wow.” I can’t believe that they had such an intimate, personal, shoulda-been-private conversation in a public arena, at that decibel level. What circumstances could have led to that conversation in that space? I cannot imagine for the life of me making that choice…to reveal my soul to another is a choice I seldom make even when privacy is assured. But to engage in such self-exposition before the eyes and ears of my fellow daters and Saturday night dissertation writers is something I cannot understand. As a writer, I’m glad they were there, granting me an insight into the conversational reality of relationships that is absent from movies and TV dramas and plays.
And that’s why I sit there, representing the writers–plugged into the outlets in the walls and plugged into the relationships of fellow citydwellers, our individual creativity ebbing and flowing in a collective as we look to the human parade before us to distract, inspire and spur us on as we continue to churn out the pages that we hope will–someday, to someone–make a difference.
Relationships on Film: What Do We Really Want?
1518 years
I’ll admit it–I really liked “The Breakup.” Not because I’m like all into the Vaughniston thing (may it rest in pieces), but because finally, it presented a celluloid relationship that was flawed, and even sarcastic or mean in parts. It felt realer than the swelling music of romance as lovers race toward each other across a field, or he “has her at hello,” or “she rescues him right back,” or they meet atop the Empire State Building and know from the second they see each other that it’s just right. I mean, call me a cynic, but puh-leeeze.
It’s because of movies like these that I’ve spent most of my adolescent and post-adolescent life with a romanticized view of love that’s nowhere near approaching reality. I know this, but still, I’m wired to believe that this kind of romance exists. And that’s why it’s good for America to have films that portray relationships as difficult, nuanced, tenuous–which on the day-to-day level is often more of a series of logistical and emotional negotiations than a romantic blur of kissing, hand-holding, companionship and epic music. “The Breakup” tells you right in the title–this isn’t your standard rom-com. And yet, the first audience comment I heard at the screening I attended was: “Well, that’s two hours of my life I’m never getting back. That was the worst movie ever.” But that’s not what the female, twentysomething moviegoer really meant. She meant: “I wanted a happy ending.”
A new film, “Flannel Pajamas,” according to the NY Sun, will likely also disappoint the disgruntled rom-com seeking audience member I overheard, but may just help us all understand that relationships aren’t all magic and romance and happily ever afters. As writer Steven J. Snyder says in the article:
Turning its back on the sentimental for the universal, this isn’t a pick-meup tale of how we wish life was, but a loving embrace of a movie made by filmmakers who know a thing or two about how it actually is [...] What’s powerful about “Flannel Pajamas” is that these two remind of us of flawed couples we know  personalities of people who fit together, but not perfectly. Like trying to force a puzzle piece into a spot it doesn’t fit, Stuart [Justin Kirk] and Nicole [Julianne Nicholson] function if they push as hard as they can to make their relationship work, but without the added effort, they will never be what the other needs. And yet they try, committed to building something that’s more good than bad, believing that affection is enough to overcome the obstacles of family, friends, dreams, and emotions. Amid this struggle, “Flannel Pajamas” becomes one of the few movie romances to own up to the truth: In the end, marriage is about a whole lot more than just love.
Wouldn’t that be an interesting message for today’s impressionable minds to leave the theater with? That, even when there’s an instant connection, love still takes work? That relationships aren’t instantly the solution to your problems?
I know I’m like a Grinch stealing relationship Christmas. Reality sucks, but that’s where we live. “The Breakup” got decent reviews, but wasn’t a major success–maybe people still flee to the movies to escape their lives, and if their problems follow them into the plot, they’re not happy. But is that happiness delusional? And is delusional happiness healthy, in the long run, if it alters our expectations to an impossible level?
Honesty and the Zen of Matchmaking
1818 years
One of my upcoming events has me presiding over a group discussion at NYC’s Skirball Center on the subject of “dating and Jewish ethics.” (November 28th, $10, or free if you email me to register in advance.) Among the items I’m hoping to address is the issue of “full disclosure” when it comes to setting people up. How much about a person’s past (or present) do you reveal before a first date? How much of it is really important, and how much is hearsay, conjecture, and personal bias?
