Martini Rescue Squad

Hey, Squad - Field trip?

Happy New Year!  And every other holiday the last several months.  Pardon me for going MIA.

Hopefully this time has been wonderfilled.  Or at least better than the year before.  

We have so much up on which to catch...to catch up on.  However, I saw this at dinner last night and thought it would make you laugh.  Had to share sooner than later. 

Even if we don't all drink, this place speaks our language.

Have a great weekend!

Paige

To-Do...

Barista:  Your total is $... Have you joined our rewards program yet?

Me:  Ooh, I think you gave me the web address to register for it on my receipt last week, or two weeks ago...Thats right, I took it home and put it right on top of my to-do pile.

(Chuckle, chuckle...)

Barista: That's how we get piles.

(Internal guffaw...)

True.

 

*This is the cup of coffee I found on my car's roof one evening a few years ago as I left work.  The same cup I had picked up on my way in that morning when in such a rush to attend to my to-do pile.  

 

 

"OK, but first coffee" - Brandy Melville

Here's to those days when your dentist says you do not have any cavities, you confirm plans with your preschool best friend, it only takes a few times circling the block to find a parking space at your chosen coffee shop and "Solsbury Hill" is playing inside.

...And to when one of the bumper stickers fighting for space amidst all of the exhibitionistic idealism on a fellow patron's laptop says exactly what you feel.

To those days when you take a quick but honest inventory of your world and you're humbled by life's beauty.

Have a great week.

A Whole Foods Prophecy

It's a retail ad, but it's still a nice, catchy message.  Happy Valentine's Day.

"Thank You For Caffeinating, The dirty secret behind your favorite soft drink" by Murray Carpenter

Link:  http://magazine.good.is/features/the-dirty-secret-behind-your-favorite-soft-drink

Excerpt:  "...But caffeine is surrounded by some major misconceptions...Diet Coke actually contains 30 percent more caffeine than Coke, and a 20-ounce bottle, the top-shelf product in most convenience stores, delivers nearly the same caffeine dose as a Red Bull...And this psychoactive element is not a natural constituent of sodas...Instead, bottlers actually blend powdered caffeine, the pure form of the drug, into the beverages."

Mmm...

...Yup. Family dinner.

Happy Holidays to you and yours.

Frosting

This last month of the year, December, is the frosting.  Some years it spreads thinly.  Just enough to add some sweetness and to remind you how much you have to be grateful for.  To remind you how vital and important your aspirations must remain.

Other years it has enough to spare and you can scoop a generous fingerhookful right into your mouth.  As you slowly breakdown that richness, you partially regret overdoing it.  And are quietly sure in due time, the thinner layer years will emulsify that excess for you.

This last part of the year, we can all forget ourselves in the Dickensian morality messaging, overwhelming gaiety, complicated holiday travel logistics and lurking anxiety we haven’t done “enough.”  We can forget in a handful of weeks, we will start over.

January begins with all of the ingredients in the bowl; residual concerns, refreshed aspirations and everything from our to-do list last year that followed us into this one.

It’s a lot to take in and it all seems especially unfriendly at that moment.  We stand there bleary-eyed and hung-over from the holiday season’s conflicting intensity, not sure how to address ourselves to this new mix.

Grudgingly we approach the bowl, grab our coarse wooden spoon against our dry winter skin and start stirring everything together; all of our goals, plans, obligations, timing and constraints.  It can take extra effort, but by mid-February, we’ve started blending it into a batter.

If we’re lucky, that batter is already smooth.  All of the elements look like they will combine well.

If we’re being a bit too ambitious or hard on ourselves, the year still looks lumpy.  Maybe we shouldn’t have committed to this, or maybe we won’t exactly be able to fulfill that...

In either case it still requires extra elbow strength, ambition and humility to finalize the blending.  But between early to mid-March, the year usually looks like a proper batter, thick and even enough to work with.

By April, we’ve visualized how the year will most likely take shape and we are ready to continue forward with confidence.  We’re ready to pour the batter into a mold and turn up the heat.

In May and June, we’re cooking.  By July, the batter has risen to fill out the mold.  It may be a little crooked on top, but we have to remember no one will see that when we empty it from the mold onto the plate.

