When Will You Disappear From Memory?

On October 11, 2024October 11, 2024 By Dean BrooksLeave a comment

Calculating my “Moment of Oblivion.”

They say you aren’t totally dead until your name is spoken for the last time.

For some it will take longer than others. Much, much longer. I can’t imagine we’ll stop saying Julius Caesar’s name anytime soon. He did pay a high price of admission into Club Immortality, though, what with all those knife wounds in the back.

Or Genghis Khan. Especially when he was such a prolific baby daddy that even today 1 in 200 men in the former Mongol Empire share a common male ancestor — which was almost certainly him. Guy must have had a hell of a Tinder profile.

Adolf Hitler will be hanging around for a bit. History is filled with noteworthy murderers. In fact, that seems to be your best bet for a ticket into the remembrance afterlife. We won’t soon forget Joseph Stalin or Mao Zedong either.

Most of your prominent dictators, kings, barbarians, and major leaders down through history, good or evil, beloved or reviled, will likely live on in the collective consciousness. Ozymandias’ statue may have crumbled in the desert, but hey, we’re still talking about him, aren’t we?

After that, the list starts to really narrow. It’s mainly inventors and scientists like Isaac Newton or Albert Einstein. Influential artists and thinkers like Shakespeare, Socrates, or Leonardo da Vinci. Explorers such as Christopher Columbus or Neil Armstrong. Religious figures like Jesus Christ or Muhammad. Then a smattering of other human highlights. Your Typhoid Marys (Mary Mallon), Rube Goldbergs, and Roland the Farters.

Yes, Roland the Farter was a real person, and apparently, he was gastronomically quite skilled.

Sadly, I don’t think many Medium writers will make the recall cut past even 100 years from now, except maybe Barack Obama and other big names who happen to have accounts here. Sure, some server in a cave somewhere will probably have all of us stored away. But how desperate will those of 2124 be to read through hot takes from the 2020s? How many bestselling books or films do you know of from the 1920s? I can think of one off the top of my head — The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald.

It’s a sobering thought experiment calculating your “moment of oblivion.” Mine is probably around the year 2135. I was born in 1982. The average male life span in the United States is 80. I’m currently childless. If I were to have two children in the next ten years, my kids might be in their 30s by the time I die.

Everyone remembers their parents and talks often about them. So, at the least, I’d be remembered by my own kids until they pass away, possibly sometime early next century.

If my kids have children of their own, my grandkids would certainly remember me, assuming I live long enough to get to know them. Everyone loves their grandparents. If my future grandkids are born while my kids are in their late 20s or early 30s, they would live until around 2135.

After that, it starts to get real murky. Very few people ever know their great grandparents personally. Often you just know their name and some basic biographical information. Maybe a few family members have stories about them. I have no idea who my great great grandparents even are.

So, that’s it then. 2135. My Moment of Oblivion.

I could improve on my date with nothingness by living longer. Maybe I add ten more years then. Or I could have more kids than just two. Working against me there is the fact that I’m starting late. But if I were to live to my 90s and have five kids, and my kids have a bunch of kids, then perhaps I could stretch my remembered self to the mid-2100s. I’d have to be a real prodigious procreater like Genghis Khan to make it past the next century via genetic legacy alone.

If I don’t have any kids, then I’d be reliant on my nieces and nephews to remember their favorite uncle. That would get me no farther past sometime early next century. Aunts and uncles are rarely remembered past one generation.

Aside from being remembered by family, I’m left with having to do something extraordinary to make a big enough impact. I’m not a king, scientist, or explorer. I’m just a writer. Even if I were to write a huge bestselling book — like the next Jaws or Gone Girl — that probably only buys me notoriety for a few decades. The only two authors living today that I could see still being remembered in 100+ years solely due to their writing and not counting their offspring are Stephen King and J. K. Rowling. I don’t see myself getting that lucky.

Of course, if I were to somehow manage to kill millions of people, that’d be sure to keep me in everyone’s thoughts for centuries to come. But I’d have to really raise the bar there. I’m competing with some heavy hitters. Hitler killed around 17 million. Stalin whacked 23 million. Mao had a whopping 49–78 million extinguished.

How many would I need to kill to ensure I stick around forever? 80 million? 100 million? I think I’d better shoot for 100 million just to be sure. That’s a nice round number.

No, I think I’m okay with 2135 being my final goodbye year. That’s still 153 years of being thought about and talked about. Not a bad run for an average person.

When do you think your Moment of Oblivion will be?

“Why Don’t Men Attend Singles Events?”

On May 31, 2024July 9, 2025 By Dean BrooksLeave a comment

Or, why speed dating blows.

