because life is complicated enough
November 11, 2011 by leemporter

lee writes: down in front

I wrote this sports editorial/essay, and the awesome ZooWithRoy.com kindly posted it online. You can always see the original post from October 4, 2013 by clicking here.
* Yes, this post is pre-dated on my blog here so the Eats/Shrugs can all be a row for your viewing pleasure.

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GUEST POST: “Down in Front!” — The Idiot’s Guide to Not Being an Idiot at the Stadium

by Lee Porter

 

(Editor’s Note: The views expressed below do not necessarily represent those of ZWR Publishing, LLC or its staff. I don’t really care what you do at games, yo)

It’s October, and alas there are no postseason baseball games being played in Philadelphia this year, yet again. (I wish I had an image of “the Phanatic consoling me as I cry” to insert here.) They call baseball a “gentleman’s game,” and this past season, it struck me how many fans at baseball games (not just in Philly) act rather … un-gentlemanly, shall we say. I’m not talking about simply getting drunk at a game. If you can afford it, put down all the ten-buck beers you want (and buy me one, too, while you’re at it), as long as you behave. In fact, most of the clueless fans that made me scratch my head were dead-sober, family folk, who seemed more intent on experiencing games like visits to theme parks or malls than actually watching the games themselves. This same behavior (or lack thereof) is visible at basketball, football and hockey games, too.

I attend sports games to actually watch the games. What a novel idea, right? I try to get to the park/stadium/center early or on time, at the very least. I watch for the intricacies of the game, which my father taught me about since we started going to ballgames together at the Vet back in the early 1980s. I converse with fans seated around me about strategies, bad calls, controversial plays and so forth. Believe me, I love Citizens Bank Park, the LINC and Wells Fargo Center (to a degree), too. In addition to the live games they showcase, they are great places to have fun — great (unhealthy) food, a variety of beers to enjoy (as I’ve chronicled at CBP for two seasons in a row and counting) and games and fun for the kids to have, too. Heck, these sports venues are my homes away from home. And I personally choose to enjoy them by taking advantage of the games that are played at these venues. Now if you so choose to enjoy the food and fun in the concourses instead of watching the games, that’s fine by me – more power to you. The odd behavior I’m examining in this piece stems from those fans who want to have their game-cake and eat their crab fries-cake, too.

 

So in honor of National Do Something Nice Day [Saturday October 5th], I’ve made some suggestions by which we should all try to abide when at the park, stadium or arena. Be sure to share it with “That Guy From Work” or “Your Cousin’s Boyfriend” or “Your New Neighbor” next time you attend a game with a rookie spectator.

 

The Idiot’s Guide to Not Being an Idiot at the Stadium

 