August reminds us to stick a toothpick in our year and see if it comes out clean.  If we’re on track for a year done well, or if maybe we need to turn up the heat and cook a little while longer.

In September or October, like it or not, the year starts cooling and solidifies into its final form.  At the right time in November, we know when to turn the year onto the plate to free it from its mold and complete the cool down.

We may have to use our blunt common sense to scrape it loose from the regrets that won’t let go.  Or it may fall onto our plate with ease, affirming how right we were to have been so diligent with that extra elbow grease during the blending phase.  How clever we were to have lubricated the mold for easier removal.

How lucky we are we don’t have those clinging regrets that sometimes hold on even when we worked as hard as we could to prevent them.

In late November we close our eyes for one minute, hoping to open them to see the nearly finished year as we’d wished and it’s already December.  It’s time to complete the year as sweetly as we can, whether delicately or indulgently.

It’s time to remind ourselves how grateful we are for our persistent aspirations and sometimes under-acknowledged good fortune.  December is the frosting. 

 Happy Holidays.

Price list at a Cape Cod ice cream parlor...

Wonderful.

O-r-e-o...A new favorite ad:

Moving past the randomness and playful morbidity, this promotional video is contagiously happy.  May we all have June double-stuffed with good things:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mrcmm_diiU4

I Don’t Like Florence - and Other Fascinating Matters of Perspective, Part II of II

Everyone I know adores the place.  A few couples I know got engaged there.  The whole world falls in love in Florence.

Two of my friends met there as exchange students in college – he is from the Eastern Mediterranean and she is from Southern California.  They dated many years before going back to Florence to take their vows on a hilltop overlooking the city.  They then returned to the States for a reception.

At the party, I remember looking at the pictures from the ceremony and thinking, “Huh.  It looks gorgeous.  Peaceful.  Not the Florence I remember.”

A few weeks ago, I had a similar experience.  A handful of girlfriends and I met for dinner at a neighborhood place.  So much a part of the neighborhood, none of us had been there in years.  We take it for granted. It’s just there.  Like Florence.

Passing through the restaurant, I noticed on the wall they have a framed panoramic picture of the city at dusk.  Or dawn.  Can’t tell.

It looks soft, romantic, majestic...inviting.  Again, that’s not the Florence I remember.

Rewind to June 1997.  My brother Patrick and his surf posse had just graduated from high school.  They all planned to backpack through Europe for a few weeks before returning to their internships or summer jobs in their last pre-college summer.

I had just finished my sophomore year in college – the precise year my delayed adolescent awkward phase smacked me on the backside daily. And hard.  The bruises were visible all over my demeanor.

I had a couple of weeks between the condensed summer term at school and my very serious, grown-up internship.  As opposed to hostessing at the reptile-themed restaurant where I had worked the summer before.  Sweet.

Meanwhile, my grandmother, Big Nance/”The Queen Mum” had caught a travel bug.  She wanted to go!

Where?  Eh.

“…How about Europe?”

Great.

The three female grandchildren who were old enough to travel at the time, including me, and Big Nance convened in the south of France. The boys migrated to meet us as well and after a couple of days, we overnighted by train to Paris.  My love.

After a few days in the City of Lights, the surfers and we parted company for a couple of stops, the first of which was Florence.  Ah, Florence.

Before leaving Paris, one of the granddaughters mentioned “not feeling well” to her stomach.

“Yes, well, we have to get to Florence.”

Several hours and mishaps later, this granddaughter’s stomach malaise was a full-fledged stomach flu.  We all discovered this over lunch at a Florentine café.

This granddaughter went to bed for a few hours while the rest of us resolved to walk around and take advantage of being in one of the world’s most beautiful cities.  To meet the people.  To see the sights, like the Ponte Vecchio.  Right.

It was damn near 90-degrees outside, and we were stuck on that tiny-seeming bridge like ants in an ant farm, trying to claw our way through the mass of people heading the opposite direction, most of whom were fellow Americans, most of whom were generously corporal and most of whom lacked deodorant.  Or enough for that day’s weather.

Everyone was cranky, almost everyone was rude and, at that point, I almost hoped that bridge would snap off of its base and tumble into what I imagined was the cool river below. At least we would get back to the hotel faster that way.