Back in the late 2000s, early teens, when I cared about going to such things, I attended three speed dating events in Philadelphia.

I was in my late 20s, working full-time, lived in an apartment on my own, had my own (beater) car, and made a slightly below-average but above-median income for the time. I hadn’t finished college yet, having only around 72 credits towards a bachelor’s. I’m of mixed heritage, part White, part Hispanic. From the lower-middle class. Unremarkable looks. Thin, non-athletic. Six feet tall, though. I was just an average guy living in Philly.

Speed dating, if you’re unaware, is like playing Russian Roulette. But instead of a 1/6 chance you paint the walls with your brain matter, you have a near 100% chance of disappointment, frustration, awkwardness, some anger, relief when it’s over, maybe a few laughs, and a piercing sense of humiliation. And also dehydration.

I went through some outfit called Speed Dating Philly, which was/is I think a subsidiary of Speed Dating USA. I don’t know if they still operate.

Basically, you have a room filled with a bunch of guys and gals. The way Speed Dating Philly did it, the gals would sit in one spot, and the guys would get up and move. You’d get five minutes to talk to someone before moving onto the next. At the end of the night, you went home and filled out an anonymous survey filled with just the first names of each attendee. If you clicked on someone’s name and they clicked on yours, it was a match, and you’d get each other’s email addresses or phone numbers.

I went to three of these events over a two-year span or so. Enough to learn that speed dating blows. Lately, I’ve seen Tiktok videos reposted on YouTube of women bemoaning why men don’t attend singles events, and only women show up or guys who already have girlfriends.

So, I thought I’d share some brutally honest reasons from the perspective of a man about why men generally avoid these events. These are solely based on my experiences as a single average guy living in a major city.

1. It’s Not Fun. It’s a Pain in the Ass Just to Go and It Costs Money

At the time I went to these events, I wasn’t making much money. I worked from 4 PM to 12 AM Sunday through Thursdays. Speed Dating Philly only held events on Thursday nights, of course. Which meant if I wanted to go, I had to take the day off from work. I only had two weeks (ten days) of vacation a year.

The event organizer also charged around $40 to attend. I later found out that only the men paid. Women got to attend for free or at a severe discount if Speed Dating couldn’t fill enough slots (which they never could). That didn’t seem fair, but whatever. Chivalry and all.

These speed dating events were held downtown in the city, which meant I had to drive across town, and then look for a place to hide my scrap heap. Luckily, I was usually able to at least find free parking spots.

Thus far, I’m down one day off and out forty bucks, which was a lot to me then. But hey, that’s a small price to pay for the potential to find true love, right?

The events were always held in the cramped private upstairs room of some hot, stuffy bar, with loud music playing. Speed Dating Philly comped one free “drink.” I mean, it was liquid, yes, with a whole lot of ice, and hardly any flavor.

So, I’ve no sooner entered than I’m already sweating, dehydrated, can hardly hear anyone talk due to the shitty loud music playing, and having to crunch ice from my “drink” the whole night to keep my thirst at bay. Things that would make anyone annoyed and irritable. Not exactly a pleasant atmosphere for socializing.

2. The Boy/Girl Ratio is Out of Whack

I don’t know where some of these modern ladies are getting the idea that only women go to these singles events. Maybe that’s the case now. But back then, it was quite the opposite.

Speed Dating Philly tried to set up events with 15 men and 15 women in a similar age group. Well, there were ALWAYS 15 dudes there. But there were NEVER also 15 chicks. Often, there’d be just twelve. So, from the getgo the gender ratio is at a disadvantage for men.

From a customer perspective, I’m seeing this and getting even further annoyed, demoralized even. Granted, these kinds of public events are tricky to pull off. An equal number of women is not guaranteed. But I’ve paid money and taken the night off to come here. I at least want a shot at the maximum number of women possible.

It’s not a total dealbreaker, though. I’m here, so I might as well make the best of things. But mentally I’m already kind of checking out, and the night’s barely started. Not good.

3. Few if Any Viable Prospects

Okay, here’s where things get spicy. Sorry, not sorry.

After taking in the hot, sweaty, noisy ambiance, of course the next thing I do is scan the room to check out the potential partners who didn’t flake out. You know how in The Terminator when we see things from Arnold’s Terminator POV? It’s like that with the male gaze. I’m running calculations, checking odds, trying to determine realistic probabilities of an actual match.

Race, of course, plays a factor. These speed dating things were often White-dominant. But typically there’d be at least three, maybe four Black ladies. Let me be more specific. Black ladies from the city. Ladies whom for damn certain were not interested in a racially ambiguous guy like me, and whom I was likewise not interested in whatsoever. I’m not attracted to Black women in general, and in the case of these ladies from the city, there was also a clear difference in culture and background. In every five-minute chat session I had with them over the three events I attended, it was a waste of time for both sides. It is what it is.

