Peter McGraw of Solo fame categorizes four types of singles: 1) the “Someday.”  These folks are the classic “Someday my prince/princess will come”; 2) the “Just May.”  They want to “find their person,” but if it doesn’t happen, they’ll still continue to live their lives; 3) the “No Way.”  They have no interest in dating or partnership of any kind, either for now or forever; and 4) the “New Way,” who like dating and romance, but they don’t want to do what Amy Gahran refers to as “riding the relationship escalator.”  This concept refers to that prescribed series of steps a romance must take: dating, exclusivity, cohabitation, marriage, kids, white picket fence, etc.

I’ve always joked that I’m about 80% No Way and 20% New Way. Over the past year, I’ve wanted to give the “new way” style of dating a try.  I was in a lot of relationships and situationships and had a lot of flings throughout my 20s and 30s.  They never seemed to really take off.  As I’ve done a lot of reflecting, I’ve realized my heart was never really into making them “take off.”  I’ve had a couple of very meaningful short-term “situationships” and some longer-term ones that I felt obligated to guide toward the escalator.  My Soloesque thinking: instead of forcing myself to date according to the societal prescription, why not just date the way I have, but be more conscious and intentional about it?

I like to meet people organically, and I’m open to anything from FWBs (with emphasis on the “F”) to the type of relationship where we see each other once or twice a month.  And I’ve been on a few dates in the past year; I’m capable of being aesthetically attracted to another person, but oftentimes, when I converse with them, I lose that attraction, but I want to develop a friendship with that person.  I’d never been on an app before, and I always swore I’d never do them.  I’d been on websites like Match.com several years earlier.  I’d met some cool people and got into some relationships and situationships from there, but I found it to be a time suck.

But I figured it might be good to try an app just to get it out of my system.  The more mainstream apps like Tinder and Hinge seem to cater to people looking for the escalator, but I’d heard Feeld attracts those drawn to non-conventional options.  So I gave it a try.

I listened to the Solo episode on “Dating App Help (Hell)” where Peter and Jessalyn Dean advise on how to create a dating profile. I followed all of their suggestions: post pictures in different settings that reflect me (I had one of me in my workout gear, jogging; another was of me in a suit; another had me on a train, since I LOVE to travel by train); be upbeat and authentic (I did mention my identity as a cat Dad and my proclivity for laughing at my own jokes for extended periods of time).  I also mentioned I wasn’t looking to ride the escalator and that my primary partner was my work (both things are true).  And I informed all swipers I’d only be on for thirty days. 

My plan: only pay for the 30-day subscription.  This would allow me to “match” with unlimited people and send one “ping” (or message) per day. 

1. I’d swipe through fifty profiles each day (this takes a grand total of about four minutes). 
2. I’d read every single life through every single profile.  If a woman had no description or just one or two sentences on what she was looking for (“I’m looking for friends with benefits”), I’d swipe left.  If you can’t put any effort into your profile, then that doesn’t say much for how we’ll connect.
3. If I liked someone, I wouldn’t swipe it all until I got to fifty profiles.  Once I hit fifty, I’d look through the ones I like and narrow it down.  I would then send a message.
4. When writing, I’d always mention something I’d read in the profile.
5. I didn’t keep Feeld on my screen; I’d check it two or three times a day for updates.

The result: four matches, only one of which I swiped right on.  That person then exited the conversation.  The other three didn’t have anything interesting written on their profiles (one had nothing).  So, to quote Homer Simpson, “You tried your best, and you failed miserably.  The lesson is, never try.”

​My attitude really isn’t that fatalistic, but it may be accurate – at least, for me.  One thought I had was, “If someone responds, then I have to start committing time.”  And, much of the time, I didn’t like taking time from something else to devote to another person in that type of relationship.  So even though the experience wasn’t successful by conventional standards, I still learned something about myself and about the nature of dating.
That said, I can see why people can get hooked on dating apps.  Swiping can feel like dopamine.  And it can boost the ego to get “matched.”  There was a time when I would have “swiped right” just because you did, but that time has long since passed. 
To their credit, the owners have done their homework.  And they use it to get people to keep signing up, paying money, and swiping.  I always need these owners don’t want you to couple up, at least not for the long-term.  They may benefit from you going at it for a few months and then recommending the app to your friends, who then sign up.  And the apps make money, and people spend more time scrolling.  Meeting people in real life feels like an anomaly, just like me.
And I choose to live life as a Solo.  This experiment ultimately confirmed this desire.  And if you’re reading and want to give advice, I’d prefer you didn’t.  