Let’s be very clear about something – I was extremely grateful to be there.  All of us were.  And it was a once-in-a-lifetime blessing to be there together, on that wonderful trip.  We were very, very lucky to have that opportunity.

That was not something of which I lost sight at any point.

But some cities and you don’t click.  Florence and I do not.

The art and architecture are unbelievable – the greater city area has to be one of the highest concentrations of artistic masterpieces in the world.  Even if you did not have any desire to take Art History in school like, ahem, some of us...that place is impressive.

The energy in that city is consuming.  Everyone is there to explore and experience.

Religious pilgrims find themselves overwhelmed by the Duomo, the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore.  Shoppers find themselves tempted by the shops carrying the highest fashion brands or the local artisans’ specialties.  Epicureans find themselves challenged to narrow their favorite restaurants down to one “best” place.

Big Nance found herself whirled around the stage by a handsome dancer at a festive restaurant in the historic town square – the Piazza della Signoria, I think.

Everyone gets whisked away there in one way or another.  It does not take anything more than a walk along the river to fall in love with almost anything that bobs up in your consciousness as you coast along in your dreamlike state.  Even though you’re still in Florence.

Maybe I’ll give it another try someday.  Just as maybe we’ll all try to recode some of those places, things and events – create a new, completely subjective mental cataloguing for them –at a time in our lives that is not so crowded, sour-stomached, awkward or...insert the negative adjective that explains your perspective.

Places, things and events that are either important or inconsequential to the rest of our lives.

Like Florence.

I Don’t Like Florence - and Other Fascinating Matters of Perspective, Part I of II

Everyone loves Florence.  The art, the architecture, the Tuscan scenery...That city welcomes up to 20 times as many visitors per year than there are residents.[1]  And I don’t like it.

Don’t mistake me – I love Italy.  I really like most Italians I’ve met.

And the consumer goods or cultural trademarks…Valentino, Alfa Romeo, cappuccino, gelato, spaghetti Bolognese...love, love, love.  If you filled a pool with Chianti Classico or iced Pellegrino, I’d swim in it every day until I was well past pruny.

Italy equals Love.  Florence, not so much.

This, obviously, is completely subjective.  As are many things, both important and inconsequential in relation to the rest of our lives.

But that subjectivity -  the result of how all of our lives up to, during and following certain specific placces, things and events can uniquely encode them in our brains – can take something so simple as a visit to Florence and make the wildest difference in how we understand it.  That is fascinating.

Unlike Florence.

(To be continued next week...)

---

[1]Tourists in Florence.  (2008, June 26).  The Florentine, Issue 82/2008.  Retrieved from: http://www.theflorentine.net/articles/article-view.asp?issuetocId=3313.

 

 

Kitchen Sink Gumbo

"Necessity is the mother of invention,” my brother Pat mused the other day.

True.  And it may also breed insanity.  Especially in the kitchen.

I don’t cook.  I can – and do for company – but on a day-to-day basis, I do not. Since college, my favorite cooking utensil has been my microwave.  Many of us would probably say the same.

The microwave is amazing with the powers it bestows us; it can enable us to become a frozen foods connoisseur, just as it equips us to extend our food’s useful life.

You don’t want to finish your whole plate of pasta at the hip new trattoria?  You can take it home and reheat it later or at work for lunch tomorrow.

We can hush the inner shell shock we still hear from our guilty conscience bombardments at the dinner table when we were kids –  the “Do you know how many children in (name anywhere in the world with less-than-fortunate circumstances) would be grateful for those peas?”es.

At the same time, we can doctor ourselves when we are sick and heat that chicken noodle soup, or brew that Sri Lankan andrographis paniculatabucachacha tea that no one can pronounce, but everyone at the organic store swears will heal our cold overnight.

And we can be the cost-conscious consumer who may stop by the market a few times a week for the take-out containers of prepared foods we can heat later.

But what happens when our microwave dies...Gives up...Kaputsky?

Oh God.

This is what happened to me a couple of months ago.  I came home from dinner one night and was simultaneously straightening things on my counter as I filled my water glass before bed when I noticed my fruit basket was on top of the microwave and not the toaster, where I prefer to put it.  Of course.

When I moved the basket, it seemed warm.  Hmm.

