Necessities?

I had my television disconnected last September. I don't mean this in a "Television? Oh, I never watch anything on television unless it's on PBS" kind of way. It's more accurate to say I really love television, pretty much the same way a caffeine addict just loves that daily Dunkin Donuts visit. If I have a day with no place to be I could easily lie on the couch, staring at the TV from the time I rolled out of bed until late into the night. I would start with the early morning talk shows, hang around through mid-day news, move on to an afternoon lineup of All My Children-One Life to Live-General Hospital, then catch a little Judge Judy before heading into evening news, game shows, sitcoms, crime dramas and midnight re-runs of Friends or Will & Grace.

But, last year I had satellite television service. No need to mention the company I was using, we'll just say they bring TV in a direct kind of way. The service was beyond awful. Sometimes I'd only get a handful of channels. Other times, I'd get a different handful of channels. And often, there would be no channels whatsoever. When I called to complain, their customer service consisted of an operator assuring me I could repair the problem if I just climbed up onto my roof and adjusted the satellite dish myself. I wasn't to worry about this, she assured me, because as long as I cradled the phone to my ear the whole time while climbing and adjusting, she'd talk me through the entire process. My refusal brought out their repair man, who stood on the sidewalk, shrugged his shoulders and said "What do you want me to do about it?"

The original plan was to have the service disconnected and then to call the local cable company. Instead, once the TV was off, I found myself wondering why it was needed at all. Other than the series "Lost", there wasn't much television I couldn't live without. I was a little sick of the Desperate Housewives. As much as I enjoyed the cooking shows, I wasn't ever moved to get up and make something. And while the room makeover shows were fun, none of my neighbors seemed too keen on the idea of allowing me to come over and cover their dining room walls in organic wheat grass.

The thing that's interesting is people's reactions. I've learned that saying "I don't have television" often brings about the same shocked reaction as saying "I just requested my food supply be shut off." People stare wide-eyed and declare "But you NEED television!" If you go back through time, you realize this isn't anything new. Years ago, you "needed" an antenna on your roof for better reception, then it was cable TV before moving onto satellite. Surround sound then became a must-have, followed by Hi-Def, plasma, etc., etc., etc. Soon people will most likely be declaring that you absolutely "need" to hire Hugh Laurie personally to drop-in and re-enact the last episode of House live, while you lie on the couch eating day-old Chinese takeout and wondering what TV actors might be performing over at your neighbors house.

As an experiment, I tried taking the sentence "I don't have television" and substituting other words to see what people would say. For example, I discovered that when saying "I don't have a kidney" I was treated like a selfless hero who had obviously given a vital organ to a dying relative. I thought it was interesting that everyone assumed I had given my kidney away. Not once did anyone assume that I was in need of a kidney, and not once did anyone offer me one of theirs as a replacement. "I don't have indoor plumbing" simply caused people to back away from me, assuming I either hadn't had the chance to bathe in a long time or was in danger of exploding after having been constipated for weeks on-end because I couldn't bring myself to travel all the way to the outhouse.

In retrospect, trying out the sentence "I don't have Viagra" at 2AM while in a club may have been a mistake. After that particular declaration, I was greeted by dozens of outstretched hands, all holding little blue pills while promising the problem could be solved at just $20 a pop.

It seems we've forgotten the things that really are necessities. We need air, food, water and sleep. While SUV's, plasma TV's, spray-on tans and $500 shoes may all be lovely, they aren't requirements to get from one day to the next. I've yet to read an obituary claiming the cause of someone's death was lack of HBO.

On my way to and from work most days, I pass a homeless man who holds a sign that reads "I don't have food". That's right, food, which I think everyone, other than Hollywood starlets, can agree really IS a necessity. Unfortunately, this seems to bring him nothing more than either blind indifference from passers-by or angry shouts of "Get a job!" from people who assume he is simply too lazy to fend for himself. I'm often tempted to suggest he change the wording to "I don't have a cell phone." I'm sure that within minutes, dozens of people would be sitting on the sidewalk next to him, discussing the futility of trying to survive without purchasing a cellular plan.

Eventually, I will call the cable company. But in the meantime, I've discovered enjoyment in a house without the blaring sound of television advertisements. There's a lot to be said for nights out with friends, or for simply sitting quietly in a chair with a good book and some chocolate chip cookies. Now those are life's necessities.

Dating Story # 4 a/k/a...