As for others, there were maybe a few Asian or Hispanic women there once in a while. Maybe one woman who was mixed or biracial. Other than that, it was mostly White/Black.

Look, race matters in mate selection whether you agree or not. The majority of people marry within their own race. Something like 80% of White women marry White men. People can say whatever they want about being color-blind. But when it comes to making major life decisions — who they marry, where they live, where they work, and who they tend to freely associate with — they often stick with their own kind.

So, now we’re down to eight or nine potential prospects. Except, not really.

Typically, you could count on around 4–5 women at these events who knew each other, and were only there on a girl’s night out, and/or for their own amusement. You might have two besties yucking it up the whole time, and then a group of three being professionally ironic for the evening. Well, you could always write these fine ladies off, because they weren’t there to be serious. They were just there to pregame for a party.

So, what are we down to now on this awful reality show? Five prospects? That’s five remaining women that I now have to hope I find attractive, and for whom I’m potentially competing against fourteen other guys. We’re not quite in Hail Mary territory yet. But you know how in Super Bowl XLII, right after David Tyree caught the ball on his helmet, when he got the Giants on the Patriots’ 24-yard line and in position for the go-ahead score? That’s where we are now. The game’s not lost yet, but getting dangerously close.

With the five left, I could often count on at least one being a professional career woman with some advanced degree who was looking for her Mr. Big from Sex and the City. As I was not a doctor, lawyer, accountant, or some Ivy League grad with a hotshot job, I was not in her class.

That leaves four candidates left. Not matches, because remember I have to also find them attractive myself, and then hope they think likewise of me. These are just four in the maybe pile.

Well, now Plaxico Burress has scored and the Giants are up 17–14 with 35 seconds left. We are officially in Hail Mary territory.

4. Rudeness/Poor Attitudes

The last two reasons for why speed dating sucks have been centered around diminished numerical odds.

This reason has more to do with the sometimes poor, sarcastic, and rude attitudes many women had that I encountered. Some of these women were in the “not viable candidate” list anyway. Some were in the maybes, and so disqualified themselves on behavioral grounds.

For the most part, people were nice and polite at these things. But there was often this palpable awkward sense of sad resignation, resentment, and mild despair that I sensed from many of the women there. And if I’m being honest, from myself as well. A weird veil of hopelessness. An anxious sense that things went horribly wrong somewhere in life and that they should not be here. I can’t imagine these singles events are any less stressful for women than they are for men.

Then there were the rude and/or weird assholes. I had one lady who started complaining to me because some guy was there that she’d gone out with on a date before who’d ghosted her afterward. When it became clear I wasn’t going to serve as her temp therapist, she took her phone out and started texting while I was still sitting there. Disappointingly, she’d been in the maybe pile. Then there was the party girl who, between giggles with her bestie, asked me what my fetishes were.

Thankfully, the vast majority of my interactions at these events were forgettable. For the first two I clicked on a few names I liked in the follow-up survey. For the third and final, I clicked on all of them just as an experiment. I never got one match in any.

In short, speed dating, and singles events in general, hold no real advantage over any other form of “throw everything against the wall and see what sticks” style mate seeking. It’s no better than using dating apps, or going to a bar. So why bother paying extra or going out of your way for some “special” event, when there is no real statistical upside? Men are (at least they try to be) logical creatures. I suspect many men share my experiences, and so they’ve determined it’s just not worth their time or effort.

Speaking to the business model of speed dating, however, it’s just short the border of a scam or grift. You pay good money to get shafted with fewer women than advertised, in a crappy bar, with a piss poor free “drink,” music blasting, in front of a meager few candidates who look like they’d sooner step on your face than talk to you. Yeah, that sounds like a great evening.

Final Thoughts

I don’t think ALL singles events are a waste of time. Speed dating is a very specific kind of singles activity, and my experiences are limited to the mere three I attended. That’s not a large sample size, for sure.

However, I don’t think these types of contrived social situations are ideal if you’re looking for a potential mate. You should try to be in a relaxed, enjoyable, and healthy atmosphere. Some hot, stuffy bar with loud music, crammed in with 25 or so people is not that.

This is why college is often the best place for meeting someone. You’re around your peers and age group, you naturally group together based on common interests, and there is a diverse and ample variety of potential partners. Especially at big universities. Churches are also good, although hardly anyone goes to church anymore.

After that, the list of good meet market places starts to drop off pretty hard. The workplace? Hmmm, risky with today’s HR. Dating apps? If you’re a masochist. Grocery stores? Get real. Bars and nightclubs? Maybe if you’re a fuckboy (which I’m not).

