Tag: romance

There’s Something About The Endearing 90’s-ness of ‘There’s Something About Mary’

On By Dean BrooksLeave a comment

For some reason, this movie popped into my head recently, and I just had to rewatch it. I don’t know why. I seem to recall seeing it in theaters while on a beach vacation in Ocean City, Maryland back in the summer of 1998. Though the film actually stayed in theaters for over a year.

Films did that back then. Now they dip in and out in like two weeks before hitting streaming oblivion.

It’s weird watching something from the ’90s, as it is basically a period piece anymore. This film is nearly thirty-freaking years old! It is as ancient to modern audiences today as something from the mid-’60s would have been during its premier.

There’s Something About Mary is a screwball romantic comedy about a guy named Ted trying to reconnect with his old high school crush–the titual Mary. Mary Jensen, that is. Following a catalysmically awful prom date that goes sideways in the film’s second most memorable sequence when Ted gets his dick and balls stuck in his zipper after arriving at Mary’s house. Poor Ted spends the next 13 years still pining (borderline obsessing) over Mary, until he gins up a scheme to sick a private detective on her to hunt down her whereabouts. Finding her in South Florida, Ted takes off to reconnect with his old flame, encounting a series of mad-cap adventures along the way. But competing with him for Mary’s heart is the greasy private detective, an old college boyfriend, a slippery pizza delivery guy, and even a famous football QB star. Will Ted, the ultimate nice guy, win Mary’s heart in the end?

Of course, the film is BEST remembered for its “Is that hair gel?” scene when Ted and Mary are preparing to go on a date. Believe me, that line was the height of bawdy comedy in my high school during that year. Between that and the many Monica Lewinsky jokes flying around (and there were many), my junior year was beset with semen-based hilarity.

In fact, I’d say there has likely never been a time ever in human history when male ejaculation centered so prominently in the cultural psyche as it did in the year 1998. That’s all thanks to Monica and Mary.

There’s Something About Mary is beset with a hideous amount of ’90s anachronisms, both technologically and cultural. Things that just wouldn’t work in today’s self-aware uber ironic entertainment landscape. The ’90s was all about being okay with looking stupid. It was the decade of Dumb and Dumber, Jim Carrey, and wacky attitude-y cartoons like Animaniacs. Weird toys like Gak. Very stupid and cringey TV shows. And lots of bright neon colors.

People nostalgia-gazming hard on the decade often forget how damn silly the ’90s really was. And that’s probably the best way to describe Mary. Silly with a capital ‘S.’

The entire conceit of the film falls apart in the age of Facebook and Google. Now it’s not only easy to look someone up from high school, you likely can’t even get rid of them anyway if they follow you on Insta or Facebook.

Then there’s the whole stalking angle. What Ted does is technically kind of creepy. While he does sorta pay for it when he’s forced to confess at the film’s “All is Lost” beat, and is consequentially kicked to the curb, true love conquers all of course in the end.

There’s the idea of a bunch of men fixating on Mary as a sex object in a predatory way that would be seen as “problematic” now. The film gets away with it mostly due to its unflinching cartooniness. The Farrelly brothers were at their peak. The story has heart, though its punctured by a lot of slapstick nonsense.

There’s Something About Mary really is one of those films that wouldn’t be made today. It’s an odd time capsule of a film. A relic from a very niche era of cornball humor that couldn’t be replicated. A perfect representation of what the ’90s was all about.

It does have some classical elements, too. The recurring motif of the singers reminded me of the singing muses often seen in Shakespeare plays or Greek epics. The crude sexual humor harkens back to the stylings of the ancient Greek play Lysistrata. There are some borrowed elements also. The police interrogation misunderstanding feels lifted from 1992s My Cousin Vinny, for instance. But overall it’s a funny original story with a handful of memorable scenes beyond the hair gel one. The fish hook gag, as an example.

Ben Stiller stars in one of his early big roles. At the start of his early 2000s tsunami of comedy hits like Meet the Parents and Zoolander. Cameron Diaz plays the lovely and lanky Mary. And there is the adaptable Matt Dillon as the greasy private eye with the porn stache.

Need some ’90s flavor in your life? Who doesn’t, right? Check out There’s Something About Mary.

Rich Idiots Are Paying $1 Million For A Chance At Love

On By Dean BrooksLeave a comment

This bizarre new scheme also raises questions about our culture’s ultra intense selectivity towards mates.

