I was out at a bar with a friend of mine the other night. This friend is a neurotic catastrophe (I don't mean that in a negative way) but has one indelible saving grace: he's really good looking. He's a tall, brawny, tanned work of physical symmetry. And he's also a warbling gyroscope of emotional issues. The benefit of going out to bars with him is that the frequency of being approached by random woman increases terrifically compared to what I would experience on my own. And it reminds me that hitting on people is stupid. This is a prejudice I've had for a long time. It treats attraction and the metaphysics of romantic affinity as if they were a sport that can be won or lost through the application of some obtuse skill. It's one thing to like somebody and not feel embarrassed about showing it to them publicly, but it's another thing entirely to pull out the hard sell and convince someone that you're the number one king pimpette.
Read More...