I’m not even against going to singles events in the future, if solely for the entertainment value.

My experiences were not a total loss, either. They (and many others) were part of what inspired me to write my novel The Lek, a dystopian-set thriller set in a world where men have to compete for women in a deadly tournament. It’s a satirical X-Rated Hunger Games. Check it out.

But here’s another cold hard truth about why men don’t go to these things, and I suspect likely why many women don’t go either. If you’re at a singles event, especially post age 25, then most likely you missed your best chance to meet someone and find love. It probably wasn’t your fault. That’s just how it went. But you’re leftovers. You’re the weird-looking piece of chicken on the buffet no one wanted to eat. You’re not high value, because if you were, you wouldn’t be there. You know it. Everyone knows it. And everyone’s sour about it, even if unconciously. That kind of poisons the air. Who the hell wants to breath that in for two hours?

“I Only Date White Guys,” She Said To Me, a (Mostly) White Guy

On November 5, 2022November 5, 2022 By Dean BrooksLeave a comment

Is it racist to not date outside your own race? And why being biracial/biethnic sucks.

Photo by Robin Schreiner from Pexels: https://www.pexels.com/photo/arches-hallway-inside-building-2261166/

She had just broken up with her boyfriend, moved from a small town in Montana to North Dakota to live with a few friends of mine, and had small (almost baby) teeth. I don’t remember much else. She was cute, I guess, dirty blonde, blue or green-eyed, with an unremarkable personality. Though I had never shown interest in her, that didn’t stop a certain friend from trying to play Cupid.

“I only date white guys,” she said, my friend reported to me later.

I have to admit, even though I wasn’t attracted to her and had not expressed interest, that stung. We were living in the Martian landscape of the Bakken during the height of the oil boom. Women were few and far between, and usually taken. My friend had moved in with his girlfriend, an attractive and ambitious Philippina who worked at the local paper. I was 30, broke, in debt, having just started a new job. Not exactly in the market or mindset for a partner at the time, but it’s not like I would have turned the right one down had she come along.

Like any typical guy or girl, I’d been rejected for all kinds of reasons in the past. And most times, it never bothered me. Except this time it really did. It’s particularly rough to be rejected solely on race/ethnicity. I’d rather be called ugly, or told I have a boring personality. Those are things you can at least control. You can dress better, get fitter, even get plastic surgery if you think it’ll help. You can pick up a hobby, join an improv group, join Toastmasters, take dancing lessons, etc. There are all sorts of ways you can upgrade yourself in the dating marketplace. In fact, most criteria that determines your value to potential partners are things which you can improve.

But race/ethnicity? No changing that.

It’s such a superficial thing to be the sole reason for someone to dismiss you, romantic or otherwise. It’s like you could have a great personality, make high income, have all the features of a “good partner,” maybe even be attractive, and it’s all meaningless because you’re the wrong shade. Talk about demoralizing.

This rejection also bothered because it didn’t make much sense. It wasn’t even accurate. I mean, I am white. Mostly, anyway. About 65% Western European, mixed with about 25% Mexican/Native American, and 10% other regions. Most people guess I’m Italian because of my darker skin, while others pick up on the Hispanic part. But I don’t speak Spanish. I don’t “identify” with my Latino side, if that means anything. Being white isn’t really a culture. It’s more like a racial neutrality due to its majority in the U.S. So in that sense, “culturally,” I’m as white as the next guy. Really, I’m just American. Isn’t that enough? Or does the “one drop rule” still apply when it comes to defining “white guy,” and what is acceptably “white” in terms of partner selection?

Making matters worse, some time long before my encounter with the White Guy Rejection, I had an equally screwy talk-to-the-hand from another female. This one a Latina. My exact shade even, if you were to put a Sherwin-Williams color palette against our skin. I was going to college in Chicago at the time. We were working together at a market research company. She turned me down because I was “too white.”

Too white? Whaaat? Take a good look at me. I’m almost as equally tan as Ray Romano, and no one would say he’s “too white.” What does that even mean? Likely, it had to do with our different cultural and socio-economic backgrounds, I guess. She from the South Side of Chicago. Me, from lower-middle class Pennsylvania suburbia. I lacked the proper street cred probably. So alas, there’d be no West Side Story here.

Being biethnic or biracial sucks. I can’t say I’ve ever enjoyed looking mixed. It’s done nothing for me. If I could choose, I’d have just been plain white instead of “off-white.” It would have made things simpler.

I mean, which is it anyway? Am I too white, or not a white guy at all? Being mixed is like a racial version of Schrodinger’s Cat. I’m both too white and not white enough.