Made with Midjourney.

I think it was the Beatles who sang about how “money can’t buy me love.” Well, clearly that’s very wrong, stupid, and backwards thinking. Because now there’s a new matchmaking service called Three Day Rule in Los Angeles catering to ultra high net worth clients. The price tag — one million dollars.

Now, you would think with a cost that high that maybe only a handful of people would express interest. You’d be wrong again, as over 100 people applied. The service only plans to take on three people, however. Which means hypothetically — and this is for all you side hustlers out there — that you could TOTALLY take advantage of the remaining 97+ with your own million dollar dating scheme. That’s more than $97 million left on the table. Good luck.

Man, here I am thinking paying a dating app $50 a month for “Platinum Level” is outrageously egregious and akin to buying into an obvious pyramid scheme. Turns out I’m woefully underestimating the willingness some people have to burn cash for empty promises.

So, what do you get for a million bucks anyway? According to the service’s CEO, Adam Cohen-Aslatei:

Cohen-Aslatei described the service as a “one-year intensive dating program,” in which Three Day Rule manages practically every aspect of clients’ dating lives. The company assigns each client a dedicated recruiter, who flies across the country, visiting social clubs, bars and Equinox gyms in search of a match. Matchmakers plan dates in minute detail, and dating coaches prep clients and their matches for dates on everything from hairstyling to etiquette.

It sounds like Three Day Rule is basically a booking agent, like an actor would have. Only instead of hustling to get you a bit part on some shitty sitcom for union minimum, Three Day Rule is out there scouring the globe for a potential lifelong partner. Along the way they are coaching you to make you a better catch in the process.

Hmmm, I could be wrong, but if you’ve got a million bucks to throw around on something like this, I’d say there’s a good chance you’re already a high-value Type-A prospect anyway. People spending this kind of money don’t just have a few million. They are probaby multi-decamillionaires. They are in the top one percent of the one percent. How much better could you really get?

Also, Three Day Rule? That sounds a little too close to “Five Second Rule.” The maxim that says if you drop a cookie on the floor it’s still okay to eat it if you pick it up within five seconds. Might want to consider a name change there.

If you’re looking to be included into the pool of potential recruits for a shot to shack up with a millionaire, you better be ready at the airport. Cohen-Aslatei adds:

…we send our recruiters to airports around the country to sit at the gates going to the cities our clients are located in. And they strike up conversations, they get to know them, and then we decide they’re going to be palatable and the right type of a match for our client.

Just great. Now instead of only worrying about handsy TSA agents patting you down, assholes playing music loudly on their phones, flight delays, and overpaying for crappy food and beverages, you’ll have to contend with under cover Cupids possibly probing you as match for some rich dork who can’t be bothered to chat people up on their own. Nice.

Look, anyone who uses this service is stupid, obviously. But it raises questions about the ridiculous way in which we as a culture value and assess possible mates, and the oftentimes impossible standards we apply. No one wants to “settle” these days. Everyone wants to hold out for a “better deal.” This is largely due to social media and the infinite scroll of dating apps, which, like a viewing portal into a magical land, offer a fictitious glimpse of a better life with glamorous people. We’re beset with a paradox of choice, always thinking something better is just around the corner. The effect is people become disposable, useful only until the next “upgrade” is available.

Meanwhile, marriage rates and pregnancy rates continue to drop. All this apparent availability and choice haven’t made the process of finding love better. It’s made people crazy enough to actually try a service like this. If people are willing to pay this much for a chance at a partner, that to me is indicative that things today are truly desperate and broken.

Using this service is also hideously materialistic and soullessly calculative. As if you could buy a partner as you would a yacht or a personal jet. You could almost certainly do better attracting mates by simply getting a cute puppy and going for walks around your neighborhood. There are free dogs at the shelter up for adoption everyday. You could revamp your wardrobe for a few thousand. You could hit the gym and get into shape. You could take classes in-person at a local college. Or participate in expensive hobbies that other high networth people tend to be attracted to — private pilot lessons, going on luxury vacations, or golfing, for instance.

Let’s say you did happen to find a marriage partner using this service, but then you get divorced in two years. What then? That’s a pretty high price to pay just to have someone share your bed for 24 months. You could afford a high-end $1000 escort to fuck your brains out every weekend for nearly TWENTY YEARS for the same price, and you wouldn’t have to worry about losing half your shit in divorce court when your partner randomly decides things “aren’t working out for them” anymore.