  • Rule #10: Do not exit your row in the middle of an at-bat. It’s the middle of the fifth inning, there’s a man on first and third, Domonic Brown swings through a low-and-inside fastball. The crowd groans and eagerly awaits the next pitch. So now it’s an 0-1 count, the opposing pitcher steps on the rubber and … someone in your row stands up to exit. What the Ph-anatic?! Do not exit your row in the middle of an at-bat, field goal attempt, jump shot or power play. Wait until the play or at-bat ends, and even then, if the football team is hustling to get a new play off or the pitcher gets right back on the rubber right away, simply wait until the next real stoppage in play.
  • Rule #9: Do not head to your seat during play, even if the ushers let you in. You still have to walk down the aisle, trouble everyone to stand up and then get all the way to your seat. Out of respect to your fellow fans, just wait until there’s enough stoppage of play for you to really make it all the way back to your seat before the next play/pitch. Understandably, both of these rules can be tweaked if you are seated on the aisle seats or extremely close to them.
  • Rule #8: Do not stand up in the middle of an about-to-be exciting play. Chase Utley rounds third base, the rightfielder has a cannon and throws to home plate, Chase lowers his shoulder to the catcher and … the guy in front of you stands up and blocks your view of the collision at the plate. What the Ph-anatic?! Don’t stand up in the middle of an about-to-be exciting play. If the entire crowd stands up, of course enjoy the pandemonium. But when the pass is about to be intercepted or when there’s a breakaway dunk in the early minutes of a basketball game, don’t be the first guy to stand up when no one else rises. Obviously, this rule should be tweaked when someone immediately in front of you stands up and blocks your view.
  • Rule #7: Don’t walk to the concourse to get a domestic beer without going to the bathroom. Cliff Lee just struck out the batter for the first out of the second inning. The crowd cheers, and four guys in your row excuse themselves. Cliff Lee strikes out the next batter, and all four guys return. They each have two domestic beers in their hands, and there’s no way in heck there was enough time to go to the bathroom. Ladies and Gentlemen, there’s no need to leave your seat for a domestic beer. Believe me, the beer vendors walk around selling American brews all the time (maybe even when we sleep through the night), and they will find you. Look there’s a vendor (with a parrot on his shoulder) coming your way right now.
  • Rule #6: If you’re in the middle of a section, rotate your entrance/exits of your row by using both aisles of your section. Don’t always bother the same people. Share the up-and-down dance with all your neighboring fans on both sides of your row.
  • Rule #5: Don’t try to entertain your section by yelling. Darren Ruf’s first at-bat, someone yells out: “Ruf Dog!” During his second at-bat, the same fan yells: “Hey, Ruf Dog, who let the dogs out?!” During his third at-bat: “Snoop Doggy Ruf!” Pipe down, all you aspiring Andrew Dice Clays. If we wanted to laugh at obnoxious wittiness, we would have stayed home to watch The James Franco Roast. Unless you are lucky enough to be in the first handful of rows, save your breath – the players cannot hear you from your seat.
  • Rule #4: Keep it clean. There are kids at the games. Boo all you want, but show a little class with the foul language. You don’t have to go there.
  • Rule #3: Police your shorties. Sure, kids are going to throw temper tantrums when you refuse to buy them cotton candy. That doesn’t mean that your kids can scream at the top of their lungs right in our ears whenever the mammoth video display says “Make Some Noise.” (EDITOR’S NOTE: That actually cracks me up; let your kids yell all they want) While you’re at it, it would be nice if your fidgety children would stop kicking the back of our seats the entire game. Get tickets in the row directly behind the visiting team’s bench/bullpen if they really can’t stop. They deserve it, not your fellow fans.
  • Rule #2: Never stand up to pay for food or drink. Newsflash: the vendor and your fellow fans will pass your food/drinks and cash/change back and forth for you. Don’t stand there counting your money and putting it back in your wallet. Sit down already, Mr. Monopoly!
  • Rule #1:

 

Don’t be this guy (getting tasered for rushing the field) …

 

Don’t be this guy (and throw beer at Shane Victorino) …

 

And definitely don’t be this guy (vomiting on a young fan at the game) …

 

* A few additional things to consider: (a) Waiving across the stadium at whoever you’re talking to on your cellphone during the game (you look like an idiot); (b) The Wave (a purist vs. modernist fan debate); and (c) Thundersticks (ugh). Obviously, when everyone is standing up for a playoff game, Opening Day, Monday Night Football or overtime, these rules can be tweaked – or entirely chucked away – when necessary.
When attending a game, enjoy the crab fries all you want. Just respect the fans who are there to simply watch the game. Game on! Play ball!