Being racially mixed is nothing but problems, unless you have some kind of “offsetting” quality, like being really attractive. Otherwise, it’s a shit deal. And no, I don’t give a fuck about supposed “multiracial beauty” or some “post-racial culture” fantasy people like to use to sell the idea.

But what about Tiger Woods? Or (insert random racially-mixed celebrity).

Tiger Woods is NOT black/white/asian. Tiger Woods’s race is ATTRACTIVE, RICH, and FAMOUS. Those things supercede race, and always have.

But going back to the White Guy Preferrer, it doesn’t stop there. Remember my friend, Cupid? He was part Mexican, too. More than me, actually. But he had fair skin and blue eyes, which some Mexicans have. So even though technically I was “whiter” culturally speaking (he could speak Spanish, for instance), that didn’t matter. All that mattered was the skin tone. He was a bona fide White Guy. I was nada.

Two years ago, I took one of those DNA tests through 23andMe. And like many other people who’ve taken them, the results were surprising. I found out I’m like 12-15% Irish, for instance. I took screenshots of my results, which I’ve displayed below.

When I was younger, I struggled a great deal with my racial “identity.” But these days, I see myself only as an individual. The results above are just fun trivia. I don’t base my identity on race. Doing so is reductionist, and limits your ability to see yourself as whole person. I don’t believe in or accept “identity politics.” In fact, if there’s one benefit to being mixed, it’s like having the Uno reverse card to the race card. Yes, some of my ancestors were probably “oppressed.” So what? Don’t care. And some were likely “oppressors,” too. Also so what? And don’t care. Attempts to white guilt me have all fallen woefully short.

But at the same time, it’s not like you can go through life and pretend race doesn’t matter. You’ll be confronted with it one way or another. Even if it’s just in the mate selection game.

For the record, I don’t really care whether I’m a “White Guy” or not. The issue is purely academic to me now. As far as I’m concerned, I’m my own “race.” Just like I consider myself my own “generation,” refusing to align with Gen-Xers or Millennials. I’m Generation Dean. A lesser known but substantially greater era that started in 1982 and runs concurrent with the others like a multiverse dimension.

I kid, of course, but not really.

Anyway, getting back to the question posted below the title. Is it racist to not date outside your race?

No. I don’t think so. You can’t help who you’re attracted or not attracted to. I don’t hold it against the White Guy Preferrer or my South Side Latina, even if they have diametrically opposing definitions of “whiteness.” Whiteness can mean different things to different people, just as any race can, I suppose. Sometimes people use race as code for culture. Other times they actually do mean skin color specifically. Either way, I don’t really care. No one’s entitled to being liked or attracted to. And even if someone doesn’t like you for the most ridiculous of reasons, so what?

Personally, skin color by itself is not a big deal to me when it comes to potential mate appraisal. I’m much simpler. I ask women out if I think they’re hot, end of story.

Men’s Struggles with Online Dating Masks a Deeper Problem

On August 20, 2022August 20, 2022 By Dean BrooksLeave a comment

Photo by Lukas Rychvalsky from Pexels: https://www.pexels.com/photo/person-standing-near-lake-670720/

Online dating is weird, (mostly) pointless, and quasi dystopian.

All those supposed “success stories” those websites like to post? Probably fake. Or extreme outliers. Like blue lobsters. Marketing gimmicks to keep you subscribed.

The only real winners in the online dating world are the conglomerate websites. The proverbial picks and shovels sellers in this modern romance gold rush. They’re literally making billions off your yearning hearts. Cock teasing men is big business.

We already know that online dating is a venue that mostly benefits hot guys. For the uber attractive (top 5% of guys?), online dating is a fun playground. To which I say, good for them. Everyone leverages their advantages where they can.

But if you’re like most men, online dating is just a vast time suck. An exercise in futility. You shoot dozens of messages into the cyber void. Then don’t hear back. Even after spending whole minutes on messages, crafting them with attention and care. You’re not going to be like those other guys who just write things like “‘sup?” or “DTF?” You’re going to put actual thought into what you say.

Of course, the reality is most women receive dozens of messages a day. Or even hundreds, if they’re hot. Shakespeare himself couldn’t craft a sonnet steamy enough to overcome that kind of inbox inundation.

So you get depressed. You give up. Only to return, like a relapsed crack addict, back to the seductive siren call of the online dating world, weeks or months later. You think this time it’ll work out. This time your magical pixie sex-loving soulmate will appear. The cycle of failure begins again. And another dating service gets a billion dollar IPO on Wall Street.

Here’s the deal. If you’re relying on online dating to find a mate, that’s like relying on fast food for nourishment. Yeah, you can do it for a short time. But any longer and you’ll just end up killing yourself.