Maybe money can’t buy you love. Or maybe it can. There are plenty of gold diggers out there willing to shack up with an uggo just to drive a Mercedes-Benz. But I do agree with the notion that the “best things in life are free.” While we as a society keep trying to monetize and systemize everything in sight, love will remain the one thing you can’t put a price tag on.

Tired of Getting No Matches On Dating Apps? Just Lower Your Standards Into The Basement

On By Dean BrooksLeave a comment

My brief experience with Match.com.

Made with Midjourney

As an experiment, last night I created an account on Match.com. I know, I know. Why the hell would I do that in this day and age? Dating apps have gone the way of the dodo bird and all. Well, I like to think of myself as a sexy rogue scientist. I don’t have any credentials, degrees, or research papers to show for it. But so what? Edgar Allan Poe dreamt up black holes and the Big Bang theory (the theory itself, not that stupid show) while scribbling drunk off his ass decades before so-called “real scientists” confirmed them. If he can theorize things, I can too.

I says to myself, there’s just no way all these reports I hear of the shockingly low number of quality female matches on these apps can be correct. It has to be Red Pill Propaganda. Fake news designed to demoralize men so they don’t even bother trying in the first place. Disinformation to help juice the search algo for all those Andrew Tate “woman-hating” clones out there. I refused to believe any of that. I will remain an eternal optimist.

Anyway, I create my profile. It’s easy, and only takes a few minutes. I even uploaded a few hot pics of myself. I mean, all pics of me are hot, but just to clarify. After inputing all the necessary info, Match then confronted me with some criteria questions. Would you date a woman with kids? Since there’s not a “Fuck no, I’m not a step-sucker,” option, I had to contend with just clicking the box for “No.” Then there’s a tab you can click that says “must-have.” That means single mommies will be EXCLUDED from your results. Good riddance, says I. I’m not into funding some other man’s sperm bank. I mean, when you go into Mcdonald’s, do you start digging into the trash can for a leftover half-eaten Big Mac? No. You walk up to that counter and order a brand new one. Only degenerates, beggars, and the mentally ill eat out of trash cans. So, why would you treat your dating life any different?

Next came the age criteria. I’m 42 so I usually set the age between 27–35, but I was feeling magnanimous so I upped it to 37. I know super old Bill Belichick, 70s, is dating some hot chick in her 20s these days. But since I haven’t won any Super Bowls (yet) and I’m not worth $100 million+ (yet) I have to try to be realistic. It is what it is.

I live in the upper midwest, which is basically like living on Mars at a giant truck stop. So, usually on ANY dating app I have to expand the search zone out as far as reasonable in order to get any matches whatsoever. This time I set it to 350 miles. Though honestly, 345 miles of that is just me humoring the site. I don’t think I’d make the effort to even cross the street these days for a date, much less travel across an entire state. But you can’t just put five miles where I live, and even 50 miles wouldn’t be enough. Tree fiddy felt like a happy medium.

Then, it was off to the races. If by races, you mean a pitiful rogues gallery of candidates. Like, I’m pretty sure Batman fought some of the freaks I saw. Match doesn’t let you search by grid unless you have an upgraded account, so I was forced to inspect each profile one by one “swipe-’em” style. It took about as long to get through them as it does to read this paragraph.

How did I do, overall? It was absolutely awful, to be blunt. I ran into the same issue I had with speed dating, which I talk about in this article here. Out of about 20 or so candidates, realistically I’m left with only about 2–3 that are legit potentials. Meaning women who aren’t too old, aren’t fat, don’t exhibit a bad attitude toward men or have “trauma,” aren’t covered in sleeve tattoos, don’t have a list a mile long of necessary atttributes for the perfect man, and haven’t done the ol’ slut-to-born-again-Christian routine so many post-30 year-old ladies like to do these days.

Match has the gall to beg for pricey upgrades. Like I’m going to pay $40 for a meager 2–3 above average profiles that are most likely months old and long forgotten by their users, or are getting spammed by a hundred other dickheads on the daily.

Sometimes, Match would get clever and try to sneak one in from my reject list. I’d be swiping along and then suddenly see a half-decent female, click on their profile, only to see she had two kids at home, or see that she was 48 years old, or see some other disqualifying bullshit. LOL, nice catfish, Match, but this guy has standards.

