A Novel Approach

Jeff, Dude. Man.  What's going on, Buddy? Um, wow. Yeah. Is everything OK?

Dear Lonely Jeff,

I'll talk about something with you, but I'm not going to call you.  Do you realize how crazy I would have to be to call you?  You could be a pervert.  You could be a lunatic.  You could be a tele-marketer.  If you really are lonely and just want to talk, I'd like to offer you some advice.

First of all, put yourself in the reader's shoes.  Would you ever answer this ad?  You come off pretty desperate throwing in that "lonely" in the end.  People like happy, upbeat people.  And generally speaking, desperation is pathetic.  And when you inspire pity in a stranger, you put them ill-at-ease.  This is no way to have people warm to you.

If you're a member of some cult or religion trying to lure misguided and impressionable people into your influence, then shame on you. You disgust me. 

If you're looking for anonymous sex and this is your kinky way of going about it.  Hey, whatever floats your boat.  But I hope you're upfront with anyone who calls you.

And if you're genuinely looking for a friend, it isn't easy here in this city of strangers.  It can get very lonely surrounded by 8 million people who simply do not have the time.  So much for the glamour of anonymity.  I gotta hand it to you though: in this post-chatroom age of modern social-media-communication, you've certainly taken a novel approach to the situation.

Good luck!

Sincerely,
The Urban Boy Scout

Sweetheart, Please ...

In America we value individualism--non-conformity, self-expression--at least in theory.  So here in New York, things can get pretty noisy when 8 million people are clamoring to express themselves.

When I first arrived in the city I took great comfort in the anonymity that it offers.  Having come from a small town, I couldn't leave my house without running into someone I knew.  A simple (dreaded, anxiety-ridden) trip to Wal-Mart was like one of those nightmares where the most random of people from your past appear out of nowhere.  My fourth-grade teacher on the toilet-paper aisle, that girl i once made out with ringing me up at the check-out... The great thing about New York is that I can walk down the hallway of my own building and still not get recognized!  You can sit on a bustling street corner, barefoot, in the dead of winter, rattling a cup of change, and no one even knows you're there.

The Glamour of Anonymity wears thin pretty soon, and you realize it's rather nice to get noticed. It's gratifying to know you're being heard.  It validates you're very existence.

So that's why I was struck by Vicki from the tree store (?) who chose to leave a message for the litterbug outside her back gate.  What I love about her note (aside from the fact that it's posted, appropriately enough, in a tree) is its tone of Exasperated Militantism, speaking to every passerby's empathy when she says "I really have enough to do..."  We all have.  We're busy.  And exhausted.

But Sweetheart, please...take the time today make your voice heard.  Write a note.  High-five a stranger.  Yell at a taxi driver for honking his horn in gridlock.  Whether Vicki's litterbug will stop leaving boxes outside her gate remains to be seen.  But it really doesn't matter.  She said her piece: and I'll bet you she's having a damn good Tuesday because of it.

And, Reader, I wish you the same...