Online dating is stupid. Online dating has become a crutch for too many men. Online dating has become a poor substitute for actual, genuine communication and interaction. It’s fundamentally anti-human nature, which is why it really doesn’t work.

It’s also retarding the personal growth of many men. It’s helped to create a generation of poorly socialized incel losers.

In the quest for a mate, there are two factors that matter most. PROXIMITY and PERSONALITY.

Proximity. Meaning your physical social circle. Your friends and acquaintances. The people you see and talk to in-person throughout the week. Your neighborhood. The people you live near. Go to school with. Etc.

I used to work with a guy who grew up in a super small town in North Dakota. He married his high school sweetheart at 18. He has one kid, and another one on the way. Now, do you think he was able to get married and build a family at such a young age because he’s some charming swooner? No. Dude is below average-looking at best, beer-bellied, and has a mullet. But he was able to pull off the gig purely because he and his future wife graduated in a high school class of like 12 people. There was nothing special about him particularly. But he was familiar and known to her. He was one of the few candidates in close proximity to her. So, by default, Mr. Mullet Man won out. Put any other dude in that position, and the results would likely be the same for that other guy.

Personality. This is obvious. The better personality you have, the bigger net you’ll cast. Especially if you have a good sense of humor, or just put off a good vibe. There are few things better than finding out you click with someone over the course of a conversation.

Here’s the problem. Online dating eliminates those crucial features of proximity and personality that are so essential to finding a mate. Instead, it puts a digital gate up between you and everyone else via a computer/smartphone screen.

It’s much harder for your personality to shine through in a mere profile summary. Inflection, tone, subtext, and your overall vibe often get lost in translation.

Photo by vjapratama from Pexels: https://www.pexels.com/photo/man-holding-baby-s-breath-flower-in-front-of-woman-standing-near-marble-wall-935789/

I had a girlfriend one time who I was initially attracted to because of her voice. She had this sweet but firm “museum curator” like tone of voice that I really liked hearing. And when she talked, the tip of her nose bounced up and down in this really cute way that I loved watching.

How in hell does a dating profile convey one’s voice or something as uniquely attractive as the way the tip of one’s nose bounces when they talk? It doesn’t. Those were things I only noticed because I knew this girl in person.

Online dating has unconsciously trained men to be lazy, and take an easy short-cut to find a potential mate. The failure of online date is not a bug; it’s a feature.

It also dehumanizes people down to a scramble of pixels. And it’s very easy to dismiss (swipe left) a mere digital specter on your screen.

I found myself realizing this some time ago as I was scrolling through a gallery of women on a dating app. I caught myself mindlessly nexting one after another. Dismissing potential mates for the most superficial and silly of reasons. Reacting to visual stimuli from my lizard brain with guttural caveman responses. “Me not like her hair style.” “Ugh, shoulders too broad.” “Too tall, me not like.”

No doubt the same has been done to me hundreds of times.

I did a thought experiment. Out of all the women I’ve messaged who never responded, how many of them might have been more receptive if I was in their proximity? What if I was like Mr. Mullet Man above, so to speak?

I suspect the answer is I would fare much better. Any time I’ve ever been in a social setting — school, workplace, church, etc. — I’ve never had issues with meeting or attracting women. I don’t have a standout personality or anything. And looks-wise, I’m average at best. But I’ve never lacked for admirers when in a good, diverse social environment, as I suspect is the case for many other men, too.

And how many women have I nexted on a dating app that might have been good partners in real life have I missed out on? How many cute nose tip bouncers have I potentially overlooked?

So why waste time with online dating apps that don’t allow the average man to play to his strengths?

As I’ve gotten older, and my social circles have shrunk, or in some cases, disappeared, so have the opportunities for finding potential mates. This is one of the struggles with adulthood post-college, and in entering middle-age.

In response, many have turned to the dead end of dating apps as a supposed solution. But for most that’s really just setting yourself up for failure, because it causes you to ignore the two primary factors of proximity and personality mentioned above.

So men who continually fail at online dating start to give up hope, and feel like failures in life in general, when that is not the case. Really, social media overall has caused people to be far too hard on themselves in judging their social status.

The problem is not online dating. That just masks a bigger issue. It’s poor social skills. It’s not having a good circle of friends. It’s the modern problem of becoming trapped behind a computer screen, and everyone’s digital avatar becoming the substitute for their actual being.

So many men have become dependent on online dating, that it’s crippled their ability to function in real life.

The reason why incels exist, and why there are so many lonely single men these days, is not because women’s standards are too high. It’s not because hot chads are out there dominating, making it impossible for the common uggo to have a fighting chance. It’s because so many men can’t communicate or socialize properly at even a basic level. It’s like they’ve forgotten how.

