In honor of tonight’s season finale of The Mentalist, I decided to write about a subject I spend a lot of time thinking about even though it has no bearing on reality. Specifically, Patrick Jane (the titular character in The Mentalist) and Bruce Wayne (a.k.a. Batman) are remarkably similar in many respects. Don’t worry, this post doesn’t contain any spoilers.

Let’s start with Batman, since many of you are probably more familiar with him. Bruce Wayne witnessed his parents murder as a child, and was then raised by his butler, Alfred. Wayne is independently wealthy after inheriting his parent’s fortune, and as an adult, he uses this money become a kick-ass crime fighter known only as Batman. Batman is often referred to as “The World’s Greatest Detective,” and his arch-nemesis is a criminal known as The Joker.

Patrick Jane is exceptionally observant as well as brilliant, and for a number of years he used these skills to work as a psychic. Not surprisingly, the ability to read minds and communicate with the dead is highly sought after, and Jane became quite wealthy. At one point however, Jane criticized an infamous California serial killer known as Red John on a talk show interview. Red John retaliated by killing Jane’s wife and young daughter. After the murder of his family, Jane admitted he was a fraud and that psychics don’t exist. Instead, he began using his skills to become a homicide investigator with the California Bureau of Investigation, provided he could also investigate any and all Red John murders.

At first glance, it doesn’t appear that Wayne and Jane have much in common. For starters, Jane never wears a cape and cowl. However, both men are skilled investigators who work with police to fight crime. Both men are also insanely rich. Bruce Wayne is permanently scarred by the death of his parents, and Jane is irreversibly damaged by the death of his family. In other words, both men are completely crazy.

A few years ago, I read The Dark Knight Returns for a literature class. Before we started reading the professor said, “It’s important to remember that Batman is just as crazy as The Joker. The only difference is that Batman is obsessed with justice, while The Joker is obsessed with chaos.” It’s not hard to argue that Bruce Wayne is, in fact, totally nuts. He has no close friends except for Alfred and a young boy who is also his adopted son/sidekick, and he created an alter ego for himself called Batman: a grown man who dresses up like a bat to fight crime. Wayne also has a number of unresolved issues with his parents’ death, and possibly struggles with substance abuse. The only reason Batman is accepted is because he limits his appearances to fighting crime. If Batman showed up at the grocery store to buy orange juice there would probably be a riot.

Patrick Jane is just as crazy as Bruce Wayne, he’s just much more subtle. There’s a wonderful moment in The Mentalist’s fourth season, where the director of the CBI informs Jane he has been observing him, and has come to the conclusion that Jane is a psychopath. In typical Jane fashion, he’s amused by this and doesn’t seem remotely surprised. Jane’s obsession with Red John is focused to the point of complete recklessness and utter paranoia. Jane doesn’t care if he dies trying to catch Red John, as long as Red John dies with him. Over and over, Jane repeatedly puts his own life and the lives of other investigators at great risk, all in the name of catching Red John. Jane also suffers from the belief that any person outside of his investigating team could be working with Red John. However, just as Kurt Cobain pointed out, just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not after you.

Of course, any discussion of Batman or Patrick Jane wouldn’t be complete without mentioning their nemeses. The Joker is Batman’s sworn enemy, just as Jane has sworn to kill Red John. What’s unique about each of these relationships is that none of these men would be able to exist without their counterpart. Would The Joker still be The Joker if Batman stopped chasing him? Would Batman still fight crime if The Joker wasn’t always escaping from Arkham? Would Jane still investigate murders if Red John disappeared? Would Red John still be a serial killer if Jane stopped hunting him? The answer to all of these questions is a resounding ‘no.’ All four of these men have built their identities around their enemies, creating a symbiotic (and sometimes weirdly homoerotic) relationship. Neither can exist without the other, and if they do, that existence is drastically changed.

All of these similarities aside, Red John and The Joker bear little resemblance to one another. The Joker is always making himself visible to everyone, especially Batman. Red John’s power comes from his absence. Throughout The Mentalist’s six seasons, Red John only has a handful of fleeting appearances, and he’s never fully visible in any of them. He prefers to communicate and make himself known through coded messages, one of his followers, or his signature smiley face.

I suspect, however, that Red John’s reign as The Mentalist’s primary villain is coming to an end. The show’s writers know that Red John can’t continue to evade capture in any realistic fashion. And when Red John is caught, Jane has made it clear he will kill him, effectively eliminating any future Red John story lines. For those of you who follow The Mentalist, it seems like the writers are trying to position the Visualize cult as an alternative nemesis for Jane. I’m willing to see how that turns out, but I’m not exactly looking forward to it.

In any case, let’s hope tonight’s season finale is excellent.

Now that you’re thoroughly informed, let’s review. The Manic Pixie, or Manic Pixie Dream Girl, is a common trope in modern cinema. This video is clear that Manic Pixies only exist as fictional movie characters. Thus, it’s safe to say that Manic Pixies don’t exist.

Or do they?

I’m asking because I’m certain that I know a real-life Manic Pixie. We have met face to face, conversed, hung out, and shared physical contact. I’m confident she is not a robot created by the film industry to perpetuate the idea of Manic Pixies. I’ll refer to her as Laura.

Why am I certain Laura is a Manic Pixie? Well, after watching the above video, you’ll notice that all of these characters share several major traits. They are all exceedingly attractive (or just extremely cute), bubbly, spontaneous, quirky, and creative. Laura is all of those things. In addition, Laura owns a cat named after a variety of pasta. She wears oversized glassed that are so out of style they are in style. She is a backup singer and multi-instrumentalist in an alternative rock band. In addition to singing with this band, Laura plays keyboard, xylophone (!), and she has a floor tom she is likely to bang on without provocation. She also does a bit of whistling. Outside of the band, Laura plays a number of  other instruments. She may or may not play ukulele.

