Santa Monica

Saturday, 1am
He noticed my girlfriend and I standing by the bar and navigated his way through the salacious silk scarves, the makeshift tops women wore. Approaching us, he hesitated, well-aware that he was outside the acceptable generational barrier. But I was bored, so warned him with the precautionary white-lie: I had a boyfriend and madly smitten, but would gladly accept the merlot and conversation. My girlfriend glared at me as she was on the prowl, whereas I was just a curious journalist sidetracked by a colorful character. Seemingly benign, he appeared out of place in the posh crowd. My Aussie gal was flirting with some bloke, so I sat on the leather stool with whom I learned; a graduate of MIT and Harvard. Now an international lawyer/investor, he specialized in the hospitality sector in China. Not a bad dude to ask for some advice re: my portfolio. Sure, we chatted about how easy it was for him to raise capital in America to invest in international real estate development, which was a bit disconcerting, which eventually brought us back to about two decades before, when he was married to a woman named Mary, She was also from a small city in Kansas. He paused. I paused. I texted Sarah, who’d, disappeared awhile earlier with some guy on the dance floor.

I started to give him grief for roaming a lounge intended for the 35-under crowd, but his sad eyes stopped me. Sure, men tell women random and wacky stories, sure they fake equity in this company, or a claim a faux degree from that college, but when you’ve got an educated and successful, grown man pouring his heart out to stranger and more importantly, he was completely sober, he must have felt alone. Not the type of alone attempted during a weekend away on a reprieve. I cannot imagine that the crowd around us made his gnawing loneliness better, until he said “My son died of leukemia when he was two. My wife and I ended up getting a divorce. In an effort to do something, anything I started building companies. Companies after company, from India, United Arab Emirates, Brazil, China … each merger or acquisition ate up more time, until I looked in the mirror and realized it had been fifteen years since I’d entertained the idea of moving forward. And that was last May.” And i realized that this man wasn't scouting out for the next woman of his life, or business partner or one-night stand... He was simply seeking out humanity at this late hour.

This poor, well, filthy rich man… Life could get ugly no matter how beautiful of clothes you’re wearing. I excused myself to the restroom. Hit his name into google to make sure he wasn’t heaving lies toward my empathetic ears. Sure enough, thousands of results popped up with his name - all legit. I felt like a jerk, but a resourceful journalist. Note: Thank you Blackberry.

Walking back to Channing, who was staring haphazardly out into the crowd of people decades younger, his expression was melancholy; he seemed more comfortable observing from afar, than attempting to join.

Tapping his shoulder lightly, he jumped. "Guess what?" I chirped.

More tomorrow…

BLIND SPOT

AVOIDING CRAIGLIST
Rumors occasionally surface from “missed connections” on Craigslist. Until last night I’d never had reason to venture onto the kooky website. Intrigued I skimmed the posts, ranging from desperate to cryptic, some ominous, several random, but then I would trip across a message – written by a person, who I envision wouldn’t normally expose their search, but their fleeting interaction with a stranger, was worth their every effort, including forfeiting pride. All on the chance that “other” person would identify this “missed connection” bulletin.

Depending on the size of your city, the number of stops you make day-to-day, your routines, your circle of friends, the odds of colliding into that person again aren’t in your favor… And while the majority of the posts were creeperish “Hey, we were at a bar and you left to go to the restroom and you never came back,” terribly pitiful. There was the rare, “Hey, I doubt you’ll find this, but if you were a tall blond at the Broncos game last night… We joked about terrible pizza in line getting beers. We waved to each other on the way out, but you were with your group of friends. I was in the blue #7 jersey. Anyway, if you happen to see this, I’d like to take you to dinner.”

A guy with genuine intentions reaching out to a girl, whose name he didn’t even know? Why couldn’t he have asked for her phone number when they were standing in line? Sounds so easy, right? But the simplicity of a guy hitting on a girl has gotten lost in the clumsiness of society. Our day-to-day interactions with the opposite sex have been hindered by this dire fear of rejection. The necessity of acceptance has been engraved in our egos –so much so, the opportunity to randomly connect in the world is determined by internet sites, worthless 2nd dates and directionless relationships. I despise the term, “pop culture” but it appears twenties-somethings have accepted that a lack of interest from someone is a product of and a fault of us as individuals. We’re “supposed” to be perfect, no rather, idealistic. How about defaulting “rejection” to the obvious: that a lack of interest is a result of a lack of chemistry, not some deformity we can remedy with more makeup or perfume?