This is not an endorsement of the pick up artist lifestyle. Nor am I saying that online dating is a total waste. It’s a supplement at best. It can work.

This is about simply being human and interacting with other people in healthy social environments. Something that has become harder to do these days. The pandemic only made it worse.

I think if men focus on building genuine social networks first, then the opportunities for finding mates will quickly follow.

Afterall, no matter who you are, or what you look like, you possess some unique nose-tip-bouncing quality that someone finds endearing. But it’s going to be almost impossible to find that someone if you never actually meet in real life.

What’s Riskier: Marriage, or Living Next Door to Jeffrey Dahmer?

On July 16, 2022July 16, 2022 By Dean BrooksLeave a comment

Source: https://www.biography.com/crime-figure/jeffrey-dahmer

Over the course of 13 years, Jeffrey Dahmer, also known as the “Milwaukee Cannibal,” killed 17 people. He targeted mainly young men, finding them in bathhouses, and luring them back to his house, where he would drug, rape, and murder them.

Hey, what else are you going to do for kicks living in Wisconsin, right?

Sometimes, if Jeffrey was feeling in need of further stimulation, he’d disembowel them, too. He was also a necrophiliac, and liked to preserve the body parts of his victims. When he was finally caught by police in 1991, he was in the process of building a throne made of human skulls.

Wow, that’s pretty creative, to be honest. I can’t even put together a 100-piece puzzle without having a mental breakdown, and this guy’s over here building Skeletor’s throne.

But even Jeffrey Dahmer, human plague that he was, can’t hold a candle to something far more horrifying —

The institution of marriage.

Marriage, in sharp contrast to the creepy bespectacled image of serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer, is often portrayed as a blissful union between two people who love each other, want to spend the rest of their lives together, and may even want to raise children together.

In reality, marriage is responsible for untold misery, death, and destruction, especially when it leads to divorce/separation (which is often).

So, what’s riskier: Getting hitched, or living next door to Jeffrey Dahmer?

Jeffrey committed some of his murders while living in his grandmother’s house in West Allis, Wisconsin. However, while Jeffrey killed hitchhikers and gay men in bathhouses, it’s very important to note that he never killed anyone living right next door to him. He never even killed his own grandmother, who finally asked him to move out due to the “funny smells” coming from the basement of her house.

Thesis: I contend that marriage is by far riskier and deadlier than living next door to Jeffrey Dahmer.

Don’t believe me? Well, let’s take a look at some alarming statistics about murder and marriage.

According to The Atlantic, which reported a study by the CDC, 55% of murders of American women are committed by an “intimate partner,” meaning a former or current romantic partner, or the partner’s family or friends.

The study goes on to report some more disturbing facts:

A third of the time an argument precipitated the murder, with 12% of the deaths associated with jealousy.
15% of the women killed were actually pregnant at the time of death.
And almost half the murders were committed with a gun.

It gets even worse. Back in 2019, the Huffington Post, citing a study by Northeastern University, reported that domestic violence murders are on the rise.

In 2014, there were 1875 people killed by an intimate partner.
In 2017, that number rose to 2,237, almost a 20% increase.

Then there’s this startling little nugget:

“Every 16 hours, according to one estimate, a woman is fatally shot by her boyfriend, husband or ex.”

Meanwhile, here’s a few fast facts about Jeffrey’s serial killing career:

It lasted 13 years, between 1978 and 1991.
17 boys and men were murdered, often quite gruesomly.
Most of Jeffrey’s victims were non-white, including a 13-year old Laotian boy.

Now, let’s consider a few points.

According to Legal Jobs, the average length of a marriage in the U.S. is only 8.2 years. That’s almost five years less than Jeffrey’s serial killing enterprise, which shows that unlike all these short-timer married folks, Mr. Dahmer possessed a capability for long-term committment. Had Jeffrey not been caught in 1991, he’d likely have just kept on killing. And why not? The dude was clearly awesome at it. Whereas it appears most people are looking to bail on their marriages A.S.A.P.

‘Till death due us part? LOL, yeah right. What a sick joke.

It’s a sad testament to today’s society when a serial killer like Jeffrey Dahmer is a greater model of reliability and dedication than the institution of marriage itself.

Furthermore, unlike with marriage, Jeffrey was a danger exclusively to males. If you’re female, he was as harmless as a Lifetime movie, though certainly far more entertaining.

But all joking aside, according to the National Center for Family and Marriage Research (NCFMR), in 2019, 2.2 million women were married, a rate that has been stable since reaching a 45-year low in 2010.