I’ve argued before, in this space and in others, that we often know too much about our blind dates that influences the framework in which we see them. Even before we’ve met, if I know someone’s age or profession, I might make certain negative assumptions, and hold to those assumptions even if the date itself is going well. (And by “I,” I’m using myself as “Everydater.”)
Some things are objective: a person is so many feet tall, or is an accountant. (Sorry, accountants. I don’t know why I’m picking on you.) But then there’s the other stuff that people tell us about prospective dates that we probably don’t need to know in advance of a first meeting. “He’s not that tall or attractive, but he’s a nice guy,” does not have a single gal looking eagerly forward to the date. “She’s kind of boring, but I understand that once you get to know her, she’s really got a good heart,” sounds like a compliment. But her prospective dates will likely remember the negative, rather than be open-minded. Not every person has a good sense of humor; not every 40-year-old looks like an old man; not every accountant is boring. (Although in my experience, it takes an exceptional person to defy that last norm.)
In reading this post at SerandEz, whose blog I don’t visit enough, I became aware that this isn’t just my problem. Especially within the religious Jewish community, there are certain things that people leave out of their conversations with the matchmakers. For example, if someone was in some way “off the derech” (off the path of religious Judaism) at some point in their past–instances of eating disorders, drug use, depression and promiscuity might be examples–that might be left out. Not exactly a lie, but not exactly truth either. Aside from a kind of disturbing but not unsurprising tendency to connect homosexuality with child abuse, the comments section reveals some interesting theoretical situations and responses to some of the questions brought up by the issue of honesty in matchmaking situations.
So the larger question is, how would you handle such situations? Say you’re setting someone up with someone else who “has a past”–would you reveal all, or be selective about what you reveal? And what if you’re the one being set up….would your answer differ? Would you want to know about high school drug use, even if the person is reformed? What about learning disabilities or a history of depression? What about whether a person has been married and divorced before?
How much would you want to know about a person before you even get to know a person?
Why Marry Jewish?
1518 years
No, seriously? In today’s world, does it really matter? Isn’t love the most important thing? Why do people decide it’s important–or, as may be the case, not important–to marry within the tribe?
This week’s Modern Love column in the NY Times (hat tip to EV at Jewschool) examines one woman’s search for the answer to this question–but it also raises some interesting questions about how people connect to Jewish life, and how that point of connection can impact their decisions in relationships.
For instance, take Harry Goldenblatt, from “Sex and the City.” Yes, Esther’s well aware that “Sex and the City” isn’t real. (Believe me, she’s all TOO aware.) While he was more than willing to engage in a relationship with Charlotte, he said he wouldn’t marry her because he had promised his grandmother that he’d marry a Jew. Not because it would be difficult for him to observe a Jewish life with a non-Jewish woman. Not because he wanted to make sure his kids were raised Jewish. But because of the Holocaust. Over the course of the relationship, as things get more serious, Charlotte becomes more interested in Judaism than Harry is, and consequently pursues conversion, so she can become the Jewish wife he wants. But Harry’s point of connection is still the Holocaust, and a promise made to a family member. For some people, that’s a powerful enough connector. But with a little bit of education about Jewish life, perhaps at an early age within a meaningful, familial context, and the promise to marry a Jewish spouse might have been more resonant.
Similarly, the author of this Modern Love piece had little in the way of Jewish background that compelled her to understand why it might be important to her to marry a Jew. She consequently fell for non-Jews rather consistently, by the end of the history recounted in the piece (spoilers here, such as they are) marrying one and having his baby.
What do I think? I don’t think it’s up to me to tell people that they need to marry Jews. For me, it’s more comfortable, because I want a Jewish home, a common language, a shared understanding of how to live a Jewish life. For others, it may not be important–perhaps because of upbringing, or education, or personality, but perhaps undefinably so. I try not to judge.