Like the Manic Pixie stereotype, Laura has a job, but unless her employment situation has drastically changed since I last saw her, I wouldn’t say she has a career. She’s never said this to me, but I’m sure she is avoiding any sort of long-term career out of the hope that her band will make it big. Laura is also a vegan.

I realize there are hundreds if not thousands of women who happen to meet the same criterion I’ve just listed for Laura. Not all attractive, female, vegan multi-instrumentalists with oversized glasses are Manic Pixies. I hope not, anyway. Whether or not you agree that Laura is a Manic Pixie, that fact that I’ve observed a number of similarities between her and this trope of characters raises some interesting questions. Chief among them: which came first, the real-life Manic Pixie, or the cinematic Manic Pixie? The above video contends that Manic Pixies only exist in the minds of depressed, heterosexual male screenwriters. Isn’t it possible that these male screenwriters created the idea of Manic Pixies based on women they knew in real life? I sincerely wish I could introduce the narrator of this video to Laura. I suspect the narrator would become angry and hate Laura for allegedly promoting a negative stereotype. The narrator’s anger will sadden Laura, prompting her to make vegan cookies for everyone because that’s just who she is.

It may seem like I’m demeaning Laura by referring to her as a Manic Pixie, or that I have an intense dislike for Laura as a person. I’m actually quite fond of Laura, and for a long time I had an enormous crush on her. But am I demeaning her? I don’t know. I think I’m trying to answer that by writing this post.

Let me reiterate: for a long time I had an enormous crush on Laura. She’s into music, she’s passionate about her beliefs, she’s beautiful, and she’s generally a lot of fun to be around. What’s not to like? To be honest, I would still have a crush on Laura if I wasn’t painfully aware of her affinity for beards. Since I only shave about once every three years, I realized it just wasn’t going to happen.

More importantly though, what does the fact that I had a crush on Laura say about me? Am I just as sexist as all of the screenwriters who created the Manic Pixie trope, or have I merely fallen victim to the creation of a false ideal? Again, I don’t know, but I’d really like to find out.

Perhaps Laura became a Manic Pixie by choice. Perhaps Laura saw the appeal of fictional Manic Pixies, and she decided to take things one step further. Thus, bringing the trope to life and having lots of gloomy, down-and-out dudes (preferably bearded) fall for her left and right. This is possible, but unlikely. First of all, Laura is a tremendously honest and good person. Even if she did decide to manufacture this persona, she would eventually cave from guilt, come clean, and apologize to all of the men who’ve fallen for her by making them vegan cakes (did I mention Laura likes to bake?). Also, I don’t think Laura has the acting chops to pull this off. Granted, I’ve never seen her act, but I also don’t think Meryl Streep or Daniel Day-Lewis could play such a role for as long as I’ve known Laura. Even if they could, they would definitely go batshit crazy at some point, and Laura is as sane as anyone.

All of this has raised far more questions than answers, but I’m okay with that. It would be the height of arrogance for me to think I could resolve a complex gender politics issue in a blog post. That’s something maybe Chuck Klosterman could do (since he’s famous, and much much smarter than I am), but not me. It’s more important that men and women start talking about the issue of Manic Pixies in film, and maybe then we can move on to the task of deconstructing Laura.

For now though, I think it’s best if I leave you with this clip:

Brandon Schwartzel, Max Keuhn, Zac Carper, and Elvis Keuhn (from left to right)

FIDLAR: a Los Angeles punk band who just released their self-titled debut LP. It’s also a skateboarding acronym, Fuck It Dog, Life’s A Risk. That’s pretty much all you need to know.

More than any band since The Replacements, FIDLAR expertly walks the line between hardcore punk and Top 40 hooks. While The Replacements were known for their tongue-in-cheek expertise, FIDLAR seems to take themselves even less seriously, simply sticking out their tongues. But like Paul Westerberg and company before them, the quality of FIDLAR’s songs ensures they’ll last longer than any fad or gimmick. The characters described in each track feel like they’ve stepped out of a novel exploring the consequences of youth, drugs, and ennui in Southern California; The kind of novel Bret Easton Ellis might write if he weren’t so obsessed with sociopathy and 80s music.

The record’s first track, “Cheap Beer,” hits you like a slap in the face. It’s the kind of slap that leaves a mark, but one you’ll brag about to your friends. The first hint of a melody shows up three songs later on “No Waves.” While not exactly pretty (I doubt Taylor Swift will be calling for a duet anytime soon), the song shows how FIDLAR can take their punk ethos and craft a tune that’ll stick in your head for days. Similar moments are found on “Max Can’t Surf” and “Gimmie Something.”

Although FIDLAR is obsessed with drugs (five of the record’s song titles reference drugs in some form), the record is anything but strung out. The only misstep comes on “Whore,” which comes across as a throwaway the band wrote in five minutes. Nevertheless, FIDLAR successfully recreates the first moments of a cocaine binge when anything seems possible, and all you want to do is fuck shit up and have a good time.

Buy FIDLAR on Amazon.com or on iTunes.

You can catch FIDLAR on tour with Wavves and Cheatahs this spring.

There were only two times I regretted being my store’s sole male cashier. The first was when I worked on Valentine’s Day, and all of the single men with and without plans sought solace in my line. Some of the guys were there to buy stuff for their significant other, and didn’t want to face the embarrassment of having a woman ring up their KY Jelly or condoms. Without really trying, these men somehow managed to gloat about their coupled relationship status while rubbing my nose in the fact I was working on Valentine’s Day because I didn’t have plans with my significant other who did not exist. Then there were those unkempt men buying booze, frozen pizza, tissues, and a copy of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition (which not coincidentally is printed just before Valentine’s Day). These men just created a terribly sad spectacle.