It’s hard to understate how atrocious these results are. This is Match.com, which is basically the Wal-Mart of dating apps. The Match Group owns like half the online dating sites. I think Match itself is the biggest dating site on the planet. Yet by simply tweaking a few parameters over a massive region and adjusting for women in the PRIME dating/marriage range, I was met with nothing but slim pickens, though ironically few were actually slim. If Match results are total shit, I can’t even imagine what lesser sites might produce. Probably something from the Garbage Pail Kids. Gross.

It’s not really Match’s fault, I guess. They only show you whoever signs up. Dating apps aren’t as popular as they once were. The best people are typically not on or in need of dating apps. Or maybe they’re using Facebook, Instagram, or other sites.

Then it hit me. My eureka moment. What if I were to lower my standards? Or abandon them altogether? What if I tried removing ALL my previously set parameters. Surely that would open the floodgates of opportunity. Surely, by some chance, I’d happen across a nugget of gold in this landfill. Right?

Nah, fuck that, I thought, and deleted my account less than an hour after opening it. So long, Match. Burn in hell.

Years ago, when I was a little kid, I had this sudden weird urge to dig a hole in my backyard one day. Why? Hell if I know. It made sense at the time. So, I grabbed a shovel and started digging out behind a giant bush in the corner of the property. I dug and I dug and I dug until it was past nine o’clock. The sun was still out as it was summer. I had probably reached maybe three feet and had a nice heap of dirt beside me. My step-dad came out and asked me why I was digging the hole. I didn’t have an answer. What kid has a rational explanation for anything he does? I just kind of stood there, shrugged, and then went back to digging. He was wearing shorts and tube socks pulled all the way up. He was the kind of guy who needed his tube socks always pulled up past his calves. He stands there a bit. I keep shoveling with his stupid step-dad tube-socked feet in the corner of my eye. Finally, I hear him sigh and then walk away from me, leaving me in peace at last. Not long after my hole has become the shape of an upside-down tear drop as I couldn’t flatten the sides anymore. And that’s when I see something at the bottom.

A little piece of blue something. I reached down to pick it up, straining my shoulders against the top of the hole, until I am able to pinch it between my fingers. It’s a piece of plastic. Maybe from a shopping bag. Or perhaps the coating of a pipe that peeled away. Except there’s no pipe in my hole. It’s just this random tidbit that somehow got down in the dirt and stayed there until I rescued it from oblivion. I take this little blue “treasure” inside with me and store it away. I’ve since lost it. But it became a haunting metaphor for life about chance, timing, opportunity, and such, that I’ve thought about from time to time. I’ve applied the metaphor to job searches, school applications, business ideas, stories, and now of course dating websites. Dig and dig only to end up with a piece of trash. But who knows. Maybe if I’d dug just six feet to the right where my step-dad’s tube-socked feet were standing I might have dug up a wheat penny. Or maybe hit an electrical line and shocked myself to death.

Do We Need To Start Husband And Wife Schools?

On By Dean BrooksLeave a comment

Society must deal with declining birth rates, low population, and the shocking lack of baseline domesticity of our species.

Teenagers at a party in Tulsa, Oklahoma 1947. Author unknown.

I have an ex-girlfriend who was borderline incompetent at most things in life.

That’s putting it as nicely as I can.

Her apartment was always a mess. I came over one Thursday night with groceries to make dinner. Her place looked like a bomb went off. I cleaned up the kitchen, then proceeded to make our meal. The following night I came over and her place was a disaster again. I’m talking plates with crumbs left on the floor by the sofa. Food wrappers left on the carpet. I had to clean up the kitchen again before making dinner for us both.

Her car was equally a disgrace, littered with papers, CDs, food wrappers, and other things.

She was a lazy slob who put ZERO effort into the relationship. She never came up with date ideas. Expressed no interest in having kids one day. Had no career ambitions. Couldn’t cook. Couldn’t clean, except when compelled. She constantly complained about part-time jobs she had. I think she got fired from one as a restaurant hostess.

She could, however, dress well. She looked nice. Put together. The only job she ever performed well at was as a model for a painter. A job that literally only required her to sit still and look pretty for an hour. That’s it.

Oh, and she was “pansexual,” or something that meant it took her a “long time to warm up to being physical with anyone.” Long time as in months or even years.

So, a prude. I love these modern made-up words about sexuality that describe basic human behavior that’s been around for thousands of years.