I felt the top of the microwave and it was hot. Very hot.

Uh-oh.

Part of me thought, “You’ve had this thing for 12 to 14 years...It’s still usable...Maybe unplug it and try using it again tomorrow.”

And the other, more rational part of me thought, “You’ve had this thing for 12 to 14 years...Maybe something in it shorted and it’s time to throw it away...Time to not risk having the whole thing blow up in your kitchen.”

Yup.  That made sense.

I hoisted that beast with magical powers off of the counter and promptly took it outside to the trash bin before I could change my mind.  Done.

“Eh.  Christmas is coming,” I thought.  “I don’t really need anything else.  I’ll tell my family a microwave would be great.”

“Oooh...Right,” I answered myself.

“What will you do about heating food until then?,” I asked, as I reluctantly turned my eyes toward my stove and my perfectly viable pots and pans.

“You dork,” I quickly chided myself.  “It will take only a minute or two longer to reheat things on the stove than it will in a microwave...and it’s about time you make more use of those pots and pans.”

I think that voice is the “children in (fill in the blank)”/peas voice’s older sibling.

And that is what I did for a week or two.  I would come home from the market with my cold packages of the rice, Brussels sprouts and turkey meatballs – or I would remove the same from my fridge – and would meet the moment of truth.

The moment when it was me and my innocent leftovers against that wily, neglected and bitter stove.

Slowly, respectfully, I would stir each element in its respective pan or corner of the pan until it was warm enough to be pleasant to eat.  Which also meant it was gluey, dry and...not so tasty.

After doing this for a few nights, I had the evolved realization a tablespoon or so of olive oil could help.

Sure, but that made the rice a little greasy and the meatballs a little olivey.

Hmm...what to do?

And then, one night at the market, a flash of genius struck me.

“I need broth!  Broth, broth, broth...Got it!,” I said as I rushed through the market to the soup aisle.

“Now, huh...Chicken broth, organic chicken broth with no added salt, French onion broth...Eh.  I’ll take a couple of each,” I resolved.

“Ooh, and shaved parm!  I need some shaved parm to top it all off!”

The excitement built with a couple more additions to my basket until I was ready to float out of that market.

Yes, oh yes.  In the last four or so weeks since that night, I have become a master of my own invention.  Kitchen sink gumbo.

You start with a cup-and a-half of broth – or of 1 percent milk if you know you will have trouble going to sleep that night.  Just pour either in your pan until it looks like what you think a cup-and-a-half would look like.  Bring it to a delicate boil.

Then, stir in whatever you have in your refrigerator; some steamed rice, the three tablespoons of leftover mac and cheese, the take-out mu shu beef, turkey meatballs or turkey loaf, the steamed kale, the creamed spinach, the ...you get it.  Everything but the kitchen sink.

If you don’t have a protein source in there, or you want more protein than your leftovers will afford you, just crack an egg over the mixture and voila!

Turn the heat down to medium and stir, gently and slowly, as the rice fattens while it absorbs the broth or milk.  Stir it for a few more minutes as you add herbs and spices to taste.

By now, the whole concoction should have thickened into what my Dad Pat and Dad Bob would call slop.   I prefer to call it “gumbo.”

Thicken to your preference.  Keep going and it will become more like a risotto, which can be tasty too.

Then carefully plate the dish, sprinkle on some shaved parm and there you have it.  Heaven on a plate.

That is how I described it to my brother Pat, who astutely replied “Necessity is the mother of invention.”

“Yes, but does it also breed insanity?,” we have to ask.

Kitchen sink gumbo is quite an invention.  One we have probably all created once or twice.  And it is the proper way to honor our left-overs or take-out so they will not have been prepared in vain.  None of it will go to waste.

It is artful, because we had to do something other than default to our microwave, or simply reheating it on the stove.

It’s a combination Mother Nature never intended – but probably would have if she knew how fabulous it would be.

And the wonderful thing is none of us will ever make the same one, because none of us will start with the same leftovers – each of ours will be a once-in-a-lifetime creation.  However I think all of ours will end up tasting more-or-less similar.

