how to meet a quality guy in three minutes or less

I wanted to write about how to meet a quality guy in three minutes or less, but after my Speed Dating Debacle last night, the truth is, I HAVE NO IDEA.

My dear friend Keri and I have been discussing a speed dating adventure for the last several months, mostly because it's such a New York thing to do, and because it seems like a really good idea -- sit down with a guy for seven minutes, see if there's any chemistry and whether there is or not, move on. What we didn't take into account was the fact that there could possibly be a speed dating event with so many social rejects in one place.

[Oops, I got judgmental there for a second. (Don't worry, it's only going to get worse.) This post is not for the faint of heart, the easily offended or any of the men who were at that bar last night.]

Our major mistake for the evening was having picked "International Night." We thought that meant there would be a variety of men in a variety of colors, and not just your run-of-the-mill white guys in suits. What it actually meant was that only three of the participants were from the US, and the rest of them had accents stronger than their biceps. Keri now calls it the "United Colors of Benetton" Speed Dating. It also meant (thank god!) that the dates would be only three minutes so that "everybody could meet everybody."

We got a drink, settled at our tables (8 and 9, respectively) and got ready to start our evening of three minute "dates." However, the first guys we sat with were there for almost ten minutes, until the organizer got her shit together... which meant that those "dates" streteched out into an unknown eternity. (Please note that mine was spent with Hiro, and Keri's was spent with Yu.) Finally, the gong went off and they moved on down the line.

Here's a composite rundown of the men we met, compiled by both me and Keri:

Hiro N.
Keri aptly describes Hiro in her notes as "off the boat Japan." He was a tall, good looking Japanese accountant who knew about seven words in English, five of which were "you understanding what I say?" I tried to talk to him about Murakami, a Japanese author whose book I'm reading right now, but I'm pretty sure he said something about hard-boiled eggs. Maybe we were talking about sushi?

The verdict: We don't need another Hiro.

Yu K.
Ha! I just realized that Yu K's name looks like "Yuk" which is what his breath smelled like. I have no idea what I talked to him about. All I remember is that he was short, bald and had the worst breath I've smelled since that homeless guy in Grand Central.

Keri, however, recalls a whole conversation with him.

Yu: New York women are too picky, that is why they are single.

Keri: Hmmm, did you ever think that maybe we choose to be single?

Yu: (stunned silence)

Keri: So, you're from Burma? What's that like?

The verdict: It would only be fun to go out with Yu because your friends would call and say "Who are you going out with tonight?" and you'd say "Yu" and they'd say "No, I can't I'm busy."

Geoff D.
I don't recall what I discussed with Geoff either. I do know, however, that it had nothing to do with trucks, which was a miracle, given the fact that the gap between this guy's front teeth was so big, I spent the whole three minutes imagining what kind of trucks could drive through it. He was Scottish, but lacked enough of an accent to qualify him as Automatically Attractive Because He's Scottish, and I think he plays the piano. Keri notes, and I'm not 100% sure I agree, that he resembled Gollum.

Verdict: If the trucks in his mouth would honk their horns when you make that elbow-horn-yanking motion, then... maybe.

John D.
John D. works for a non-profit that starts charter schools. I admired his willingness to do more to further public education, and whipped out the soundbyte that I had heard on the news just that morning, that NY public school funding was being cut by $20 million (or something), but beyond that, I have no recollection of the other three minutes. Keri's notes reflect much of the same thing -- she says "apparently he wasn't offensive enough or memorable enough to get more than a 'something' note" on her paper. He bore a slight resemblance, I think, to Montogmery Burns.

Verdict: I'm sorry, was I supposed to be paying attention?

Tom T.
Tom T. is a special case. On our way to the event, a nerdy, creepy guy approached us and asked if we knew the neighborhood well. We said "kind of" and he asked if there was a Washington Mutual bank nearby. (We were right next to Madison Square, which boasts a big, fat WaMu logo.) We directed him inside there, and as he walked away, I said to Keri, "He's probably going to get cash so he can buy us drinks!"

Um, yeah, he was. Keri notes, "I would like to point out that I actually referred to the book 'The Gift of Fear' when we met this guy on the street. I almost fell out of my chair when he came into speed dating!"

The verdict: There ain't enough cash in all the WaMu's in the world.

Alan F.
Poor Alan F. He was funny(ish), spoke good English and knew how to have a conversation (for three minutes). Keri points out that he was carrying a hard-sided briefcase, which nobody does anymore, and my notes reflect that he knows all about the gentrification of 5th Avenue in Park Slope. He was doing fine, until the intermission (when they served us bland, tasteless cookies and mealy fruit salad) when he told us the plot of Auto Focus, a story about a sex-crazed man and the Indian--I mean, Native American -- who end up having foursomes together that were videotaped and the Indian -- I mean, Native American -- ends up killing the guy who's addicted to sex because he wants to give it up and the Indian -- I mean, Native American -- doesn't want to and will die without sex. (note: those are his caveats, not mine.)

At the end of the plot synopsis, Keri rightfully called him out for having turned a perfectly fine conversation into a story about foursomes. She also later referred to him as the "creepy old dad who looks like Ed Asner."

Verdict: Would you date Ed Asner -- I mean, Alan F.?

Mike D.
The extent of Keri's notes? "Spanish from Queens." Mine? "Software." Not much to be said for Mike D., although he does get credit for getting Keri's Beastie Boys reference.

Verdict: Check the lyrics, Mike. It's No Sleep 'Till Brooklyn, not Queens. Sorry!

Intermission (with the nasty cookies and fruit) came two guys later, but since this is the actual halfway mark, I'm feeling the need for a drink.

Check back for the second half...