The second time I regretted being my store’s only male cashier happened toward the end of my employment with Target. It was either in late May or early June, and it had just started to get hot outside. I showed up for work one morning, and my supervisor (I’ll call her Alice, but that isn’t her real name) tells me that the cart attendant called off, and she asks if I would I  do carts for a few hours. The cart attendant is that poor soul you see in Target parking lots, usually wearing a yellow-and-orange caution vest over their red and khaki wardrobe. This person is responsible for collecting carts from the parking lot and returning them to the store. It is, without question, an awful job, which is probably why the cart attendant called off, and it is also probably why no cart attendants last too long.

When Alice asked me to fill in as cart attendant, I was not the only cashier working at the time, but I was (always) the only male cashier. Throughout my tenure at Target I saw many cart attendants come and go, all of them exclusively male. Do you see what I’m getting at? Regardless, I had worked as a cart attendant for a few hours on previous shifts, and it hadn’t been too terrible. I told Alice I would do it.

I think on some level Alice felt tremendously guilty for asking me to fill in as cart attendant. She made sure to give me a huge jug of lemonade so I wouldn’t get dehydrated, and she also gave me a pair of brand new khaki shorts right off the rack so I wouldn’t get too hot wearing pants. Whenever I tell this story and Chris happens to be around, he makes a big deal about the fact that Target gave me these things, and that I drank every drop of that lemonade and that I still have those shorts. A) It was really hot outside and I was thirsty, and B) they were nice shorts! I’m fully confident these gifts did little to harm or even remotely affect Target’s financials.

Fast forward “a few hours” later, and I’m still out there slaving away as cart attendant. Did I mention it was terribly hot that day? Because it was. The irony is, when I first started college and began shopping at Target for all of my dorm needs, I remember telling my friends how awesome it must be to work as “the cart guy” at Target. They get to be outside for their entire shift, they didn’t ever have to talk to anyone (I hated small talk even then), and they got to wear shorts instead of pants unlike all other Target employees. And yet, despite my previous claims, I had realized my dream of working as “the cart guy” and I was hating every minute of it.

I don’t remember exactly how long I was out there. If I had to guess, I’d say about four hours. Maybe I imagined this, but I seem to recall Alice telling me that when I went on my lunch break (per Illinois law, this was usually about four hours into a shift), I would be relieved as cart attendant. It was hot. Very hot. I was hungry. It was time for my lunch break. I became convinced that I was only chosen to fill in as cart attendant because of my sex. And every time I returned to the store with a fresh batch of carts from the parking lot, Alice made no sign to send me on break.

So, I made an executive decision. I left. After bringing in one last batch of carts, without anyone seeing me, I walked through the store and into the break room to get my lunch out of the fridge. With my Star Wars lunch box in hand, I walked back to the front of the store, again without anyone seeing me, and out the front doors to my car. I drove away feeling strangely accomplished and also fully confident that my employment at Target was over.

This must have happened on a weekend, because when I got home my dad was outside putting something in his car. He asked what I was doing home. I told him I had left work. I think he said something like, “Well there goes your employee discount,” to which I nodded and headed inside to sleep for the next few hours.

I only woke up because I got a phone call. It was Chris, my good friend whose success as a Target team member was responsible for me landing the job in the first place, and is also likely the reason I was hired permanently after the holidays. To the best of my memory, our conversation went like this:

“Hello?” I asked.

“Evan? Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I was sleeping. What’s up?”

“Everyone at Target is looking for you.”

“Why?”

“Because no one knows where you went.”

“I went home.”

“Why?”

“I was tired of doing carts.”

“So you just left.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But you’re alright.”

“Well, I probably don’t have a job anymore, but yeah I’m fine.”

Chris sighed. “Alright. Later.”

“Later.”

I’m pretty sure Chris wasn’t even working that day. Target was so worried about me they called him at home to see if he had any idea where I was. Apparently, one of the supervisors working that day (not Alice) was notified by the store’s time clock system that I hadn’t clocked out to take my lunch. Target takes its law-abiding quite seriously, and if any team member went too long without taking a break they were in violation of state law. This supervisor went to find Alice and asked where I was. I was later told that Alice gave the damning reply, “I have no idea.” I really wish I could’ve been a fly on the wall for what happened next, because it sounds like it was hilarious and scary all at the same time. Chris told me later that Target had notified their security company that they were missing an employee. The working theory was that I was dead in a ditch somewhere. A number of my fellow team members had looked for me in the parking lot to no avail. None of them knew what kind of car I drove, so they couldn’t be sure if I had left of my own accord or as some sort of hostage. They automatically assumed hostage.

I had been scheduled to work the next day, but since I was pretty certain I’d been terminated I didn’t show up. Normally, this (what Target calls a “no-call no-show”) is also grounds for dismissal. When I didn’t show up I got a call from another Target supervisor asking why I hadn’t come into to work. I told them that in light of the previous day’s events I assumed I had been fired. This supervisor assured me that was not the case, and asked me to come in a little early for my scheduled shift the next day so I could meet with her and discuss what happened.

I found all of this exceedingly strange, but the thought of losing my paycheck, and then not losing it, got me motivated to dress for work and arrive early for my shift the next day. It seems unethical to try and recreate the conversation I had with this supervisor, so I won’t. I can say that at one point the head of the entire store was brought into the meeting. I can also say that Alice had been “spoken with” regarding my abrupt departure two days earlier. I shared with them that I strongly felt I had been chosen to fill in as cart attendant because I was the only male cashier working that day. They nodded with understanding, but it was clear they wanted to avoid discussing the sexual politics of the issue. I can also say that after I apologized for not showing up the previous day, they apologized (!) that I thought I had been fired. I was not put on probation, and in light of the meeting’s tone, I don’t think it’s even fair to say I was reprimanded. I also don’t think any mention of this incident was put in my file, because they never asked me to sign anything. I never worked another shift with Alice as my supervisor ever again, despite the fact we both still worked in the same department. I was also never again asked to fill in as cart attendant.