 

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Lee Porter is the writer/producer of the award-winning comedy Web series My Ruined Life, which is entering its third season this coming winter, and the founder/editor of the food/drink site Chocolate Covered Memories. He has compiled the annual Good Brews at Citizens Bank Park Spreadsheet for two years in a row and counting. Lee’s work has been featured on Comcast SportsNet, The Gaggle, Liminal Fiction, the Philadelphia Daily News, the Philadelphia Inquirer, Philly.com, Shmitten Kitten, Zoo With Roy (prior ZWR post here) and even tweeted by Questlove. Lee lives in Philadelphia.
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* You can always see the original ZooWithRoy.com post from October 4, 2013 by clicking here.
** Yes, this post is pre-dated on my blog here so the Eats/Shrugs can all be a row for your viewing pleasure.
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November 11, 2011 by leemporter

lee writes: Jokes

A flash fiction (super short) story of mine was published on the very cool, flash fiction site LiminalFiction.com. You can view the original post from July 29, 2013 by clicking here.
* Yes, this post is pre-dated on my blog here so the Eats/Shrugs can all be a row for your viewing pleasure.

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Jokes (by Lee Porter)

Just because I knew the guy from way back when didn’t mean I wanted the conversation to proceed, but he continued to stand in front of me, blocking my way. “Excuse me,” I said.

“Jeff Bridges died.” He spoke fast. “Order a White Russian.”

Towering over me, I had to look up at him to meet his stare. He took a large, slow sip of his American Double Stout, the liquid like chewing tobacco spit, and smiled. I expected the thick, dark brew to be clumped up in his mouth, sticking to his teeth. It wasn’t. Even his beer projected disingenuousness. I didn’t smile back.

“Did you hear me? I said Jeff Bridges died. Go order a White Russian.”

“I heard you.”

“So. . . .”

“So okay.”

“Okay then.”

I joined Giovanni at the bar.

“Did he try that one on you, too?”

“Jeff Bridges?”

“Yeah.”

I took a sip from my beer and glanced at the televisions around the bar – all tuned to the Phillies game – nothing out of the ordinary. “I don’t believe him.”

So we played with our smartphones for a second and then placed them on coasters, not surprised that there was no news about Jeff Bridges – good or bad – online.

“I should have said ‘Yeah, well, you know, that’s just, like, your opinion, man,’” I mumbled. Giovanni laughed, flagged down the bartender and ordered sweet potato fries.

We finished our beers, ordered another round, talked about our women – or lack thereof – and comics.

I let the door swing closed behind me on our way out. He was standing outside, as if waiting for us, leaning against the wooden facade, smoking a cigarette.

“You guys leaving?”

I had to ask. “What do you have against Jeff Bridges, man?”

He explained that he and his friends would do this frequently when out late. “Do you know how little milk a bar normally stocks? They have to send a guy out just to get more. The more people we get ordering White Russians, the more they send some sad sack out for milk. You know how hard it is to buy a gallon of milk at one a.m. in this town?”

He laughed and spat on the sidewalk.

I shrugged. Giovanni and I walked away, down 15th Street.

“Why doesn’t he just say it’s his birthday? Why’s the joke have to be about death?”

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** Yes, this post is pre-dated on my blog here so the Eats/Shrugs can all be a row for your viewing pleasure.
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November 11, 2011 by leemporter

Lee writes: Before/Bephore

This Philly sports essay was originally posted online by the always-awesome ZooWithRoy.com, which you can always view by clicking here.
* Yes, this post is pre-dated on my blog here so the Eats/Shrugs can all be a row for your viewing pleasure. 

***

Before/Bephore, by Lee Porter

 

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before: “A man walks into a bar …” You’ve heard that one? How about this one: “A man walks into a bar … in Philadelphia on Sunday, September 21, 2008.”

The bar’s walls are covered with a good dozen large flat screen televisions and Eagles and Flyers memorabilia. It’s a Sunday in the fall, so, of course, football is of interest to Philly and non-Philly fans alike. A man (who we’ll call “The Phan”) purposefully arrives early, around three o’clock, to save a table with a good view of a television.

“Which television is the Phillies game going to be on?” The Phan asks.

“The Phillies?” The bartender looks The Phan up and down. “Are you serious?”

The man, dressed in a 1987 game-worn, Glenn Wilson, Columbia blue, batting practice jersey, shrugs at the bartender. “They’re in first place.”

The bartender takes a deep breath. “Okay, fine. Look, I know you’re a local here, so I’ll put the Phillies on television number …” He studies the barroom. “Number 11.”