Note: None of the content in this piece is true.  It's all fiction and my attempt at satire.

This week, the Davis Medical Center in Nashville, Tennessee faced a litany of protests for refusing fertility treatment to a straight married couple, Chad and Karen Witherbottom.  The doctor, Kevin Mondel, cited Tennessee’s newly passed Medical Ethics Defense Act as a reason, referring to the fact that a doctor refused natal care to a woman for being unmarried.  “If it can work one way,” Mondel said, “Why not the other?”

Lindy Weitz of Tennessean Christians for Marital Privilege did not agree with Mondel’s interpretation of the act, saying, “God said man was not meant to be alone, that’s why he gave Adam Eve.  So that belief is wrong and this doctor will be condemned to Hell.”

Senator Bill Hagerty (R-TN), whose staffers had recently told the woman, “he’s not obligated to listen to his constituents,” was able to meet immediately with the angry couple.  He had this to say: “While the Medical Ethics Defense Act does entitle this doctor to treat according to his beliefs, I believe it is wrong for him to do so.”  He then had to exit the interview for a round of golf.

Doctor Mondel then said, “Well, I guess they’ll just have to go to one of the many other clinics that cater to straight married couples.”  He then concluded our interview to attend to a trans identify teenager who’d been denied care on the basis of their existence.
   

I miss the days of kids delivering newspapers by foot or bike.  It’s mostly because at the age of thirteen, I was pulling $40 per week, a fortune to a middle-class kid in a two-parent household.  I’d gotten a savings account, which my Dad had nudged me to put in $10 toward every week.  Every Christmas and summer, I’d take $200 I’d saved and go nuts at the mall, buying VHS tapes, cassettes, and clothing.

During the summer before 10th grade, I’d gone to a camp where my bunkmates all indulged in impressions of Beavis and Butthead (huh huh huh), which got me watching it.  After summer ended, I started watching it, where I saw it.  Beavis and Butthead banging their heads to Black Sabbath’s classic, “Iron Man” and vocalizing that classic guitar riff.  I was hooked on it.  So during the following spree, I looked through the Sabbath cassettes and found a double-sided cassette of Paranoid and Heaven and Hell.  It played nonstop on my stereo while Dad mused, “So, you’re a headbanger now, eh?”  How prophetic a statement.

Thanks to Beavis and Butthead, I became exposed to AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” and Metallica’s “One.”  A friend, Steven, played Megadeth’s “Symphony of Destruction” and an acquaintance, Robert, made me a tape of Iron Maiden’s Fear of the Dark; all I had to do was ask.

I had friends, but I was a shy teen.  I wasn’t the best student, but I generally was polite and tried to do my best.  Some people say metal can lead to bad behavior; in my case, it did cause me to start pushing boundaries.  I tried to grow my hair long (though it seemed to grow out instead of down).  I befriended some of the “freaks.”  I took up smoking cigarettes.  I started ditching classes. At one point, I mouthed off to a Spanish teacher who, in my mind, was picking on me.  When I attempted to ride home on my friend Evan’s bus, and the driver tried to kick me off because I wasn’t on his route, I stood there and stared him down.  Classmates helped me hide under a seat and clothed me in a hoodie while said driver grabbed a security guard (he didn’t think to check under the seat?).

I also picked up the guitar, which I’ve played on and off as an adult; I’ve been known to bust it out for my students on occasion.  And as someone who’s “joined the system” (tenured professorship and mortgage), my hair’s shortened back up, and if a security guard tells me to do something, I’ll generally do it, even if I think the rule is ridiculous.

I’ve widened my musical tastes; I was a peripheral part of the jamband scene for years, although that’s giving way to more varied forms of entertainment.  But that rebellious streak remains, and I channel it in my work.  Singlism and matrimania are rampant in our world; it exists in our policies, our media tropes, our business practices, and our everyday interactions.  I can be a bit pointed in the way I push back at times, but I’ve sought to help bring it to others’ attention through my writing; it’s become my brand, enough that I’ve published, presented, and been asked to speak on the subject on radio and TV.

