Master P. Nut
Post-date with Master P. Nut. He reminds me of a mighty dolphin – not because he has any physical or social similarities to a dolphin, but because I have arbitrarily decided that his spirit animal is the dolphin. In addition, I firmly believe that, if called upon, he could make a high-pitched dolphin noise. We met up at Heathers, which is a nondescript but neat place on East 13th. .Two for one happy hour, good music, slightly sulky bartender. I attempted to explain the plot of Heathers, the 1988 Winona Ryder opus, to Master P., but all I could manage was “croquetcroquetilovemydeadgaysonCHRISTIANSLATER,” a plot summary which leaves much to be desired. Then we moved on to some Italian place whose name I can’t pronounce, down by 5th Street. I’m not sure about the exact address, as I was busy trying to find dogs to pet. Unnamed-Italian-Bar is awesome, however – especially because the maitre d’ made “West Wing” references. At first I thought he kept winking at us, but closer observation revealed that he just has a lopsided brow. Master P. Nut is, in a word, wonderful: smart, funny, incredibly sweet. He’s well-traveled! He can cook! He loves dogs! He taught me the names of orchids! (Cymbidium, guys. Look it up.) He is enemies with Dr. Seuss’s widow! Quality. And here chemistry enters the equation. I have a long history of failed differentiation between platonic and romantic chemistry (see: dating history 1999-2008), and tonight was no exception. I’m not sure I necessarily sensed sparks with Master P., but neither did I, uh, not sense sparks. I find chemistry deeply infuriating because it’s unpredictable and uncontrollable, and when it doesn’t flare up there’s no one to blame but hormones, or pheromones, or luck, or syzygy, or what have you. I’ve always wished that romantic chemistry would kick in like the jolt of Sriracha on the tongue, like the sound of a car alarm at 4 am, like John Travolta plunging a syringe full of adrenaline into Uma Thurman’s chest. And the truth of the matter is that such instantaneous and certain chemistry rarely happens, especially when you’re just meeting someone for the first time and don’t have much context to refer to. I liked Master P. Nut a lot. The conversation was snappy, he was great fun, I laughed, I ate cheese, I learned what Proseco is, I bemoaned the paucity of good buffalo wings in New York, I merrily exchanged anecdotes (although I still haven’t heard the story of the foiled mugging). But I guess I don’t know if the chemistry is of the glowing-white-burning-magnesium sort, or the baking-soda-volcano kind. See. Analogies are definitely getting practiced. Next time they’ll probably even make sense.