The Phan shrugs, says thanks and makes his way over towards television 11. It’s the smallest TV in the place, tucked in the corner where the out of town football games are scheduled to play. At least it’s J.Roll’s number, The Phan thinks. He got his photo with Jimmy back in 2005 in Spring Training, when players like Jimmy Rollins would casually hang out with fans after games. Back then, J.Roll still had Jermaine Dupri hair and rocked a gigantic Blackberry cell phone clipped onto the belt holding up his super baggy jeans.

The Phan smiles at the attractive waitress, orders a beer and studies the bar menu. The sports fans begin to make their way in. Some dressed in green; others in black and yellow. After all, today’s a classic, Eagles-Steelers, Keystone State match-up. All the male patrons, dressed in NFL gear, give The Phan a look. A few snicker. One says, “Phillies? C’mon!” They haven’t had enough beer yet to say much more.

The Phan’s girlfriend eventually joins him, wearing a pink camouflage Phillies hat, which he had given her as a spur-of-the-moment gift at one game the prior 2007 season. Hardly any ladies ever sport women’s fitted Phillies jerseys as of September 21, 2008.

Coverage for both games — Eagles and Phillies — begins at four o’clock. In Miami, Jamie Moyer takes the mound for the Phillies, who entered the day with a half-game lead on the New York Mets in the National League East with just seven games to play. Donovan McNabb starts at quarterback for the Eagles.

The games begin, and The Phan notices he and his lady have this corner of the bar, by TV #11, all to themselves. Eagles fans are standing doubled-up deep behind the bar to watch Week #3 of the NFL and not the first-place Phillies with just seven games to play. There’s not a single Phillies item up on the walls. He looks at the menu: Eagles specials every Sunday; no mention of the Phillies whatsoever.

The Phan shares a vegetarian appetizer with his girlfriend. Because, as Jules (played by Samuel L. Jackson) explains in Pulp Fiction, if your girlfriend is a vegetarian, that basically means you’re a vegetarian, too, even if you sure love the taste of a good burger.

In the third inning, at Dolphin Stadium, Chase Utley gets the scoring going, homering to deep right center field off of Marlins starter Chris Volstad, scoring Jimmy Rollins and sparking the Phillies to a 2-0 lead.

In Philadelphia, the first quarter of the Eagles game ends, uneventfully, with the Steelers leading 3-0.

Eagles fans pass by the corner table on their way to the bathrooms and outside for a smoke. “Phillies? Are you serious?” The passing laughter and heckles get louder now, more confident with beer.

In the fourth inning, J.Roll hits an RBI single, knocking in Carlos Ruiz. No one — absolutely no one — in the bar would know who/what “Chooch” means if The Phan were to yell this out right now.

Eagles running back Brian Westbrook gets injured early in the second quarter. McNabb connects with Westbrook’s replacement, Correll Buckhalter, for a touchdown. The two teams exchange field goals, and the first half ends with the Eagles leading 10-6. McNabb is banged up on the final play of the half at Lincoln Financial Field.

Now, with even more beer, the heckles and laughter from Eagles fans get louder. “Phillies?! C’mon!”

One bar patron dressed in green is not as ruthless. “Yo, man. You’re watching the Phillies? How they doing?”

The Phan gives the Eagles fan an update.

“Cool, man. Awesome. What jersey is that?”

The Phan explains the story behind his jersey.

“Glenn Wilson?” The Eagles fan clearly doesn’t know who Glennbo is yet remains impressed that the jersey is game-worn.

The Phan’s girlfriend orders a vegetarian wrap of some kind (maybe with pears, brie cheese or beets); The Phan orders some wings (extra hot). The beers keep coming.

The Marlins collect a run in the sixth inning off of Moyer and another in the seventh off of reliever Chad Durbin, making it 3-2 Phillies after seven innings.

The third quarter of the NFL game ends uneventfully with the score remaining 10-6 Eagles.