And it will be delicious.  It will be a triumph over circumstance. It will symbolize our new-found peace with our stove.  Our pots and pans will know they are loved again.  The gods of frugality, resourcefulness, creativity and good health will smile on this steaming glory.  It will be a win all around.

But will it be such triumphant deliciousness, because it’s what other people would consider tasty, or because it’s ours?

Necessity mothered the invention, but did it also beget the crazy idea that this dish tastes good?

As long as we enjoy it, and do not expect anyone else to, we probably don't need to care.

The Genius of the Cheeseburger

The cheeseburger.  The muse and undoing of many a modern-day tragic hero; Homer Simpson, Jimmy Buffett, Matt Damon...this culinary Helen of Troy gets a very bad rap.  Unduly so.

This poor beaten and abused delicacy that has been vilified as the symbol of gluttony, the slow and gradual killer hiding behind the Golden Arches, nay, the source of all that is wrong with the American family.

I think it’s time we stand up for the cheeseburger – stand up for its simplicity, its intelligence, its efficiency and yes, oh yes, its flavor.

Before we go any further, by “cheeseburger,” I mean a meal consisting of a meat patty with real cheese that came from cows, perched on a bun made from grains -  add tomatoes, greens and condiments to your liking.

Got it.

Let’s visualize this – you are on a date, or you are out with some friends after work.  You’re happy, but tired.  The menu comes...hmm...what to have?

You can have the salad, to which you have to add all sorts of fattening things to make them moderately satisfying.  Some of which will inevitably end in your lap, despite your deft slicing and stacking on your dainty little fork.

You can have the pasta, which is another production to get into your mouth somewhat gracefully and ooh...the carbs.  And garlic.  I think it actually makes a kathunk sound when it arrives in your stomach.

You can have the fish, which is probably over priced and, well fishy.  Or the chicken, which you eat for almost every meal featuring meat – unless you go for the turkey, but the tryptophan could kick in at any point and game over.  No more cute, flirty evening.

Or, finally, your eye catches the cheeseburger.  The grilled panacea that allows you to check off all of your food groups in one dish.  A dish that does not require utensils, unless you prefer to slice it in half before eating it.  A dish that you can eat with your hands, all as one unit.

This is very clever, because frankly, the beef is probably not much lower quality than the steak, but it is considerably easier to eat and perhaps half the price.  Furthermore, you have more latitude to have fun with it.

Would you put mayo, relish or mustard on a steak?  Probably not.

Would you put all of that plus any other creative topping you fancy, thus creating your own van Gogh-like masterpiece, on a cheeseburger?  Bien sur!

Moreover, it does not take a significant amount of time to prepare.  Or to eat.  No maneuvering with your knife and fork to avoid the gristle, or finding the meat so tough you send your knife careening to the adjacent table in your attempt to conquer the beast.

No.  None of this is necessary with the gorgeous, hot, beefy perfection on your plate.  And it requires a lot less plate, therefore conserves space on the table top for other useful things, like your antioxidant-rich glass of red wine.

Very few bad days can withstand the healing magic in a glass of red wine and a cheeseburger.  Come to Mama.

There are some spoilsports who try to tell you red meat is e-v-i-l evil.  A prominent article in a prominent paper proclaims, “All red meat is bad for you, new study says.”[1] 

It cites doctors, studies, editorials, etc...but I quite like this input, well toward the bottom of the article, thank you, from a certain doctor at USC’s Keck School of Medicine, who “cautioned that it can be hard to draw specific conclusions from a study like this because there can be a lot of error in the way diet information is recorded in food frequency questionnaires, which ask subjects to remember past meals in sometimes grueling detail.”[2]

Well played, Doctor. Well played.

If you want to get right down the specific measurements, a serving of tofu is no angel compared to ground beef.[3] 

How many of those study’s subjects confessed their tofu intake while besmirching our sacred sandwich?

It’s time we free the cheeseburger.  Time we celebrate this inventive, nutritious, cost-effective, logistically sound and delicious creation.  Time to liberate this muse from its tragedy.

 

---

[1]Brown, E.  (2012, March 12).  “All red meat is bad for you, new study says.”  Los Angeles Times.  Retrieved from:  http://www.latimes.com/health/la-he-red-meat-20120313,0,565423.story

[2]Ibid.