Now, factoring in some of the above-mentioned statistics concerning intimate partner homocides, if on average 2,000 women are killed every year by their SOs, while about 2 million women are married every year, that means a woman has roughly a one tenth of one percent chance of being murdered by marriage.

Mind you, she plays those odds every year she stays married. Hmm, maybe there is something to that 8.2 year average divorce deadline, afterall.

Only about 5% of murdered men are offed by their romantic partners. In fact, about 500-750 married men are whacked each year. That works out to under three hundredths of one percent of men married each year being killed by a spouse.

Now, those numbers may look pitifully low. But they are orders of magnitude higher than Jeffrey’s body count. Jeffrey only killed 17 guys over a 13-year period. In that same period of time, marriage might have killed almost 26,000 people. Roughly the population of Neenah, Wisconsin, a small town 84 miles from Jeffrey’s birthplace of Milwaukee, and famous for making manhole covers.

Now, let’s a break from all the murder and mayhem, and discuss something far more important.

Money.

Did you know that the cost of an average wedding AND an average divorce both come out to about $20,000? Combined, that comes to a grand total of $40,000, which is just below the median income in the U.S. of $44,225, according to Zippia. For comparison’s sake, the average person only loses about $500 gambling in Las Vegas per trip.

Man, marriage can end up being a pretty big blow to one’s net worth.

But you know who never reduced anyone’s federal income tax bracket? Good ol’ “Kill ’em cheap” Jeffrey Dahmer, that’s who. A budget-minded serial killer, who often plied his victims with offers of free food and drinks to lure them back to his apartment.

This adds up to a pretty disturbing truth: Strictly financially speaking, it’s not only cheaper, but likely more profitable, to be killed by Jeffrey Dahmer, than to end up in a bad marriage, or one that leads to divorce. At least with Jeffrey you get treated to a good meal and (possibly) mindblowing sex before your visit with the Grim Reaper. Which is more than what many can say about their failed marriages, much less the dating scene itself overall.

Certainly, it’s safer (and healthier) to be Jeffrey’s next door neighbor than to be a divorcee, no matter what your gender. A study that appeared in Annals of Behavioral Medicine showed divorce linked to a “wide range of poor health outcomes, including early death.”

Meanwhile, Jeffrey’s grandmother, Catherine Jemima Hughes, whom he lived with during his first three murders, lasted to the the ripe old age of 88, dying on Christmas Day in 1992.

And this leads to a realization that really rocked my world —

It’s possible that actually being married to Jeffrey Dahmer might have been the safer option, rather than being married to some other random person. Jeffrey never killed anyone he lived with, or next to, remember.

Married folks, let me emphasize that: Statistically, you would have been safer being married to Jeffrey Dahmer than to your current husband/wife.

Finally, we get to the issue of race. As mentioned earlier, Jeffreys victims were primarily non-white. Many of these melanin-enriched unfortunates were picked up in gay bars and clubs. Which goes to show that Jeffrey, for all his shortcomings, was definitely not a racist. Or a homophobe.

The institution of marriage on the other hand? It’s practically wearing a pointy white hood.

Even though, according to Gallup, U.S. approval of interracial marriage has hit a new high of 94%, Wikipedia points out that, “White Americans were statistically the least likely to wed interracially.” Even very recently, according to Pew Research, only 19% of newlyweds in 2019 were interracial couples.

By contrast, Jeffrey judged not by the color of his victim’s skin, but whether they’d make a fine addition to his skull throne. His body count was a color-blind meritocracy, just as Dr. King would have wanted. Given Jeffrey’s racial preferences, you could even say he was a devout anti-racist before it was cool to be a devout anti-racist.

The results are clear: Jeffrey Dahmer wins this debate pretty handidly. You would have been statistically safer living next door to him during his killing spree than you would have been getting married.

A quick recap:

If you’re a woman, you have a low but not insignificant chance of being murdered by your partner. But you would have had a ZERO chance whatsoever of falling prey to Jeffrey Dahmer, even if you were living with him. Or married to him.

Point goes to Jeffrey for his chivalry.

If you’re a man, you also have a greater chance of being killed by your spouse or partner than ending up part of Dahmer’s body part trophy collection.

Another point to Jeffrey.

For either sex, marriage can lead to breaking the bank. Death by Dahmer? Zero out of pocket costs. And you might even get a free dinner and drinks.

Jeffrey scores again.

Marriage itself? Sadly, still an institution rife with racism and homophobia. Meanwhile, Dahmer was all about diversity and cultural enrichment.

Jeffrey with the clincher here.

And there you have it. Jeffrey Dahmer wins out on virtually every metric that matters. You’re better off living next door to a serial killer than getting married.