Eagles fans continue to playfully harass The Phan and his girlfriend watching the Phillies. The one nice Eagles fan swings by. “How they doing?” he asks. He’s pleased to hear they’re winning.

Third baseman Greg Dobbs leaves the game in the bottom of the seventh inning with an apparent foot injury. In his only at bat, Dobbs’ replacement, Pedro Feliz, proceeds to hit a two-run home run to deep left field, giving the Phillies some insurance with a 5-2 cushion.

In the fourth quarter, Jimmy Johnson’s Eagles defense is tenacious, picking up a safety, Brian Dawkins helps set up a field goal, and the Birds win the game 15-6.

Eagles fans pay their bar tabs and begin to exit, still razzing the two Phillies fans.

The bartender doesn’t switch all the TV’s to the Phillies game. Instead, they remain on the same channel for NFL post-game analysis.

Five Phillies relievers take care of the final three innings, including Brad Lidge, who needs 29 pitches in the ninth and strands two runners. It’s Lidge’s 40th save in as many chances. The Phillies win 5-2. Moyer, 45 years young, the oldest player in the majors, picks up the win, having pitched six innings in 90-degree sunshine.

Coupled with the Braves victory over the Mets, the Phillies extend their lead in the NL East to 1.5 games with just six games to play. The remaining bar patrons watch NFL analysis. No one watched the Phillies game besides this couple, not a single fan in this crowded bar.

The Phan pays his tab and leaves with his girlfriend. A 1987 Columbia blue, Phillies jersey and a 2007 pink camouflage Phillies hat walk through Center City Philadelphia; everyone else dressed in green, black or yellow.

About 40 days later Philadelphia changes almost instantaneously. Two million fans dressed in red — not green — lined up and down Broad Street for miles, a majestic sea of red, celebrating the first major championship in the city in 25 years.

Philadelphians wait in lines in the middle of the night to buy instantly-sold out Phillies playoff merchandise at Modell’s. The team begins selling retro, Columbia blue Phillies jerseys to the masses. No one asks The Phan about his jersey anymore, especially because last names weren’t on the backs of authentic batting jerseys in 1987. So his just says “PHILLIES” above Glennbo’s #12.

The bar where The Phan watched Moyer-versus-the-Marlins starts offering Phillies drink specials for all 162 Phillies games in 2009, their walls now covered in all red Phillies memorabilia; the Eagles and Flyers stuff have mostly been removed and replaced. “You have Phillies specials now? I was here during the Eagles-Steelers game last year, and you almost killed me for asking you to put on the Phils game that day.”

The bartender laughs. “Hey, man, I’m not going to deny that. We’re a business. Supply and demand.”

So, now four years later, we can sit back and examine the bell curve in fanhood. Everyone jumped on board, and now the majority seemingly have jumped off. It’s the fall of 2012, yet Phillies merchandise is oddly on sale in a corner in Modell’s, while everyone stocks up on green gear. Meanwhile, the Phillies team — now finally healthy — is playing much better of late. And yet it’s questionable, at best, if anyone really cares anymore, as indicated by the Phillies’ home game sellout streak coming to a halt earlier this season.

In November of 2010, The Phan walks into another crowded bar in Philadelphia. He wears a navy blue, Mitchell & Ness, Sixers flat brim hat. He eventually finds a barstool and sits down. A large tall man, The Behemoth, walks up behind The Phan, orders a beer and notices the hat. “Is that a Sixers hat? It takes a lot of guts to wear that in this town.”

The Phan sips his beer, knowing full well that The Behemoth can crush him. “You’re probably one of the same guys who made fun of me for wearing a Phillies hat before they won the World Series in ‘08.” The Behemoth studies The Phan up and down and walks away without a word.

So now, when September 21st rolls around and on Sundays during football season every year, The Phan walks into a bar in Philadelphia. He asks which TV will have the Phillies game on. He waits to see the bartender’s reaction. He orders a beer. He watches the game. He thinks about what it was like before the Phillies won the World Series in 2008.