Unsurprisingly, our relationship did not last. I couldn’t stand to be with someone who seemed incapable of baseline adult functioning. She was also petulant and child-like in her attitude. I once took her to a college football game and she literally sat there and stewed the whole time. This was after enthusiastically agreeing to go. We left at halftime.

Now, possibly this lady was inadvertantly trained to be useless. She was the baby in her family, and her folks had money. So, there might have been some poor upbringing in there. But her older sister and brother were competent adults with jobs and families and drive. What the hell happend to her, I used to wonder, before finally breaking things off.

It wasn’t just that she couldn’t do most adult responsibilities. It was that she almost seemed proud to be deliberately helpless. It was a badge of honor. This is not a unique thing amongst many modern women I’ve observed, especially uber feminists. Domestic duties are somehow seen as beneath many of them. As if being able to do laundry and clean the kitchen is a betrayal of some feminist code or something. Yet such duties are common household functions. I do them all the time and I don’t feel “feminized.” It was just one of my chores growing up that I still use in my everyday behavior today. Because, you know, I like things being clean and not disgusting around me.

The oppressive, patriarchal 1950s we’ve all been told was a living nightmare for women. Photo from 1959. Author unknown.

Years ago I had a very good-looking friend. I mention he was very good-looking because I’m quite sure his attractiveness was the source of all his good fortune in life. He was a POS lazy ne’er do well, otherwise, and the kind of guy I tend to have contempt for. But he was a nice guy and had an easygoing personality. He had an attractive girlfriend who did EVERYTHING for him. She cooked, cleaned the house, managed his finances — giving him an “allowance” out of his own pay after deducting for expenses —all while holding down a full-time job. She also had a bachelor’s degree. They were an odd couple. She was a driven, capable professional. He was a former pot dealer who slept on his friend’s sofa before shacking up with Wonder Woman. There could not be a bigger contrast. Yet they were together.

It wasn’t all sunshine and roses. My good-looking friend confided to me one evening that he and his girlfriend hadn’t been intimate in a long time. I was surprised, kinda. I suppose it’s hard to fuck a guy — even a hot guy — when you’re practically his mother. They’re married today, however. A development I’d cynically say was probably due more to the sunk costs fallacy than some genuine deep connection they shared. Or maybe my bum ass ex-friend actually matured and started pulling his own weight for once in life.

He was also your typical gamer dude, capable of long hours in front of the big screen zoned out doing whatever-the-fuck. What is it with dudes and gaming nowadays? I played the original NES for a few years as a kid, but that was it. If I try to play a game now I start to go quietly insane. They’re so stupid and pointless. Yet guys in the their 30s and beyond will devote hours and hours to seeing if they can find a silly fucking sword or something for their character. I know guys with huge tattoos of their favorite game characters. That’s just weird to me. So many men are stupidly infantalized, desocialized, and underperforming these days. When you throw in ubiquitious pornography, and you might as well have most men plugged into a 24/7 morphone drip. We may not live in a bombed-out hellscape, but our society feels very dystopian these days.

As nice as my friend’s girlfriend was, honestly, I’d go crazy in a similar set-up myself. I don’t need a woman to baby me or run my life. I do just fine on my own. And the no sex deal…well, that’s a deal breaker, right there. Especially if we’re living together.

My point with all this is that men and women are not optimized for one another anymore. They are not optimized for a marriage or relationships in general. We are only optimized for our own individual needs, wants, and desires. We are like Baby People crying out for our bottles. There is only one word that exists in the collective unconscious — ME. Me, me, me.

Possibly — well, quite likely — this is the result of our ultra-individualist society. We are trained from birth to go through the school system, get an education, all so we can squeeze ourselves into some corporate Borg Cube. All while being hypnotized by the glowing rectangle of the computer/phone screen. Recently, I saw a post on X about how Gen Z women rank marriage as low as seventh on their list of priorities. Career and college were likely at the top.

I’ve mentioned before how in college when asked our future plans no one, not even the women, mentioned things like having a family or kids. Frankly, the very idea seems quaint and cringe or characterized as “traps” to anyone who isn’t a bonnet-wearing Mennonite or an immigrant from a region where having 5+ kids is basically a rite of passage. That’s honestly a shame, and narrows the reproductive window of opportunity. The women in my class were not in their teens, but mainly in their mid-20s. By contrast, my mom had me when she was 24. She had four kids. My grandmother started late relatively-speaking for her era, at 28, but she had 8 herself. Out of all my direct family, half-family, and former family, no one has had more than three kids, with most having none or one. And many of the women in my family had their kids after 30, which historically is pretty old to have a kid for the first time. I have none myself.