Something New

F is a handsome, fifty-something man, the type of guy the word robust was created to describe. He practically glows good health with his trim, muscled physique, golden tan, gleaming white teeth and outgoing demeanor. He's the type of man you can easily imagine on the tennis courts in the Hamptons, lobbing a few with his good friends the Schwarzeneggers before retiring poolside with a gin and tonic for some witty repartee. He's Cary Grant charm mixed with Noel Coward wit and topped off with the smile of Mario Lopez. In other words, F is exactly the type of man who, without doing anything other than breathing, can cause me to feel totally inferior as a human being.

F and I, after meeting at yet another dating event I attended, are having dinner. He recommended this Italian restaurant in the West Village. It's the perfect location for a first date. It's just pricey enough to let you know they take their food seriously, without being extravagant. It's tastefully decorated with the lights dimmed to the perfect setting, suggesting possibilities to every hopeless romantic who crosses the threshold. The tables are placed just far enough apart to offer diners their privacy, yet close enough to allow you to get a mouth-watering glimpse of the warm chocolate souffle being served to the table in the corner.

When the waiter takes our orders for cocktails F, of course, orders a martini. Not a vodka martini like so many of the masses might order, and certainly not one of the overly-sweet flavored martinis like Lemon Drop or something doused in sixteen flavors of chocolate. F doesn't have a thirst for these over-the-top-come-to-the-carnival-its-all-in-the-presentation types of cocktails. His is the classic martini: gin, vermouth and an olive. Sitting on my side of the table, I wouldn't have been at all surprised to hear him voice his preference for having it 'shaken, not stirred" in his best Sean Connery as James Bond voice. F is so perfect, it makes you want to either toss a drink in his face or drag him off to a Las Vegas wedding chapel after convincing him there is absolutely no need for anyone to be mentioning a pre-nup.

F is a New England transplant, having moved to Manhattan in just the past few months. He apparently had sold off a fairly substantial amount of real estate, invested a chunk of money and realized he had more than enough to retire to New York. He recently purchased an apartment overlooking Central Park and had hired a contractor to do a complete floor to ceiling renovation. Coincidentally, my own recently purchased house is also in need of renovation. I don't mention it though, because while F is reviewing blueprints with his contractor and discussing the advantages of a sub-zero stainless steel refrigerator as he, no doubt, dresses in a tailor-made suit to head out the door to a tony Upper East Side cocktail party, I was at home with the rain pouring through my leaky bedroom ceiling, wondering if there was such a thing as a house-sized umbrella, while sleeping underneath a blue waterproof tarp and praying for mercy.

I don't remember saying very much during dinner. I was too intimidated. He was the let's-fly-to-the-Riviera-for-lunch-type and I'm more of a lets-get-some-more-of-those-dollar-ninety-nine-Swedish-meatballs-at-the-Ikea-cafeteria kind. He was retired with a Central Park view and I was wondering if anyone would notice if I stuffed the bread from the table into my jacket pockets so I wouldn't have to pay for lunch the next day. E-Harmony would never have mistaken us for a match.

The conversation eventually turned to men we had dated in the past. He told me that for the majority of the previous twenty five years, he had only been involved with men in their 20's. He couldn't recall even one date with a man over the age of 30, until tonight. "But" he said, "I thought is was time to try something new." You can't ask for more irony that that. Here I was, something new because, in actuality, I was something old. Looking down at my blue shirt, I realized that if one of us leaned over to the next table and asked to borrow their salt shaker, we'd be just one minister shy of starting a wedding ceremony.

F went on to talk about the challenges of dating young men. How they, while being pretty to look at, could be difficult to talk to. He said it was hard to be sure with someone so much younger, if they were more interested in him or his wrap-around terrace. F was tired of all that. He longed for something deeper and more meaningful with someone who had the same ideals and goals. It was all very touching. It would have been easier to believe however, if he hadn't cried out "Hot damn, would you look at that!" at the bubble butt belonging to the 20-something Cuban busboy as he passed our table.

I realized that I wasn't the only one feeling inferior. While I obviously had my issues with F's financial success or, more accurately, my lack of it, F had struggles of his own. Instead of simply trusting his own charm, he seemed to use his acquisitons to help attract the younger men he desired. It was too bad for both of us. F was a very nice man. But we were both too locked into our roles with neither of us knowing how to change course. I didn't know how to be Park Avenue. He didn't know how not to be.

F and I ended up having dinner a second time, but it was clear it wasn't going further than that. Other than both hoping to find a good relationship we didn't have anything in common. Well, except one thing. Because when F called out 'look at that!"about the busboy's butt, the truth was, I already had. And F was right. Hot damn, indeed.