I continued to work for Target through the end of July. I had signed a lease for an apartment in Chicago starting August 1, so I tried to quit, but Target convinced me to take a leave of absence instead.

That October, I received a card congratulating me on my one-year anniversary as a Target team member. Looking back I wish I had held on to that card, because it had been signed by the head of the store and all of the supervisors I had worked with. Well, almost all of them. I seem to recall that Alice’s signature was noticeably absent.

Somehow, I managed to survive both Black Friday and the rest of the holiday shopping season. Even more surprising is that once the holidays were over, Target decided to continue my employment. Remember, I was hired as a seasonal employee to help for the holidays. There were a number of seasonal employees who didn’t make the cut. I’m sure I was chosen because I’m such a team player.

You might be wondering why I chose to continue working for Target if I clearly disliked it. Well, I still needed a job. Would I be a better person if I had declined Target’s offer, thus forcing them to offer a position to a more worthy seasonal team member who probably worked harder and needed the job more than I did? Almost certainly. However, I decided to continue my employment as a cashier instead of a sales floor associate. All Target sales floor associates are trained as cashiers to provide back up when the registers get swamped. As an added bonus, cashiers get to clock out when the store closes at 10 p.m., and don’t have to stay and help close up the store like the rest of those suckers. In my mind, cashiers had it made. Granted, cashiers still have to remain standing, but they get these nice cushy mats to relieve foot pressure. Talk about a win-win, right? Wrong. As a cashier, I really worked. Hard.

Overnight, the number of my interactions with guests quadrupled, but I had yet to get over the fact I dislike conversation. Most shoppers think the lackeys ringing up their purchases want to engage in small talk, and maybe they’re right. I’ve never been like most people, however, and the conversations I had as a Target cashier reinforced my intense dislike for small talk.

To solve the problem I became the fastest cashier Target had ever seen. Sure, I still had to use the cursory “hellos” and “how are yous,” but once the customer saw how fast my hands moved they started digging for their wallets. There were definitely those customers who assumed because you were a captive audience they could talk to you like you were their therapist, but I never listened to those people. All they really need is the occasional nod or the thoughtful “I see,” and they’ll leave the store thinking you actually give a damn. Don’t even get me started on the Bible-beaters who tried to push God on me while they payed for the Perrier.

Once I had successfully lessened the small talk issue, there were only two problems I had left to deal with. The first was how to tell customers their credit card had been declined. I can’t speak for all cashiers, but the best way I found to handle this was to be completely unsympathetic. The first time it happened I didn’t know what to do. When the computer told me the credit card had been denied I just kind of stood there with my mouth hanging open looking at the screen. Eventually the guest also saw the message and paid with another card. I knew that method wouldn’t work forever though, since I was a cashier at a major retailer in the middle of a recession. Next, I tried breaking it to the guest gently by saying something like, “I’m sorry, that credit card seems to have been denied. Do you have another method of payment?” As soon as you apologize though, the guest thinks you’re on their side, which you’re not. Cashiers have nothing at stake in whether or not a particular guest leaves the store with any merchandise. We know we’re going to get paid regardless, and there’s always another guest to take the place of the first. So, I started saying, “You’re credit card has been denied,” while giving the guest a look of utter impatience. This lack of sympathy puts the customer on the defensive, and they whip out another card faster than you can say “here’s your receipt.”

What about that look of utter impatience? Shouldn’t I have been a little nicer to these folks? It was the middle of a recession, right? Shouldn’t I have had just a little sympathy? No. In my experience, about half the time a guest’s card was denied, they fully expected it. They were ready for it. They knew it was going to happen. My question is, if you know the card’s no good, why try using it at all? I don’t have time to be the middle man in whatever game of footsie you’re playing with your creditors. Either use a different card or get out of my line.

The second problem was the customers who still pay with checks. Again, in my experience, the overwhelming majority of people who use checks are middle-aged to elderly women. Men seem to prefer cash for whatever reason. Anyway, don’t these people know that using a check marks them as a complete dinosaur? In this age of identity theft, don’t they know how unsafe checks are? Your name, address, signature, as well as your bank account and routing numbers are all right there on a single document. It’s like you’re just giving your identity away. Not to mention, checks are the biggest impediment to speed in the checkout line, and by extension, my eternal nemesis as a speed demon cashier. By their very nature, checks force the guest to wait until every item has been rung up before they can write in the amount. Some check writers realize this, and they fill out the rest of the check and sign it while the cashier is doing their thing. Most, however, prefer to wait until they can see the final amount before they ever put pen to paper. It’s the worst in the case of elderly check writers, because they don’t move like they used to and sometimes their hands shake, forcing them to fill out the check as slowly as possible. Then, once the check is finally filled out, the cashier has to put it through this separate thing that prints stuff on the back of the check before the cash register will open and the transaction is complete. No matter what register I used my check device thing never seemed to work properly, thus delaying the transaction even further. It was as if the machines knew how stupid and useless checks are (as well as my hatred for them), and decided to mock me.

Short of stealing some old woman’s identity to make a point, there wasn’t much I could do about the check issue. I will say this though, if you are one of those people who writes checks and are thinking “Oh, it can’t be that bad! Not all cashiers feel that way about checks, right?” I don’t know how other cashiers feel, but all of the customers in line behind you hate your freaking guts. If you ever removed yourself from your check writing obliviousness, you will notice that the person behind you has turned bright red and steam is pouring out of their ears. I can’t tell you how many times a check writer (finally) left my register, only to have the next person in line say something like, “Can you believe that woman wrote a check!?” in a very angry tone of voice. This is the only time I broke my no small talk rule to say something like “I know!” or “Dumb old hag!” Okay, I never said that last one, but I really wanted to! The point is, keep in mind it’s not just the cashier you’re slowing down. It’s everyone in line behind you and commerce in general. Please think about that the next time you reach for your checkbook.