I don’t say of any this to shame or make fun. It’s just rather sad, and maybe more indicative of a restrictive and toxic economic climate than a statement on the broader culture. Or perhaps all our comfortable modern technology has lulled everyone into a numb ennui toward family and offspring. Who wants to change diapers when you could binge watch the latest Netflix slop? Why have actual kids when you could be a dog mom or a cat dad?

As in my two examples, even when relationships do miraculously occur, they can often be fake and unfulfilling as plastic flowers.

Whatever the reason for the divide, it seems men and women need some kind of New Deal. A restart. A reacclimation to one another. We put all this time and effort into training people to become monkeys for our corporate overlords. Why not add a School of Domesticity? Or at least pivot our cultural attitudes toward viewing genuine human connection as a natural positive, and not a punch line.

“Why Don’t Men Attend Singles Events?”

On 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?

NEW BOOK: The Devil’s Throne

On By Dean BrooksLeave a comment

My new novel has just been released, and is available for purchase now on Amazon. 

“The Devil’s Throne.” Cover design by “Denywicka.”

I’ve just released my third self-published, and fourth overall novel, THE DEVIL’S THRONE.

Available here on Amazon for purchase, and through Kindle Unlimited. 

Here’s the synopsis:

Christian “Flick” Stevenson and his fiancé Margo Bennett are both American graduate students studying demonology. They and two colleagues and their professor are in Prague to investigate the Devil’s Throne — a mysterious chair built by members of the Occult, that supposedly can summon the Devil.

When Margo is brutally attacked, and left dying in a hospital, Flick determines to do whatever necessary to save the love of his life. Even if it means allying with the demonic forces behind the Devil’s Throne. Even if it means sacrificing others for a frightening ritual that will grant the Prince of Darkness dominion over the earth for eternity.

A modern Gothic set in the Heart of Europe. A love story that inspires even the Devil. An ancient artifact promising power and immortality, but at a deadly price.

Come in, have a seat, and enjoy…

The Devil’s Throne.

I wrote The Devil’s Throne back in 2019, right after The Lek. It’s primarily in the horror genre, as can be gathered from the front cover design, but possesses a balanced mix of dark humor. It’s inspired from such classics as Dracula and the Clive Barker novella The Hellbound Heart, that formed the basis for Hellraiser. If you like films like An American Werewolf in London, Drag Me to Hell, The Evil Dead, This Is the End, and other horror/comedies that place a little more emphasis on the chills than on the giggles, than you’ll likely enjoy The Devil’s Throne. 

At its heart, my novel is a love story. One centered around the question: How far would you go to save the person you love? My main character, Flick, engages in the ultimate Faustian bargain to save his fiancé, Margo, which just may bring about the apocalypse.

Good God, what some men will do for love.

I’ve always wanted to write a “romance.” Not one of those steamy ones, mind you, with some barechested sexy pirate with long hair on the front cover manhandling a swooning damsel. Something more grounded and relatable, but with a supernatural element. Something with a frightful, tooth-lined edge. Something gory, with a moral dilemma component. I’ve always liked stories where ordinary people are compelled to commit depraved acts out of necessity. 

I’m not sure where or exactly when the idea initially came to me for the novel. It was certainly during my time finishing my degree at NDSU in Fargo, ND. It might have been during one of my long walks through a bitter winter blast. Or during a class where I was wishing to be someplace else. Or maybe I just awoke with the idea one morning. 

As I usually do with ideas, I wrote out the bones of it in an email, and then sent it to myself. And there it sat for perhaps a year or two before I eventually scrounged up the flesh and blood to complete its body. 

It took me several more years to publish it. Until finally, the day came at last. This day. Now. 

I hope you’ll check out The Devil’s Throne. If you do, I hope you’ll enjoy it. 

-Dean

By the way, the artist who designed the front cover goes by the name “Denywicka” on Fiverr. He’s brilliant, and I was overjoyed at what he came up with for my novel. He specialises in high quality, detailed dark art illustration. Please check out his profile here. 

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

On 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.

Source: My DNA.
Source: My DNA
Source : My DNA

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 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.