A man walks into a bar … in Philadelphia on Sunday, September 21, 2008. Stop me if you heard this joke before: Do you remember where you were on September 21, 2008 with seven games remaining in the regular season? No. Seriously. Do you? Because I remember where I was.

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This Philly sports essay was originally posted online by the always-awesome ZooWithRoy.com, which you can always view by clicking here.
* Yes, this post is pre-dated on my blog here so the Eats/Shrugs can all be a row for your viewing pleasure. 

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November 11, 2011 by leemporter

lee writes: TECHNO-ROMANCE: WTF?… FTW!

This editorial/essay was originally posted online by The-Gaggle.com (then known as WTFisUpWithMyLoveLife.com) on March 29, 2011, which you can still view (with lots of cool still photos from my Web series WINK) by clicking here.
* Yes, this post is pre-dated on my blog here so the Eats/Shrugs can all be a row for your viewing pleasure. 

***

TECHNO-ROMANCE: WTF?… FTW!

by Lee Porter

 

Like it or not, we’re living in a techno-age. And, unless we want to become monks (or attend BYU – just joking, Danny Ainge!), for better or worse, we’re living in an age of techno-romance as well.

Aren’t sexting, tweets and relationship status updates so “romantic?” Awwww. (That’s sarcasm. Spoiler Alert: be prepared for more. A lot more.) So, we’re frustrated, right? Our boyfriends only text us and never call us to have “real” conversations on the phone. Our girlfriends are fun and flirty with total strangers on their social networking websites and blogs. Our partners sit glued to their cell phones, not communicating with us, as they BBM their friends during entire meals.

Shell-shocked by these behaviors (or lack thereof), we are left wondering – WTF Is Up With My Love Life?!

Well, more power to us, for that is exactly the right question to ask. Lucky us, we’ve won the prize of living (and dating) in what may be one of the most confusing times ever. Our communication methods have changed rapidly overnight. And, let’s face it, if communication has changed, then, yes, our dating and love lives have, too. So, now, we’re frustrated – and we’re on a website, of all places, looking for a cure to our techno-romance blues.

Well, rest assured. I’ve found our cure. (And, have no fear … No, it is not Charlie Sheen.) You’re asking “WTF?!” My short answer to you: “FTW.”

Confused? Good, I am, too.

As described above, our means of communication have not merely “changed,” as some may say. They have been absolutely obliterated, like the Death Star being blown up to smithereens. (Sorry for the Star Wars reference, ladies. It had to be done.) Thereby, our romantic interactions have been turned upside-down from what we’ve either experienced in the past, or grown up expecting our love lives to be.

Long-term dating (even marriage) can be shattered, so quickly and so severely, by social networking. Those first few weeks of dating, which should be so much fun in “Perfect Land,” can be jostled and overturned by relying on techno-communications and an extreme lack of personal communication. Heck, even hooking up can be less fun than it used to be, with mindless, going-through-the-motions 3AM text messages. We’re in a backwards, upside-down, topsy-turvy world. And many of us can agree: we’re outraged and frustrated.

We feel disconnected? We feel like everyone we date is unable to communicate with us? We feel like techno-romance is ruining everything? Well, maybe. But …

Look, it’s a natural habit to judge others but somehow fail to judge ourselves. But in order to deal with this WTF?! world, we need to look in the mirror.

Are we texting too much ourselves? Are we posting on Facebook walls instead of having private conversations? Are we Tweeting personal feelings? Are we being fun and flirty with total strangers online or on our blogs? (Okay, guilty as charged, but this is a guest blog, and I ain’t offering any juicy private details of my love life, so cut me some slack.)

To get even deeper: have we communicated our feelings to our partners? Have we explained that personal communication is essential for us (even if not for everyone) to maintain a healthy stable relationship? Obviously, communication is the key to any relationship – even when, in this case, we would be communicating about our communications.