I worked at Target from October 2009 to July 2010. Technically, I still work there, and I’ve been on an extended leave of absence. Target seems to think I might return one day like some prodigal son. Yeah, right. I can even still use my employee discount if I want. I never do though, because that seems highly unethical.

I was hired at Target because my friend Chris (yes, the same Chris of Paranoid Android fame) had been working there for a while, and told me the store was looking for seasonal help. I needed a job, so I filled out an application and mentioned that I was a friend of Chris’s. A short while later I found myself wearing a lot of red shirts and khaki pants, walking around the store asking people, “Can I help you find something?”

You have to understand, I’m kind of lazy, so a job that requires me to stay standing and walk around for hours at a time is clearly a bad fit. Furthermore, I generally dislike talking to people, so asking me to approach complete strangers to ask if they need help is a recipe for disaster. As a result, I’m willing to claim the title of “The Worst Target Employee Ever.” Target will probably agree, except they’d want to call me “The Worst Target Team Member Ever,” because they’re big on the fact that everyone’s a part of the so-called “team.”

When friends and relatives asked me how my job at Target was going I usually told them I was “lowering the bar for half-assery on a daily basis.” Most people thought that was funny, but I was completely serious. Thanks in large part to Target’s overwhelming emphasis on teamwork and their apparent disregard for individual accountability, I mastered the art of accomplishing as little as possible while my “teammates” did most of the work. My laziness was never outed because I always appeared busy. The first rule of appearing busy at Target is to always walk around the store purposefully. If you start to meander or stand still your supervisors or teammates will notice. Since most of the workers at Target are decent people, when they see you walking purposefully they assume you’re going to help a guest (that’s Target speak for customer) or to grab an item from the back room. Most of my purposeful walking took me to the water fountain or the bathroom for the umpteenth time, always away from guests.

One of the main things I learned from my tenure as a Target sales floor associate is that a number of people seem unable to understand the Internet and all it has to offer. For example, you would not believe the number of people who call the store asking for details on a particular item and whether or not it’s in stock. All of that information could be accessed much faster through Target’s website, but anyone who’s dumb enough to call the store instead doesn’t like it when you point that out. Trust me.

One time I was working in Target’s furniture section, and I got a call from a woman looking for a desk chair. When I found out what she was looking for I went on my whole spiel about which desk chairs were on sale, how much they cost, and whether or not we had them in stock. This is another key part of appearing busy. This woman said she wanted a specific chair, and wanted to know if it had arms. To the best of my memory, the remainder of the exchange went something like this:

“Yes, that chair does have arms,” I said.

“Okay, good. Now, is the chair’s seat generous?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know, is the seat… generous. Could a larger person sit in the chair and not be restricted by the arms?”

“I’m afraid I truly have no idea.”

“Well, could you measure the width of the seat for me?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t have a tape measure.”

“Oh. I see. Never mind then. Goodbye.”

“Um… bye?”

I could’ve told this woman that the dimensions of the chair she wanted would be listed in its product description on our website, but again, I had learned the hard way that people who call the store hoping to talk to a person definitely don’t want that person to tell them to just go to the website. They’re looking for a more personal experience. Why they don’t come into the store to get a face-to-face personal experience is probably due to laziness. Nevertheless, I can’t help but wonder why Chair Woman didn’t go online or come into the store to look at the chair for herself. This woman was clearly experiencing embarrassment over the fact that she or the person she was shopping for was overweight, and simply wanted to be comfortable in their new desk chair. Why go to the trouble of sharing this embarrassment with another person? Maybe Chair Woman didn’t have a computer or Internet access, or maybe she was so embarrassed by her size she didn’t feel comfortable leaving the house. I guess I’ll never find out, but whenever someone starts to talk about obese America, I always think of Chair Woman and whether or not she found a desk chair with arms and a sufficiently “generous” seat.

This look is much less endearing on a human.

The worst thing about online dating is that it encourages people to be completely shallow and feel okay about it afterwards. This is also the best thing about online dating.

All of the online dating sites I’ve used encourage users to upload numerous photos of themselves. Some sites even go as far as citing dubious statistics like “Users who post X or more pictures are Y% more likely to receive messages/get asked out/find eternal happiness!” Match.com allows users to upload 26 photos. I don’t think I even have 26 photos of myself. The point is, photos are the first thing others see when they view your dating profile, and are ultimately the most important part.

As I watched my sister go on dates with a series of losers I sat in harsh judgement. She was paying to use a dating service, and wasn’t even using it properly. Online dating is based on the idea that people want to weed out the uglies and click on the hotties. Of course, it’s not that simple.

We live in an age where airbrushing is the norm, and Photoshop is as common as Microsoft Word. Even if the photos users post to their profiles aren’t edited in some way, everyone is guilty (myself included) of only posting those pictures of us we deem flattering. Anyone who claims they’ve never untagged themselves from an unflattering Facebook photo most likely has a scorched ass from their flaming pants.

But back to my sister. Were all of the guys she dated unattractive? No. Did all of them turn out to be total jerks? Yes. How did this happen? Well, online dating is not for the faint of heart. It’s as tough in cyberspace as it is in physical space. Pretend for a moment you’re at a bar on a Friday or Saturday night. You watch as a guy gets shot down, girl after girl (or, guy after guy if it happens to be a gay bar). Online dating is a lot like that, except you’re not in the same room with these people, and this lets them believe they can be even more cruel when they reject you. By extension, many online interactions never result in a face-to-face meeting, so people can be pretty flexible with the “facts” they put on their profiles and no one will be the wiser. People tend to be flexible with the facts in real life as well, the difference being that more alcohol is often involved, making this flexibility come across as merely charming instead of misleading. (This phenomenon is parodied to great effect through the character of Barney Stinson on the sitcom How I Met Your Mother. Hilarious stuff.)