[3] “Food Exchange Lists.”  (2012).  National Heart, Lung and Blood Institute, National Institute of Health.   Retrieved from: http://www.nhlbi.nih.gov/health/public/heart/obesity/lose_wt/fd_exch.htm

 

 

 

 

Prince Valliant's Dating Website Tutorial

As far as I am concerned, your chances of making a quality connection on a dating website are statistically much stronger than they could be in your traditional ways of meeting someone.  Yes, the dork in me really wants to conduct a study into the mathematical correlations, but let’s break it down to the simplest principle at play here – merchandising.   Pure merchandising.

This applies to all of us, no matter how naturally gorgeous, extraordinarily intelligent, charmingly quick-witted and profoundly interesting we may be.  This is one of the things I was trying to explain to my dear friend, who we will call Prince Valliant.

PV is a catch; he’s kind, handsome, clever, hard-working, successful and a ton of fun.  And recently, he found himself single and back out in the Killing Fields after a very long-term relationship.  As he ventured into the dating website realm, he asked for a quick tutorial.

With Valentine’s Day around the corner, this tutorial may prove useful for the men we know – just as could these same ideas when tweaked for us.

Whereas in a bar, two people can read each other’s signals and play off of them – each to their own strategic advantage – in an effort to convey the desired image or evoke the desired sentiment, on  a website, that one crucial element is missing, i.e. the other person.

All you can do is draw from your own empirical evidence, your dating experience, and merchandise yourself accordingly.  It’s all in the packaging and presentation.

Your values, your priorities, your talent with expressing yourself, your sense of humor and, lastly, but let’s be honest, your appearance.

Those things permeate your profile, from your written words to your photographs to your approach toward that first date.  In the obvious and less obvious ways.  You can never predict exactly what impression you will make on everyone, but here are some general tips toward putting yourself out there

• Written content
  • Be as brief or as verbose as you wish – don’t shoot for quantity, shoot for quality
    • If you can be funny and maintain interest, write two whole pages
      • If you go for length, chop it into visually bite-size pieces; four-sentence paragraphs TOPS
    • If you think you make a much better impression in person, i.e. you written profile may not be as funny or charming as you think, less can be more. 
      • Stay concise, imply there is more to you than just a profile.
    •  Please, please avoid the "How do I describe myself in 2,000 words?" intro. 
      • Please.
  • However, make it as long as you need to get your point across and to reveal your true colors…no empty words.
  • Do not resort to digital short hand.  Unless u want 2 date a 14 year-old.  LOL.
  • If you want to mention your deal breakers or wish list, be as specific as you want, but don’t be mean.
    • For wish list, if you want to be specific, be funny about it, e.g., “Seeing you walk into the room has to take my breath away.  That, and I’m asthmatic.”
    • Do not be too specific, as if you want a Stepford Wife.  Or your ex-girlfriend who magically fits all of those criteria.  And over whom you may not quite be.
  • For deal breakers, but don’t do it in a mocking way, or you will seem like a jerk - Again, If you can, make them funny.
    • The “I know my expectations are high, but I'm willing to wait for the lady I want.  And besides, you might be a better fit for my friend, Bill.  I owe him one” approach is charming, but only when the rest of your profile can back up that humor
    • The “If you need a guy to hold a door for you, if you can’t go out without your designer sunglasses and if you get jealous every time I talk to another girl…” approach indicates issues. 
      • Huge get-six-months-of-therapy-and-call-me-never issues.
  • Don’t start every sentence with “I.”
    • I want…, I have..., I buy…, I’m looking for…, I vacation in…, I’m on track for… = “Are you my mommy?”
  • Don’t imply you have money or a successful job.
    • Leave income blank       
      • Question that information when people provide it.
    • Don’t refer to your work in your bio, unless in a vague, open-ended way, e.g. “I’ve got a job that keeps me really busy, but it’s rewarding and I enjoy it.”
  • DO NOT articulate your own incredulity about being on the site; “I can’t believe it’s come to this,” or “If we hit it off and anyone asks, we met through mutual friends…,” or “I never thought it would get this bad out there.”
    • Get over it.
  • You can write that you are looking for a great lady, but don’t go overboard about how your life lacks anything without one.
    • Or that you have everything you want in life, but a lady with whom to share it.   Begs waaaay too many questions.
• Pictures - *Guys, it’s the first thing at which a normal lady looks, just as it’s the first thing you check out on her profile.  It’s very important to provide the right balance. 
  • Pick ones in which you look natural, not so posed.
    • Good idea: With buddies after a baseball game, with your uniforms and hair a mess, but looking confident and happy. Very good.  Conveys confidence and vitality.
    • Bad idea: You on the phone at an immaculate desk without any paperwork on it or a single wrinkle in your suit, staring off at an angle and looking powerful.  Seriously?
      • Who in the world has a completely clean desk?
  • Pick a variety, not more than about 10-12 – five min.
    • At least one of you looking nice, scrubbed up – suit, tux whatever – but nothing that implies you’re Trump.  Unless you’re Trump.
    • One of you in casual, but good-looking clothes – jeans and t with flip-flops
      • No pro athletes’ jerseys!
      • No tank tops/wife beaters.  Unless you’re a male model.  See below.
  • Body shots - Sure, show off your body, but don’t do a meathead muscle man glam shot
    • Good idea:  After a 5K for charity
    • Bad idea: You doing yoga poses in the desert, in sepia tone
    • Wow: You, shirtless and wearing jean cut-offs, sprawled on the hood of a Trans-Am.  Even if you are a male, ahem, model. 
      • Scary, but true.
  • Show pictures of you with fun, good-looking people laughing, enjoying time with you.
    • Yes, do show pictures of you at a party, on hikes with coed groups of friends or tasteful pictures with other girls – a couple of them.  You don’t have to be alone with them.
      • Approach advisedly
  • Self portraits
    • No self-portraits where you can actually see your arm extending between your body and the camera
    • No mirror shots with you making a Blue Steel face.
      • If you must resort to a mirror shot, make it funny.
  • No pictures with children or babies unless you are their father.
    • If you have children, disclose that
    • If you mark that you don’t have children and don’t mention  how much you love your sister’s great kids -  but still have lots of pictures with you and small children - know that would scare most sensible women.
• Approach to the first date:

  • Don’t jump straight into inviting for coffee until you have e-mailed, then spoken on the phone.

    • Build desire and anticipation – do not ask her out right away

    • Winking is an OK icebreaker, although it seems lame.  It’s the simplest, least commital barometer for interest.   

    • E-mailing is better – pick up on something they wrote on their profile, then send them something brief and genuine.

      • Be funny or romantic, but not obsequious
      • One successful, very stealth tactic is to point out how a couple of their standards disqualify you, but think they are cute and still want to hang out anyway and see where it goes - but be sure the disqualifiers are peripheral, i.e. not values-related. 
  • Do not write something like, “If you think you could be into me, e-mail me back” – assume of course she’ll be into you
    • Instead, I suggest something that asks her a question.  If she’s into you, she’ll reply. 
  • Please avoid using too many exclamation points and parentheses – avoid the latter altogether, if you can.
  • No emoticons.  Please.  Again, not unless you want to date a 14 year-old, in which case, you should not be on a dating site.
  • For the first date, you can leave it open-ended or schedule it between commitments, depending on the vibe you get from the lady
    • If you enjoy talking to her and think it could be fun to spend more time with her, leave it open ended.
      • Good idea: meet at a café in a popular area with lots of people and diversion, in case the conversation lacks
        • If the date goes well, you can walk to a restaurant nearby for lunch or dinner
        • If the date is not so great, something you see can conveniently remind you of that thing you promised your buddy you’d pick up for him.  Before the store closes in 20 minutes.
      • Bad idea: a hike in a deep forest or on a secluded beach, miles away from traffic and anyone who could possibly rescue her if you're perhaps a bit psychotic.
    • If you are a busy person, or think it would keep things interesting to be a little less available, schedule that first coffee between commitments
      • Good idea: meet her for coffee or lunch on a Saturday, after your sister’s kids’ talent show and before baseball with your buddies.  The league championships.
      • Bad idea: roll in 20 minutes late, do not take off your sunglasses, imply you’re late, because last night was just cra-hay-hazy – oh, and you have to leave early, because you’re meeting this hot girl from your gym for a drink after this date with her.
• Be yourself and have fun.