As I said in my comment on that post, “To say that the author doesn’t understand the essence of Judaism would imply that there’s someone out there who can definitively distill that essence down to a soundbyte, which I’m not sure is possible. Obviously, I speak from a point of privilege, having benefited from (too much?) Jewish education. But each person I’ve met who’s tried to define Judaism for themselves connects differently–for some it’s Shabbat, for others it’s tikkun olam, for still others it’s the Holocaust. Some of those points of connection are certainly more solid than others. But to an extent, the solidity and resonance of a connection point depends on the seeker. Perhaps the essence of Judaism is questioning, and never feeling like you’ve found THE answer.”
Given that even in the twenty minutes since I made that comment, there’s already dissent. But that’s healthy. In fact, it’s Jewish. So let the questioning continue…
How to Be a Player
618 years
Over the last few Jewish holidays, I’ve met a whole slew of new people. That’s been good, but mostly it’s been interesting. Within five minutes of being introduced to me and told what I do and what I write about, everyone talks about being single.
One dude I met said that he “used to be a player, but isn’t anymore.” This being a Jewish gathering, I immediately understood that he didn’t mean professional sports. Ever the unlicensed amateur anthropologist, I asked what I thought was an obvious question:
EK: “How do you define a ‘player’?”
Dude: “Someone who sleeps around.”
EK: “Isn’t that called promiscuous?”
Dude: “Well, it was with women I was dating.”
EK: “You were dating all of them? Did they know about each other?”
Dude: “Some of them knew, others didn’t.”
Does this mesh with your understanding with what a “player” is? Is it someone who is secretly casually with other people? Someone who just “doesn’t talk about exclusivity,” and assumes that this means nonexclusivity? Or is there an active deception involved? (“No, baby…you’re the only one for me…hang on–call waiting…”)
I’ve heard dudes call each other “player,” as a compliment, in the same vein as “stud” or “party animal” or “chick magnet.” But I’ve never heard a woman refer to another woman as a “player.” Can women be “players”? And do we want to be?
Why would a guy be happy to call himself a player? And is it like being “cool,” that if you’re truly cool, you don’t have to tell people you’re cool? But then again, I have t-shirts that proclaims me alternately “Jewlicious” and a “celebrity,” so maybe I’m not the best source on this.
“When You’re Happy and You Know It, Let the Lawyer Speak for You”
018 years
Have a contract for a new film? Call your lawyer. Got a romance that everyone’s talking about? Call your lawyer. You gotta hand it to celebrities for conducting their romances like a business. If someone publishes a photo of you kissing a “mystery blonde” right as your DVD comes out on video, instruct your attorneys to sue the three newspapers who are trying to expose you and split up the Vaughniston. Vince Vaughn did, and we all know how much people dig Vince Vaughn.
Personally, I love a headline that reads “Lawyer Says Aniston and Vaughn a Happy Couple.” I mean, who would know more about whether or not two people are in love than a lawyer? Maybe I should contact my crack legal team, to find out if I’m in a happy couple with someone. I might be off the market and not even know it…
Post-It, Out: UBreakup, In
118 years
If you can’t get Shannen Doherty to do your dirty work for you, and you think breaking up via Post-It is so three years ago, now cowards everywhere have a better way to break off sub-par relationships.
With UBreakup.com, now you can record your breakup message and schedule its delivery–for say, the day after Valentine’s Day, so you don’t have to disappoint anyone in person. And if you’re one of those people who records and rerecords her phone’s voice mail message until she gets the words and tone just right, you can do that here too–no need to feel locked into the first vocalization of your message. Rerecord as many times as you like! Need help figuring out what to say? The site also offers help, in the form of “prerecorded messages.”
Days like these, I’m glad I am Jewish, so I can offer an authentic “Oy.”
(via Netscape)