What makes me such an expert? I’d be the first to admit I am anything but a dating expert, but I am an active user of three online dating services, two of which I’ve paid for. How did I end up paying for two when one is probably sufficient? That’s kind of a long story.

I started using a free online dating service, OkCupid, late this summer. What happened to my belief that online dating is wrong because it encourages acceptance of shallow behavior? I got lonely. I live in a suburb so small it has no economy to speak of, so it’s not like I can meet girls around here. Also, I was commuting to school at the time, so anyone I met in the city or on campus either lived in the city or was a commuter from a different suburb. This makes the creation of any sort of meaningful relationship rather challenging. So, I thought, “what the hell,” and joined OkCupid.

OkCupid is a fairly standard service. You’re given a large profile, you can upload numerous pictures, and you can send messages to other uses, all for free. OkCupid makes its money through  loads of advertisements, but if your browser has a decent ad-blocker this is essentially a non-issue.

About a month ago, I heard about another free online dating service, HowAboutWe, that sounded very intriguing. The entire service is designed to “get you offline and on real dates!” or something like that. Like OkCupid, the service provides a free profile, but HowAboutWe’s main draw is the HowAboutWe date box. The top of the date box features the text “How about we…” and next to this is a field where users post their ideas for a date. You can even include details like what kind of date it is, location, or a specific day for the date to occur. These dates show up on the profiles of the users who created them, and other users can respond to them. Users can also search for dates by topic or location. Some users fail to understand the purpose of the HowAboutWe date box, so their dates usually look something like “How about we… looking for a great guy!” or “How about we… verry good.”

HowAboutWe’s dirty little secret is that you can’t send or receive messages unless you become a paid subscriber. The good news is, HowAboutWe is a fairly new service, so subscription rates are pretty cheap when compared to other dating sites. I know this, because before I became a paid subscriber for HowAboutWe, I decided to look up the subscription rates for Match.com. My thinking was that if I was going to pay to use a dating site, I wanted to make sure I was getting the best deal. I knew Match.com has far more users than a newer service like HowAboutWe, and I wanted to ensure that wherever I subscribed, I’d get the most bang for my buck. No pun intended.

Match.com is kind of an online dating behemoth, and as a result they charge a lot more than a site like HowAboutWe. The best deal on Match.com comes to about $18 per month for six months. HowAboutWe also offers a six-month subscription for the considerably lower price of $10 a month. HowAboutWe is obviously much cheaper, regardless of its number of users, so I subscribed for six months, and started sending messages.

I didn’t realize I was a sucker until a few days later when I noticed that a number of HowAboutWe users simply post an email address somewhere on their profile. This allows them to still receive messages from interested parties for free, while also weeding out those who are too lazy to open up their email, or who haven’t read the whole profile. Not only had I just lost about $60, I also realized that HowAboutWe wasn’t telling me whether the people I was sending messages to could even read them. Probably, a number of the people I’ve messaged have simply received some form letter from those shysters at HowAboutWe saying something like, “Someone messaged you! Become a subscriber to find out who!”

Moral of the story: HowAboutWe offers a unique twist on the online dating service, but don’t pay for anything until they get their shit figured out.

While this was happening, I also fell into a trap set by Match.com. Before I could find out what Match.com charges for a subscription, I had to fill out an entire profile. Looking back, I probably could’ve googled Match.com subscription rates, but I didn’t think of that so let’s move on. I already feel like an idiot from the HowAboutWe debacle. Anyway, this profile went live, despite the fact I chose to not subscribe. A few days later I got an email saying someone on Match.com had “winked” at me. Of course, I could only reveal the identity of this winker by becoming a subscriber. Curiosity got the best of me. Well, it might be more accurate to say that my romantic optimism (also evident in my previous post) took hold. I found myself thinking, “What if this “wink” is from The One? How will I explain to my unborn children that I didn’t meet their mother because I was too cheap?” This went on for a while, but I eventually became a subscriber with Match.com. In all honesty, this additional subscription was partially motivated by my anger with the people at HowAboutWe, making me look even more like a petty idiot.

As it turns out, that first “wink” was from some woman in Utah I have no interest in pursuing. Utah? Seriously? Not even Salt Lake City, Utah. Rural Utah. Yikes.

So, I am now the proud owner of two paid online dating profiles. I wish I could say I’ve seen a corresponding spike in my dating life, but that hasn’t been the case. If you’re considering joining a dating site, there are a few things you should know. Whether you’re interested in hearing these things or not, I’m going to tell you anyway, because it may be the only way my subscriptions are put to good use.

First of all, each of these sites, OkCupid, HowAboutWe, and Match.com, lets you see who has visited your profile. Obviously, this means that anyone whose profile you visit will find out, so try and keep the cyber stalking to a minimum. (In an interesting twist, it is my understanding that OkCupid users who upgrade to a paid membership are able to browse anonymously, thus allowing them to cyber stalk to their heart’s content. You’ve been warned.)

For some reason, a few weeks after I became a subscriber, Match.com decided to start notifying me when the messages I sent had been read by the recipient. Had I been so inclined, I could’ve had this information right from the start for an additional fee. I’m glad I didn’t go for it considering I got it for free later. So, if you go with Match.com, stick with the bare-bones subscription and cross your fingers they’ll start giving you free stuff.

To be fair, I suspect a large part of the reason Match.com subscriptions are so expensive is because of their six-month guarantee. The deal is, if you haven’t found someone “special” in your first six months, Match.com gives you an additional six months free of charge. I haven’t been a subscriber long enough to be certain, but I’m pretty sure you’re on your own after that.

Something I’ve noticed among Match.com users, and only among Match.com users, is a tendency to respond to an initial email, and then ignore the second. This has happened to me on a number of occasions. I’ll send a message, the girl will respond, I’ll reply, and then nothing. Thanks to my Match.com freebie, I know these women are reading my messages, they just decide to end the conversation. Why? You’d have to ask them. In the interest of full disclosure, it’s not as if I’m proposing to these women in my second message. I always try to keep things light and friendly. Maybe, despite my best efforts, I’m still coming on too strong. I may never know.

