I Guess Height is Important?

     She knew my stubbled face from current photos, my blue shirt from a text and Yelp contributed the location. Conversations past outlined our mutual appreciation for certain Oscar nods and shock that kale became so popular. We knew details only friends would while some typically obvious remained hidden. I heard the familiar click of heels on concrete before my name as a question and at once I knew she was someone I would look up to. For some height is significant, a preference for many and even a deal breaker at times. With online dating rapidly becoming routine it's not uncommon for a person's measurements to remain a mystery even after something sparks. Whether your opinion is strong or not there is a psychological impact we must consider, especially in the land of platform stilettos.
 
     Apple boxes are tools used around town to bring an actor up to the level of the leading lady. Stemming from the age old fear that a man's strength of character will be found lacking in contrast to his stature, we compensate.  As paramount as these "man-makers" may be the fairer player is unlikely to be extended the same courtesy. Standards in media have been perpetuated from the start, indoctrinating the public to identify a couple by their proportions. Dark and handsome take a back seat to masculinity's defining characteristic but a man's measure pales compared with the specifications assaulting women. At once she must be thinly curved, petite but assertive enough to demand respect and an equal wage in a male dominated society.

     Height as a means to inadequately define an individual may not be the most pressing issue in our time but it's no less relevant. At 174 centimeters I've been called average to short in this town and admittedly taken on the French dictator's complex in times of regrettable inebreation.  When matched against six feet of triangular thespian fresh from Equinox I'm more likely to hire my new trainer than attract the attention of the only girl in the bar. But perhaps Dylan's anthem reigns true? Perhaps she's not counting inches atop her hard earned Louboutin's but grew up in a household with no TV. Perhaps Lloyd Christmas was right afterall? With equality at the forefront of social consciousness an examination of causation should begin our hopeful change.
   

Love in the Sprawl

     Even on weekends, clots form congesting the arteries of Los Angeles. Hoards packed in cans alone wait for a stranger's rescue across the guardrail. We struggle to make use of hours lost here with theories about Adnan and mold our lives to fit the traffic schedule that connects our work, home and loved ones. Despite endless midnight efforts to carve mountains and shoehorn more lanes into the daily commute, the swarm increases at an impossible rate. Our friends land daily in crowded jets delayed by gate checks or a Prius pregnant with dorm furniture who's windows dare not drop for fear of losing the infamous Epson since dried. I've foolishly dreamt of vacant apartment buildings but still they come. We stay too, long outlasting our invitation; mule-like we keep the dream alive despite ourselves.
     
     Amidst this cluttered juggle of lives constantly crossing we seek love. A chance encounter at the Edison develops into something worth a status change. Her invitation to a friends bonfire acquaints him with the 710 and after hours parking near downtown Long Beach. For whatever reason it doesn't work out. Since no Saturday goes by without its accompanied celebration, farmers market or sports championship, a joyous occasion can often be marred by logistics. A party on the beach inspires a decision between $40 parking or a two mile trek leaving behind a car soon to be accosted by meter maids. After an hour of zigzagging past lot full signs she starts to question her whole relationship with him and what length she'll go to celebrate. She's not wrong to wonder what kind would subject his mate to these frustrations. For the virgin LA driver it sounds so superficial but this might be the breaking point for a 405 adjacent girl seeking a mid city guy in between cars.
     
     So how does one reconcile the passion behind an impulsive nocturnal rendezvous with the inevitable DUI checkpoint and multiple construction stops along the way? The trials of a relationship are numerous without adding distance to the stew. It goes against traditional expectation of a long distance arrangement when two people can be so physically close but a flight to Vegas would be quicker. When creeping resentment stems from repeated traffic crawls only to end with Netflix and Dominos it can be difficult to distance the city from the soul-mate. Perhaps restraint when cupid's stray arrow reaches over the hill, joined with a counter-cultural effort to walk more might lessen the aforementioned woes. A healthy dose of patience, faith and hope is necessary for any love to last because inevitably the smoke gets in your eyes and no throng of tail lights can threaten the greatest of these.

Compatibility or Convenience?

     Here exists all kinds. As if New York was left laying around and God accidentally sat on it, Los Angeles is some kind of spread mess where every Starbucks is full with writers and actors just moments away from their big break. But while we've all come for our own reasons most stay as the manager of a bank or a software salesperson or the over heated baristas who fuel those dreamers oft complaining of too much AC on a rarely cloudy day. Whoever you are, you're hard pressed for community and to find someone who shares your interests and ideals is an increasingly complex challenge.
   
     While more of us turn to the pool of swipe-able faces and consequently sculpt the curves of our perfect match in our own minds we never stop hoping an organic "meet cute" is around the corner. But these apps and algorithms lean less and less on the things that we know make relationships work and more on data that place the dashing dog-lover near the puggle's sexy parent. This begs the query what matters more? In a time before massive metropoli a perfect match by today's standards was unrealistic. The community values of times past might have ensured the girl next door be more than a type but actually someone with which I relate, today she might only share a common love of froyo.
   
     Though I'm certain white coated scientists are hard at work evaluating our millennial culture's tendency to destroy their own relationships, the stats won't be in until it's too late to apply their warning. What we do know is the generation previous has achieved a divorce rate with ample room for improvement long before the internet melted away our ability to make eye contact. What does it all mean? From historically simple and intimate societies with relatively stable marriages we've seen new density drive our parents apart. Perhaps the convenience of the nearby now guided by information amassed with or without our knowledge could lead us into the successful bonds of lore.

No One Reads the Intro

     Full disclosure, I'm a male in my late twenties and I've never written a blog before. If you're reading this its likely you know me personally and have just settled in for a well deserved bathroom break. Perhaps you've found yourself exhausted by the politics or endless add-ridden slideshows on Facebook and decided as a friend to "check out my blog" as long as it takes you to finish that number two inspired by your morning cup of Robusta. Whatever the reason I'm glad you're here and intend to entertain first and educate second. If I fail to do the first please disregard any attempt I make toward the second point.
   
     My experience is all I have to go by. I don't read other dating blogs so if I deviate from the boilerplate I apologize to the plate makers and their effort to reduce the written word to a solitary acronym or emoji. If you've read this far I'm honored and impressed by your dedication but also concerned that you should probably see a proctologist. The only intro I can remember reading in my life was for a Gary Larson comic and that was because it was written by the late Robin Williams. From it I learned the definition of comedy and without which I couldn't make sense of this inane activity known to some as dating but to most as fuel for the uncomfortable situations that define our strange lives in Los Angeles.