Some people exert such effort pleasing the men or women who’ve already come and gone, they’ve lost themselves in the process… the idea of tripping across someone who without effort fits, just fits, seems implausible. When schedules are too busy to take a breath and watch the world around us, we risk missing someone standing in our blind spot, trying to catch our eye.

Thus arrives the unorthodox method of communication, Craigslist “Missed Connections” and while a worthy cause, and a fantastic story if you locate that person, it would be so much more efficient to connect on purpose, in the first place. Isn’t it annoying how a stranger with whom you exchanged few words can escape your mind for a day or two, but eventually the image of them laughing or smiling during your brief interaction continues to pop up, never straying for too long. And then what next? How often does someone make an impression, the type of impression that leaves a dent long after they’ve walked away? Few. So while Craiglist should be heralded and endorsed for all those "reconnections" and I wish those who’ve posted a missed connections the best of luck in their pursuit… It'd be nice to remind everyone that the worst thing that can happen if you ask for a phone number is the person can say no, and the best case scenario, well that's up to fate.

Blond with a Shotgun! OY

While the weather remains a reliable seventy degrees in Texas this time of year, its inhabitants (I'm a native) can’t locate sushi or savvy with a ten-foot pole and a shotgun. That is why I absolutely LOVE this state. It's authentic, American, southern folk who aren't afraid to tell it like it is, and open doors for the women.

I was acting a bit barmy this morning as the snow wouldn’t shut up. Even though I’m tightly wrapped in cashmere I’d prefer to be sunburned and wasting away in margarita Ville, than tripping through Rocky Mountain slush. But then there is skiing this weekend….

Oh the exotic trips that leave me with glossy photographs tucked away in messy corners around my apartment. This was a quick jaunt to the panhandle to eat BBQ, shoot skeet, write three articles, and figure out a strategy to have the magazine outsmart the recession, oh yeah, and relax!

Upon arriving at the Austin airport, greeted by hundreds of professional Frisbee throwers, I mean players; the smell of Schlotzsky's hits my olfactory senses and SHE IS DOWN. Nibbling on my delectable sandwich I mosey over to the Hertz rental car counter to pick up my keys and find my designated vehicle.

Did I check the weather before departing? No, that would require planning. Myers Briggs has argued that my “creative and free-spirited personality” wouldn’t reach its pure potential with directions, or so I convince my lazy self.

“There was a hail storm and the hail was the size of golf balls, no, more like baseballs, and well MAM, there just aren’t any cars left for you.” This woman suffering from a 1980s hairspray commercial croaked. Her accent a dwarfed cross between drawl and monotone.

With every rental car company completely bereft of automobiles I began to panic. What was I to do? It wasn’t although I’ve never been stranded in Brazil with a one-eyed man, who "got" (operative word: got) squatters in the rain forest for a living. (Yes, yes I had.) Or in Nice, abandoned with my second cousin thrice removed (and we have bets on if she is adopted) who is boy-crazed as she is crazy. But this was different. I had to get out of the airport, and a cab sure as heck wasn't going to drive me three hours through the Texas hill country.

With no antidote other than courage, I put on that thinking cap (world series Boston redsox pink hat) and calmly walked to the ACE rental car counter. It was a lone counter with a pathetic sign barely hanging onto the wall. A man in his late thirties either half asleep or all-the-way bored stared at me, waiting for me to say something profound.

“Do you have any cars.” I plea.

“Yes.”

“Huh? No you don’t, really, seriously?” I shout with jubilant excitement.

“Yes we do lady.” A face hollow of expression smirked.

As he handed me the keys and I rushed out into the humidity I spotted my friend for the next four days… do you know those Euro cars that look like toy cars that got dissected and only the front end survived? It was the newest Suzuki, a lawn mower on steroids. And that was the start to an unpredictable weekend.