A curiosity limited to OkCupid users is a distinct lack of conversational etiquette. I see a profile I like. I send a nice message usually asking about what they study in school, the name of their dog or cat, or some other innocuous question that demonstrates I’m interested, and that I took the time to fully read their profile. These women will respond and answer all of my questions, but they fail to ask me any questions. A conversation will die if there’s no give and take, and that’s exactly what happens to these messages. My question is, if these women aren’t interested in me, why did they respond in the first place? It’s not like they’re required to respond to every message. Lord knows I don’t. Do they think they’re so interesting and attractive I should be the one doing all the conversational legwork? Please, ladies. You’re not. Trust me. All these messages accomplish is signal that you are probably quite self-centered, and would be a terrible bore on an actual date.

So has my online dating experience been a total failure? Absolutely not. Shortly after joining OkCupid I met a terrific woman I liked a great deal. We dated for about a month, and she decided she just wanted to be friends. In hindsight, I probably liked her too much. Despite its brevity, I still consider that relationship valuable. Maybe The Dating Gods have decided I’m not worthy of meeting another nice girl online. Who knows.

I’m also happy to report that my sister also met a great guy on OkCupid, and they are still dating. He is not a jerk, and he kind of resembles Wil Wheaton. Way to go, sis!

I guess my point is, don’t pay for an online dating service. I’ve already cancelled both of my paid subscriptions, but I already paid for six months up front, so it will be a while before my online dating life is over. If reading this hasn’t completely turned you off from online dating altogether, use OkCupid or post an unused email on your HowAboutWe profile. Match.com isn’t worth it unless you’re positive you’re going to strike out in your first six months, and will then receive an extension for free.

Granted, because OkCupid is free, the creep quotient is much higher than on a site people are paying to use. My sister and I have both had some negative interactions on the site, but luckily you can block any users who seem a little too interested. It goes without saying you shouldn’t put your address or any information on your dating profile that might allow someone to track you down in real life. That’s just silly.

Dear Ms. Wise,

I first read about you in an interview in the Chicago Tribune. I was immediately taken with your honesty about the songwriting process. The end of the interview mentioned a show you had a Schubas that night. For reasons I don’t remember, I was unable to make that performance. Things might have turned out differently if I had.

Shortly after reading the interview I looked you up on iTunes. Despite the fact that Apple only lets customers hear short samples of songs before purchasing, I was hooked the moment I heard the chorus of your song “Home.” I purchased your album, Archive of Illusions, right then. It was all I listened to for the next several days.

I’m still not sure why your music continues to resonate with me so powerfully. Your songs have a certain immediacy and vulnerability that I find strangely comforting. When I try to describe your music to others I usually end up saying it sounds like a cross between the romance of Taylor Swift and the dreamy, laid-back cool of Maria Taylor. Hopefully you don’t find such a description objectionable. Regardless, soon after I bought your record I realized I was smitten with a woman I had never met.

Like any foolish boy with a crush, I sought you out through various social networks. I “liked” your Facebook page, I started following your Tumblr, and I followed you on Twitter. I wanted to send a friend request to your personal Facebook page, but I refrained for fear of coming across as terribly creepy. Luckily for me, the day after your Schubas performance you made a post on Facebook asking people to email you any photos they might have from the show. I quickly drafted and sent you this email:

Hi Xoe,

My name is Evan Stoner. I found your email address on your Facebook page.

First of all, I want to say I love your music. I only just heard about you on Friday when I read about you in the Chicago Tribune. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to make it to Schubas that night, but I hope the show went well. I’ve already fallen in love with Archive of Illusions, and as I type I’m listening to Echo.

I’m writing to say that if you’re ever looking for an opening act, I’d be honored to open for you. I’ve attached some of my music for you to listen to. They’re just demos I recorded in my bedroom, so the volume is a little low, but if you listen to them through headphones they sound okay. In any case, I hope you like what you hear. I think my songs would work well beside yours in a live setting. I’m currently working on forming a band, but at the moment I only play solo acoustic. Like you, I’m based in Chicago.

Anyway, I just wanted to reach out and say hello. I look forward to hearing from you.

Thanks,

Evan

I wish I could claim my motives were purely platonic, but I was harboring secret dreams of meeting you, performing with you, and eventually falling in love. I don’t know if you ever read my email, but you didn’t respond. To be honest, I didn’t expect you would, but I was ever hopeful. What could motivate you, an established musician to take a chance on a musician who’d never released any music, had no fan base, and sent you three demos of questionable quality?

As more days passed without hearing from you, I took another route. One of the first songs I heard after listening to Archive of Illusions ad nauseam was “Cowboy Take Me Away” by the Dixie Chicks. I was struck with the inspiration to write a song in response, and as much I’d like to deny it, the song was directly inspired by and about you.

In what now seems like a fever dream I posted a link to the above video on your Facebook page. You were kind enough to respond saying you would watch it when you had the chance. I was elated. I even went so far as “liking” your comment on my post, the thought of which now never fails to embarrass me. I don’t know if you did ever end up following the link and watching the video, or if you recognized my name from my previous email, but again, I was ever hopeful. I began to think you would watch the video, remember my email and respond, and this would lead to the two of us meeting, performing together, falling in love, etc.

More time passed, and it started to dawn on me that my fairy tale love story wasn’t meant to be. Around this time you were posting on Facebook about your upcoming performances in New York City. My sadness over the fact it was becoming increasingly unlikely I would ever meet you, combined with your trip to New York, inspired yet another song. The difference between this song and “I Wanna Be The Cowboy” was that I created an entirely fictional relationship between the two of us that you ended to pursue fame and fortune in New York. Even in my head you had broken my heart.