So why are we not having real conversations? Why are we going to happy hours and kickball games with our partners (and a ton of other people) instead of going out for private romantic dinners or nice quiet walks? WTF?! What’s the answer? What’s the “FTW” to the “WTF?” Well …

I’m guessing you’ve notice that FTW is WTF backwards. (Wow, that Lee Porter sure is a brainiac guest blogger, huh?) But, simply put, that’s my answer to this techno-rat/rap/romance-race. Do exactly that. Look at everything backwards. Switch it up.

As Ray Liotta says to Sylvester Stallone in Cop Land (yup, I just dropped 1997’s Cop Land on you): “You don’t go down Broadway to get to Broadway! You zig! You zag!” As Missy Elliot raps (yup, a “Misdemeanor” reference): “Is it worth it, let me work it. I put my thing down, flip it and reverse it.” As Faith No More sings: “You want it all, but you can’t have it. It’s in your face, but you can’t grab it. Is it. What is it? Is it. What is it?” (I really wanted to squeeze FNM into this blog somehow. Mission accomplished.)

Look, these are weird times. So we need to figure it all out — including ourselves, as we get through these days. We need to hold ourselves responsible, learn and evolve for the better. Let’s face it, Twitter, Facebook, text messaging and the like ain’t going away. So instead of fighting the techno-age, seize it. Instead of pointing the finger at others, let’s look at ourselves.

There are plenty of people out there who still believe in homecooked dinner dates, who believe in handwritten Thank You cards, who believe in postcards while away on business trips, who won’t text us once a day, who won’t call us on the phone once a week, who won’t take advantage of technology to push us further away. The question is, are we romantically involved with such people? And is that even important to us? If so, are we going to find such people at the places where we are hanging out? Are we willing to sacrifice other attributes in order to find those right people for us, the ones who communicate in a fashion that doesn’t include simply texting us for the first time that day: “c u in 5”?

Personally, as a writer, I actually enjoy a lot about techno-romance. I love texts and emails, because it’s the ideal way for me to show off my (“brilliant”) personality and be (“amazingly”) flirtatious at the same time. And, if a woman isn’t able to charm me with her wit and personality, with her own words (or, at the very least, laugh at mine – or just laugh at me), then, more often than not, she and I probably are not the right match (no matter what a wonderful woman she may be).

Maybe we’re still longing for that old-school romance. Maybe we still want to be swept off our feet by Mister/Miss Perfect, while trumpets blare, as we sing and dance on the sidewalk in the rain, overjoyed with love, while Dr. Ruth, Frank Sinatra, and the fab WTF?! girls all give us their thumbs-up in approval. Okay, then. Well, here’s the kicker: KYP. Know Your Personnel. We’re in a “Press Send Now“ society, where no one thinks or takes responsibility for their words. Be the one to take responsibility, and then expect that others should do the same.

So, I guess, in the end, what I’m suggesting is that we stop trying to fight the new means of techno-romance that have frustrated us. We can sit there and complain about this screwed up world and the lack of phone calls we’re receiving from the people we’re currently dating. Or, we can switch it up, adjust, zig-zag, improvise, and turn our WTF into FTW.

Most of all, we can each seek to find someone who feeds off of our communications. After all, communication is a two-way street. If we speak and communicate with our partners (with everyone, for that matter), then we will end up happiest with someone who reciprocates that communication.

Life’s tough enough without the worrying. So keep on keepin’ on. Let’s all find someone who makes techno-romance fun (because it can be), and who also knows when and how to handwrite letters instead of sending text messages. Take it from a writer (who loves/hates technology), these people are out there.

WTF? … FTW.

***

This editorial/essay was originally posted online by The-Gaggle.com (then known as WTFisUpWithMyLoveLife.com) on March 29, 2011, which you can still view (with lots of cool still photos from my Web series WINK) by clicking here.
* Yes, this post is pre-dated on my blog here so the Eats/Shrugs can all be a row for your viewing pleasure. 

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