I’ve heard it said that our core self never changes.  Even as a child, when my first-grade teacher would have us repeat, “A city is a place with lots of people,” I would substitute “people” with “cars,” “buses,” and “buildings.”  It never got a reaction.  But even then, I was questioning things most people take for granted.
​
Celebrity deaths don’t usually hit me that hard; not since Neal Peart of Rush passed was I so affected.  While I don’t have Ozzy’s entire discography, his music marked the beginnings of a key transition in my adolescence, and, subsequently, my personality and outlook.  And I still bang my head to his tunes; as I write this in a Starbucks, “After Forever” plays on my headphones, and I bang my head lightly.  He’ll always fuel my life and work, even if it’s subliminal.

I spent a lot of time on the New Jersey Transit in my early 20s, as I commuted from Suffern, NY to Manhattan for my first post-college job.  It was here that I became familiar with the short-lived show, Freaks and Geeks, through an advertisement on the New Jersey Transit. The title was intriguing, and since I was a bit of both in high school, it seemed like it could speak to me.  But I didn’t bother searching for it on TV; I was too busy carousing with my friends.

But it found me one Tuesday night; I caught the tail end of the episode, “The Diary,” where Bill makes prank phone calls to his physical education teacher.  A few nights later, I watched the “geeks” race around a go-cart track and the “freaks” party before a Who concert in “Dead Dogs and Gym Teachers.”  I gradually made my way toward watching the episodes, and I came to see myself in most of the characters, especially Nick and Lindsay.

This was in my early 20s. When the DVD collection was released in the format of a high school yearbook, I scooped it up immediately.  I’ve watched it many times over the years, and I’ve introduced it to quite a few friends, who got hooked (save for Shari, a lady I was dating; our relationship didn’t last much longer after she revealed she hated it).

I recently came across a video yearbook of a high school near where I grew up (not my own; we didn’t have the budget or manpower for such a luxury).  I have a habit on scrolling on YouTube during the summer, when I don’t have to be up super-early to get to campus.  And as I watched it, I wondered, what it would be like if I went there?  And I thought back to my own high school years where I explored as both freak and geek.


I always identified with Lindsay on many levels, and as I’ve delved into the worlds of Singles Studies and singles advocacy, I started to see Lindsay as a potential single at heart.  So I figured, an excuse to watch Freaks and Geeks again, and an excuse to write.


I wasn’t popular in elementary or middle school; my braces, skinny figure, short temper, and habit of spacing out in class did not make for a good experience.  By high school, I found my tribes through theater and video production (including a failed attempt to get a video yearbook going).  And, by 10th grade, the repressed anger I felt at being ostracized let itself out through banging my head to thrash metal, as well as sporting shirts the likes of Iron Maiden, Megadeth, and White Zombie.  As I was discovering my creative side through making videos, those shirts gave way to a long brown coat and Ivy League hat worn backwards.  And a lot of coffee and cigarettes.  I took a painting class my senior year; one of them likened our school principal to Adolf Hitler.  I questioned school policies I found to be silly.


Nearly thirty years later, those two characters still exist within me.  I do own one Iron Maiden T-shirt and an Ivy League hat, though I’ve spun it around to the front.  And I’ve “kinda” joined the system, having gotten tenure at my university and started paying a mortgage in the past year.  I no longer smoke, and my coffee intake is limited to one cup in the morning.  But I still question a lot of things, most notably the notion that one must be “coupled up.”  I never thought I’d build a brand around it (and, at 17, I had girlfriends and crushes; the last thing I thought I’d be was happily single).


Lindsay goes through quite an arc during the show, and it saddens me NBC didn’t see fit to give it a fair shot (a Saturday night slot?  Really?).  But her romantic experiences make me see her as a single at heart.


When she first joins up with the freaks, she’s crushing on Daniel, the leader of the group and overall “bad boy.”  His girlfriend, Kim, is initially threatened by her, but eventually warms up to her, and they’re best friends by series’ end.  However, in “Tests and Breasts,” she tries to help him cheat on a math test; at the end of the episode, she discovers how he’d been manipulating her throughout.  They stay friends, but any hope for romance is dashed there.  Some girls would’ve continued to go along.  But not Lindsay.


In “I’m with the Band,” the following episode, Lindsay encourages Nick, an aspiring dummer, to audition for a professional rock band in order to avoid getting sent to the army.  He becomes despondent when it bombs, and out of concern, Lindsay kisses him.  This leads to a short romance during which Nick becomes clingy and needy.  A more codependent type might lean into that, but Lindsay needs her space.  I’ve said that so many times in my life.  This doesn’t necessarily make her single at heart; clinginess is a turnoff for most people.  But I didn’t think Lindsay was that into it to begin with; the way she invites Nick to see The Elephant Man seems labored and compulsory.