Weeks went by, and I continued to follow all of your updates on various social media, despite the fact you couldn’t return my sentiments, and would never be able to. It first hit me when you posted “When I Was -3” on Tumblr. The post relates your experience as a lesbian in the small southern town where you grew up. At first I was struck with sadness that I’d spent so long barking up the wrong tree, but ultimately I found your writing quite moving.

To be honest, when I first perused your personal Facebook profile, I saw that you had “liked” a page for a gay rights group. For a fleeting moment I considered the fact you might be a lesbian, but I was so blinded by my infatuation I quickly tossed this notion aside. I remember thinking, “How lovely, she supports gay rights.” Little did I know.

After that, I spent a few long days listening to Weezer’s “Pink Triangle” on repeat at high volumes. Eventually though, I did move on. Sometime after this you tweeted something about how you had written a song about a girl you hoped was gay. I wanted to be able to give you a hug, even though the tweet wasn’t written with any inherent sadness. I think it made me realize how I would never truly understand what it’s like to be gay, despite all of my best efforts at open-mindedness and empathy.

Later you posted a tweet regarding how attractive Sharon Van Etten is. Frankly, I couldn’t agree more. I saw her perform at Lincoln Hall on my birthday, and I left the show with a lasting impression that she is quite adorable as well as a gifted songwriter.

The main reason I’m writing this letter is to thank you. Thank you for producing such wonderful music and inspiring me to write new songs, long after I thought my songwriting days were over. While I’d still love to meet you, perform with you, and get to know you, I no longer have any illusions that we’ll become more than friends. If you ever want to meet up for a cup of coffee to discuss Sharon Van Etten or music in general, I’d be thrilled. In any case, I hope to see you perform sometime in the near future.

I wish you the best of luck in all of your future endeavors.

Sincerely,

Evan Stoner

So what have I been up to in my absence? Well you may have noticed that instead of titling this blog with my name, it is now called Dancing About Architecture. Also, if you go to the “Bio” page you’ll find a new (and hopefully amusing) four-paragraph blurb about myself. However, since I accomplished both of those things this evening, that’s not really an answer to the question of what I’ve been up to. The real answer? Nothing really. You may recall from my last post that my friend Chris and I were forming a band and were looking for a name. Chris and I did start a band, and we ended up calling ourselves Paranoid Android. We stole the name from a little-known band in New York. Please don’t tell them. They are bigger than me, and outnumber Chris and myself two to one. After our one 20-minute rehearsal, Chris and I realized it wasn’t going to work out. Chris is some big shot at Target now so he works all the time, and I, well, frankly I’m still awesome.

In other news, I still work as a freelance writer, and I’m very much looking forward to graduating from college. I’ve been working on my fiction writing chops for the past several months, and have decided to pursue a masters degree in creative writing. My goal is to publish at least one book before I turn 30. Don’t hold your breath though. No really, don’t, because at the outside you’ll be holding your breath for about seven years, and not even super-swimmer (and possible alien?) Michael Phelps can do that. I’d like to honestly claim that no one died in the writing of this blog. We can do this, people!

So what’s in store for future content? Well, in my prolonged blogging absence, I often had some great ideas for blog posts. Some of them were so good, I thought, “Gee! I should really write that down!” So I did. Possible topics of future posts include:

- My endless love for and fascination with “One of the Boys” by Katy Perry.

- My (many) trials and tribulations as an online dater.

- Possible reasons why a band like Aerosmith still exists.

- Discussions on various books. (My Amazon.com wish list has about 40 books on it, all of which I plan on reading. Get ready for some awesome book reports!)

- Why Bruce Wayne and Patrick Jane are so similar and so awesome.

- How to walk away from your job at Target in the middle of a shift and not get fired.

- A retelling of how I fell half in love with a beautiful singer-songwriter from Chicago, only to realize several weeks later that she is a lesbian. This realization came after writing not one, but two songs about this woman.

- Why YouTube comments are the worst thing to happen to humanity this century.

- AND OTHER GREAT STUFF!!

Get ready. It’s going to be huge. Sort of.

In my very first band we kind of knew it was all a joke, so we didn’t spend too much time trying to think of a name. Consequently we called ourselves Epsilon, because the guitar player was a bit of a math geek. Since it was all pretty much fun and games we didn’t end up playing any shows.

My second band was a Bob Dylan tribute band. We never really had a name. We just told people we were a Bob Dylan tribute band, and that seemed to be enough. We ended up playing a grand total of two shows. One was my graduation party, and the other was my high school’s post prom. I’m still not at all sure how we ended up getting on that bill, but I guess stranger things have happened.

My third band was a piano and bass duo, and we called ourselves Linus & Lucy. Out of the many band names I’ve thought of over the years (I have a whole list created on my iPad), this is one of my favorites. It was perfect for our male-female awesomeness. We ended up playing several shows, all through campus events at Augustana College.

My fourth band was The Welcome, and by the time I joined they already had a name, which was fine since I rather liked it. We played numerous shows all in the Chicago area. I only left the band because I needed to focus on finishing my degree (one more semester!) and I also moved back out to the suburbs, making gigging in the city rather impractical. It was a great nine-month experience, and consequently I miss being in a band all the time.

Onstage with The Welcome at Schubas.

Now that I’m in my last semester of school and it’s summer, I have plenty of time on my hands. Time I’d like to spend making music. All that’s missing is a great band name. Here’s where you come in. Hasn’t everyone thought of a great band name at some point? Now’s the time to put it to good use! If you have any suggestions for possible band names please post them in the comments. Chris and I would love to hear them.

We have already received some suggestions, but we haven’t made any decision. Here’s what we’ve heard so far:

The Corrections

Firewall

StayPuft

The Pebbles

Windy City Sound

Piso Mojado

If you don’t have any band names to contribute but would still like to help our cause, feel free to vote for your favorites. Let the games begin!