Louisville Magazine

FEB 2015

Louisville Magazine is Louisville's city magazine, covering Louisville people, lifestyles, politics, sports, restaurants, entertainment and homes. Includes a monthly calendar of events.

Issue link: https://loumag.epubxp.com/i/453014

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LOUISVILLE MAGAZINE 2.15 39 We polled 50 Louisvillians about dating in our city. SCHOOL BAR THROUGH FRIENDS PUBLIC EVENT WORK Where'd you meet your signifcant other? (of the 50, 21 were in a relationship) he living room is starting to feel like a counselor's ofce, some heartbreak hotel. Your two roommates ponder the serious question, "Where is the love?" It's a conversation you've been part of many times before, that mope without a mop. When asked, say, "Ain't here," rubbing the love seat's empty seat beside you. Joke, "No lust, nor luster. Except Buster." He's the fufy white dog next door. Caden on the couch wants a real connection with a man, something spiritual. Tisha, the token lesbian, says she's decided. She's giving up on love. One-hundred percent dunzo. No time for it anyhow. You're the straight one on the lease. Te three of you imagine a TV show: Te Girl and Gays. Caden, the yoga-teaching cat-cuddler; Tisha, the angry artist with a hammer in her hand; and you, failing about, trying to write it all down. Tisha gives a frustrated moan, and Caden says, "It's OK, babe." All this sad talk. Feel it, but consider love lightly. Easier that way. Besides, you're 24 years old with a prefrontal cortex still developing, as your mom likes to remind you. You can't make any promising decisions! Nor know love! But you do know that tonight it is cold, and cold can feel lonely. November and already these winter weather patterns, snow on the ground. Take a sip of your Schlafy Pumpkin Ale and remember last fall, when you were warm in the arms of a lover until the last of the icicles melted. It was your frst real relationship. Te only tornados that spring were love's miniature catastrophes, debris fnally outweighing the sweet swirl. It was enough to haunt you out of any romantic relationship for several seasons to come. Now you're steady on the ice. Now you're on assignment. When your editor tells you February's issue should explore "singles in Louisville," you pipe up fast, say, "Hey, I'm single in Louisville!" Volunteer yourself to the dating world to fnd out how it works 'round these parts. Tink: Fun! No problem! Get the fshing poles ready, you excited little guinea pig, you. E It's a wicked world on Tinder, the dating application you downloaded on your phone. In your spot on the love seat, zone out, lapse into an obsessive state of swiping pictures and "About Me" blurbs. Look profles for wordplay, avoid clichés, think Hmmm or Hell. Each person becomes a quiet interest or the brunt of a joke. Oh, look! Here's Seth, 27, playing the bass! Right up your alley. Not that you play music, but you understand a bass line thanks to Victor Wooten. Seth's tall with a long neck and longer teeth. Says he moonlights as the duck at the Quick Quack Car Wash. Wonder if he's actually a girafe moonlighting as a human. You're kidding. You're sorry. Say no, swipe left. Oh, look! Here's Marcus, 24, all Card City pretty, repping University of Louisville merchandise in each picture. He swells his tatted scripture biceps. Read he's on a mission for God, Bible Belt slapped on his wrist like his fat Casio. Your last name, Christian, is the only thing religious about you. Probably wouldn't work. Tink: Sorry, pops. Swipe left. Tis is beginning to feel like grocery shopping in all the wrong aisles: "Work hard, party harder!" and "Living life to the fullest!" Left. Pictures of only abdomens. Nice, but left. Well, whew-wee, here's some pie! Ryan, 25, naked with only a gun covering his goods. At least he's carefree, but that kind of fearlessness frightens you. Left. Oh, look, here's Caleb, 24. Blondie with a smooth face. Says he's just moved back to the area from out-West travels. Each picture is in nature. Picture yourself with him in nature, breathing trees. Swipe yes. Wait. By golly, it's a match! Caleb said yes to you, too. He joins the other matches in your inbox, which usually sit stagnant, neither you nor whoever saying "Hey." Nobody wants to make the frst move. When conversation does start to fow, it is often dammed with your forgetting, getting back to real life. Tink about going to bed or reading a book or the New Yorker. Instead, read a new Tinder message from Joey. Also a nature lover, also a pun appreciator. Last lines of his About Me: "How do you titillate an ocelot? You oscillate its tits a lot." No idea what it means, but it makes you laugh and laugh. Since your frst message (you with a classy, "Hey, betch"), the two of you have talked Louisville-rapper Jalin Roze, fried chicken and Resurfaced, the pop-up plaza last fall on Main Street, where, surprise (!), he saw you working your part-time photo booth job, and, surprise (!), wasn't sure if he should approach in person. Joey's messages seem carefully worded, and he makes good sentences. His next sentence is a question, "Want to see Hannibal Buress with me next week?" Your next sentence is an answer, "As long as it's not Hannibal Lecter, yes." E Before you leave, check the bathroom mirror. You've curled your shoulder-length blond hair and it's got a nice spritz of argan oil sheen. Keep your makeup simple, mascara framing your bright browns. Wear the gold headband, no headband, what's it matter?: headband. Wear your trusty black jeans. It's almost 7 o'clock, and you can't fnd your keys. Start to freak you'll be late to meet Joey. Tisha walks in the door as you upturn a couch cushion. She's home from the Tim Faulkner Gallery and on the phone with her mom. She mouths, Where ya going? Say, "Date." Your news becomes world's news. "Guess what, Mom?! Arie's got a big date!" Everybody screams good luck. Find your keys on the foor by your bed and then in the ignition. It's not a far skip from Germantown, where you live, to the Laughing Derby, at the Mid-City Mall in the Highlands. In the car, blast 91.9 WFPK, "World Cafe," David Dye so pleasant. Somehow you are not nervous. You're not planning conversations in your head, not already asking him questions, as you usually do. You are simply driving up the "Tere's never anything conclusive, just an endless series of tests." — Lorrie Moore, Self-Help Looking for love — but mostly on assignment.

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