She does feel attraction, though.  In “Noshing and Moshing,” she’s even more disillusioned with high school after getting detention for defending a girl from a male harasser.  She soon links up with Barry, the older brother of Neil, one of her brother Sam’s friends (did you follow that?).  Barry’s gone onto college and regales Lindsay with the idea that in college, you can reinvent himself.  Lindsay locks lips with Barry, and there’s the potential for, at the very least, a summer fling when Barry returns.  And I enjoyed their connection.  For Lindsay, Barry’s more than just a potential romantic partner; he represents her desire for something beyond her small town.  I felt the same thing; whereas most of my classmates have stayed in my hometown, I’ve moved around the country; academe is a nomadic field.


A final revelation of Lindsay’s potential single at heartedness: in the finale, “Discos and Dragons,” Lindsay’s found out she’s been invited to an “academic summit,” where the smartest kids in the state of Michigan get together to match wits.  At 47, I’d find this exciting, but not so sure at 17.  In her venting to Kim, her friend reveals she’d like to get out of town too, but “Daniel never wants to go anywhere.”  “Go without him,” is Lindsay’s instinctive response.  That is something a Single at Heart would say.  The last scene of the series has Lindsay and Kim linking up with a pair of hippie classmates to follow the Grateful Dead; for me, it was Phish, and that didn’t happen until college.


An interesting side note: Kim and Daniel’s relationship is toxic, even by high school standards; I counted three breakups through the course of the eighteen episodes, and according to Nick, they break up every week.  Their latest one provides Kim with the opportunity to explore Deadhead culture (and the country) with Lindsay.  Similarly, Daniel ventures out of freak world to play Dungeons & Dragons with the geeks, and he has a good time doing so.  They’re better off without each other.


In addition to being single at heart, Lindsay is a true rebel, something I really admire and have taken with me into adulthood.  Going back to Lindsay’s questioning of what’s accepted, she stands up for anybody being picked on.  In the pilot, she stands up for Eli, a kid with a disability, twice, soon after defending Sam from Alan, the geeks’ #1 bully.  During her stint in detention, she fights against the policy that “you can’t do homework during detention” by insisting that she’s doing her homework.  In “The Little Things,” Mr. Rosso, her hippie guidance counselor, selects her to ask VP George H.W. Bush a question during his visit to school.  When her insightful question is rejected in favor of the softball “What is your favorite place to eat in the state of Michigan,” she fights back by asking Bush why his staff rejected her original question.  Her fellow freaks, along with Mr. Rosso, could not look more proud.


Throughout life, we all go through different stages and phases, which is why Lindsay is such a relatable character.  No matter who we were as teenagers (or are as adults), we go through different stages and explore different things.  But Lindsay’s potential single at heartedness resonates deeply with me, given my own exploration of that world, through my writing and living.  And I think the reason most people were turned on by the show is that it’s just so relatable.  Single at heart or not, everyone should observe Lindsay for those eighteen episodes.     It’ll be different for every person, but there’s something about her that will resonate with everyone.


Unless you’re Shari.

I know one song by Coldplay, “Clocks,” which played on the radio nonstop during my 20s.  And they never made it to the front of my rotation.  But now, they’re all over the place since Andy Byron, the CEO of Astronomer, a tech-company, and Kristin Cabot, the company’s Chief People Officer (HR?), were caught canoodling at a show on their “kiss cam.”


As always, social media and the Internet have been eating this up.  “Coldplayed” is now a verb.  There’s the joke that “Coldplay” never made a single, but now they’ve made two.  Hardeeharhar!


I love writing about how overprescribed marriage is in our world.  Society defines “success” as marriage, children, family, white picket fence, etc.  I’m not a marriage counselor (obviously), but  I have a few thoughts:

1. I go to a lot of concerts, and I see a lot of male-female pairings (my most recent experience was with a platonic female friend).  I see some folks canoodling and making out, and now I can wonder: is someone cheating?
2. When a spouse cheats, it’s usually the third party who’s the subject of all the vitriol and mockery, especially if the “side piece” is a woman, but I wonder: what’s the man’s role?  It takes two to tango, doesn’t it?  Megan, Andy’s wife, could sue Cabot according to the “alienation of affection” law, which is ridiculous.  Cabot is getting a lot of flack, but I’m glad to see Andy is as well.
3. As overprescribed as marriage is, I don’t endorse or condone adultery.  It’s not because I’m so moral.  I support consensual non-monogamy for those who want it.  But even that’s based on honesty and transparency.  Dishonesty?  Not cool.  I do believe much of the mockery of this pair comes from our expectation of monogamy as “the standard,” but when you sign up for that life, you need to be like The Dude and abide.
4. Finally, what’s going on behind the scenes of that marriage where the husband is cheating, and so publicly?  I’m not a telepath or marriage counselor, but I’m guessing he’s facing some issues where he’s lying to his wife.  And the fact that she immediately refers to him as an idiot on her social media page tells me she doesn’t think much of him.

I was listening to the “Success” episode of Three Single Women, one of my favorite podcasts, when I came up with this idea.  All three of these current singletons were questioning traditional notions of success.  At first glance, the Byrons likely have the picture perfect definition of success: money, prestige, the family, each other.  But I would join in this trio in advising anyone who’s down on themselves about being single to remember not to compare your behind the scenes footage to another’s highlight reel.  As much as I sympathize with Megan and the kids, the Byrons are more than likely about to see their highlight reel unfold.   


And by that point, the cybersphere will have long since forgotten about them.  Sadly, their kids won’t.  And they call childfree folks selfish?  Hmmmm...

I am forever grateful for my Grateful Dead-loving friend Pete.  He had texted me some pictures from the Psychedelicatessen exhibit at the Jewish Museum of Maryland, a psychedelia-themed art exhibit by an artist named Steve Marcus, which merges Jewish culture and psychedelia (including some Grateful Dead references, including Terrapin Station).


I made sure to sport the tie-dye Grateful Dead T-shirt I got at Virginia Beach’s Half Moon Cafe.  The MARC up was soothing as usual.  Waiting for the bus (a la ZZ Top) was not, as it never came.  So I walked; this journey included broken walking signs and a shut-down of a street on my map; it was a long strange trip, for sure.  But I did it make there and was greeted by a nice young lady with a Shabbat tattoo on her arm, who said, “I guessed from your shirt you were here for the exhibit.”  A good assumption to make, but I do have an interest in history, and although I don’t practice Judaism anymore, I do love the history and culture.


Below are a few pictures of the exhibit:

I was in full Deadhead mode, as I had the likes of “Touch of Grey,” “Brokedown Palace,” and “Eyes of the World” piping through my headphones.  But those pictures of knishes and pastrami had me wanting a nice big meal from a nice Jewish deli.  

I explored the rest of the museum, which included an old newsletter called Generations; this periodical consists of stories of Jews who had emigrated to Maryland from the Holocaust, and there were some interesting-looking magazines, including a story with a nod to a rabbi who had never married.  No judgment from the writer, just a statement of fact.  That made me think of Paul, who posited that some are better suited for single hood if they’re serving God.  I’m not religious, but I do believe my single hood has positioned for serving my fellow humans through advocating for those who are single, either by choice or by circumstance.  

There were some cool videos too, including some of musical performances, as well as podcasts that narrated tales of Jewish settling in Maryland.  I was done after about an hour.  When I got out, I saw a building called Weiss’s Deli; I figured I’d just see if they had anything.  The line blocked any possible view of snacks or drinks, so I moved along and passed by Attman’s Deli, the sign of which reflected a true old-school Jewish deli.  It’s a Black neighborhood now, and the deli is quite popular among them.  It was cool to see Blacks and whites working side by side behind the counter and eating together in the nicely decorated dining room.  I’d never had a hot dog with bologna on it, so I figured it would tide me over nicely.  A Doc Brown’s soda is also a requirement in any Jewish deli anywhere.

Afterwards, I rode the Baltimore subway for the first time, which isn’t much different from DC, but I do love subways.  And before the pandemic, I loved writing in coffee shops.  I don’t do it much anymore, but since I was set to meet my friend Alicia at an Italian restaurant called Viccino Italian Gourmet, and I was about an hour early, I thought I’d start this post at Starbucks with more Dead sounds in my ears (live versions of “Walking Blues” and “Terrapin Station,” as well as “Casey Jones” and “Althea,” provided the soundtrack for this round).

Alicia and I then met at a local diner where we held a deep conversation, much of which revolved around being single at heart.  It's always nice to find like-minded folks.