Would You Be My Missed Connection?

I read the "missed connections" page on craigslist.org. 

There, I said it.  I hate it, but I love it.

Judge as you might, there is just something about the idea that under the still surface of mundane daily life there hums an electrical current of secret attraction that intrigues me.  It accentuates the possibility that, at any given moment, we may be brushing past our destiny (if one believes in such things as destiny).  It creates the opportunity for second chances.  I wonder how often those second chances actually materialize, though.  Just because we stare at cute members of the opposite sex across the subway car doesn't mean that they are staring back.  It seems to me that the only thing more unlikely than mutual attraction is that he or she will actually ever find your posting on craigslist.  And, even if they do, it only serves to prove that you were too lazy or spineless to take the risk of approaching and being rejected face to face. 

In the end, the "missed connections" page winds up just below toddler leashes on the list of ideas that seem like genius solutions to common problems but, in practice, are actually kind of depressing.  But there wouldn't be a market for it if there wasn't a problem to begin with.  Which really begs the question:  what keeps us from making all those connections in the first place?

There are plenty of rants on the "missed connections" page by girls wanting to be noticed, lamenting the general malaise of the male population when it comes to approaching women.  But, there are just as many rants by men about how women don't make themselves approachable.  I have news for these folks -- these most likely aren't really "missed connections."  That guy probably didn't approach you because he didn't feel compelled.  And that girl didn't make eye contact with you because she's not interested.  I would hazard a guess that half of the connections on craigslist are less "missed" than they are avoided.

As a single girl in New York City, between my commute, running errands, and meeting up with friends (read: normal, ordinary stuff), I see at least twenty good looking guys on a normal day.  With all of whom I'd be happy to strike up a conversation.  So, why don't I?  Honest answer: apathy.  A lot of decision-making is a function of constant subconscious cost-benefit analysis.  I like this sweater, but do I like it $100-worth?  Eh.  That guy I just passed is cute, but is he turn-around-and-flag-him-down cute?  Again, eh.  Not likely. 

There are definitely times when someone warrants more than an "Eh", however.  What we do with those people separates the mice from the men.  When we are presented with merit and opportunity and a split second to react, do we choose action or inaction?  I have no idea how many men think about stopping me in the street or in the subway or on line in a store.  But, I do know how many actually do.  (Surprisingly more than you think.  I can remember at least three or four in the last six months.)  And, I can honestly say that actually taking the initiative to strike up a conversation causes a guy's stock to skyrocket.  The guy may not be dashingly handsome, but the pure mettle such a move demonstrates makes him seem more attractive.  That being said, he may only be inching upward from relative obscurity to tentative admiration.  I still might not give him my phone number.  But, he got a whole heck of a lot closer than the guy who walked past without even smiling!

From time to time, I will even feel the overwhelming desire to reach out to a stranger, myself.  To say, "That's a nice suit."  Or to comment on the sweltering heat in the subway.  Or to ask his opinion.  Or for directions.  Or where his accent is from.  Or to generally express my enthusiasm that someone so handsome has crossed my path.  Sometimes that's where it ends -- just a compliment or a comment.  And sometimes, someone actually takes my card and calls me back.  We can't expect to win every time we step onto the field.  But, we don't thwart defeat by not entering the fray; rather, we guarantee it.  Rejection is a natural counterpart to risk. 

E recently told me that he doesn't generally approach women because he doesn't want his intentions to be misunderstood.  He doesn't want to come off as "the creep" trying to pick up ladies at the bar.  Understandable.  (For various reasons, I view this as a positive thing.)  But, on a purely conceptual level, what does it matter what they think of your intentions?  You know what your intentions are.  Your actions will prove that out, if you're given a chance.  And, if they do think you're a creep and give you the cold shoulder, then whose loss is it anyway?  Whether you make yourself the creep or the wallflower, you'll probably never see that person again either way.  The only thing that separates the possibility of success from the certainty of failure is the decision to act.

In a city of 8 million people, we have the distinct benefit of a seemingly unlimited number of opportunities to reach out.  Our basic anonymity both makes our victories seem more precious and rare and allows our foibles to melt into general obscurity.   Therefore, don't hesitate to act; we cannot be diminished by the chances that we take.  As William Hensley famously put it:  "I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my Soul."  No matter what direction we are headed, we have no hope of progress if we don't take that first step.




http://www.sophieblackall.com/


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Obviously, I have been too busy to write for a while, so I have a whole cache of great places lined up for review.  I'll start with just a few of the best here.  I highly recommend you take action on these spots.  Don't let them die in the grave of "missed connections."

Keybar
East 13th St. between 1st Ave. and Ave. A

The eternal hunt for the decent happy hour ends here.  Seriously.  For every drink you buy until 11p.m., they give you a ticket for a free drink (same price as the drink you bought).  This was especially awesome to R and I, who were drinking $12 martinis for $6.  The drinks were ok (not spectacular), but definitely good enough for $6.  The place got packed by 10 p.m., and it wasn't all that big.  But, everyone seemed pretty friendly, including the bar tender.  Not a bad choice for happy hour in the East Village.

Cafe Mogador
St. Mark's Place between 1st Ave. and Ave. A
Disclaimer: I have only had take out from this place.  But, it was so good, E and I ordered the exact same meal both times.  The atmosphere in the place (while we were waiting for our food) was cute and cozy with distinct Middle Eastern touches.  Their hummus/baba/tabbouleh platter is fantastic, with balanced spices and a sort of smoky flavor to the baba.  But, the basmati rice (that came with the chicken kebab) stole the show.  We had no idea where the flavors came from, but we couldn't get enough of it.  The restaurant was moderately crowded when we were there on a Saturday night, so I can only assume that others would agree that this place is worthy of a repeat performance or three.

Locanda Verde
Corner of Greenwich St. and N. Moore St.

Oh. My. God.  Andrew Carmellini, formerly of Cafe Boloud, opened this restaurant a while back (his first in New York) in TriBeCa.  The concept combines the homeyness of a "local" establishment and a commitment to fresh food (hence, the smallish menu).  I have been wanting to try it and took E's birthday as the perfect opportunity.  I cannot say enough good things about it.  First, it is flawless in design --both with regard to decor and use of space.  The dark, sort of rough hewn wine-laden Italian-ness of it all gave it a distinctly low-key feel.  And, apparently, the front of the restaurant serves coffee and pastries in the morning and doubles as dining space at night.  The wine list was all European, and our server knew exactly what wine to recommend (it was delicious).  But that's not the end.  We shared quite a few dishes, but the stand-outs were definitely the pastas and the dessert.  We ordered the orecchiette with duck sauce and broccoli rabe (savory and fresh) and the pumpkin agnolotti (sweet and buttery).  They could not have been more different or more delicious.  We literally couldn't stop talking about them even after they were gone.  The brussel sprouts with pancetta and pecorino outshone the scallops, for sure.  And the maple budino tasted like everything you love about Autumn.  Just....yes.