{"id":2529,"date":"2015-03-29T18:44:09","date_gmt":"2015-03-29T16:44:09","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/damiengaleone.com\/?p=2529"},"modified":"2015-10-13T13:03:19","modified_gmt":"2015-10-13T11:03:19","slug":"theres-no-one-new-around-you","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/damiengaleone.com\/?p=2529","title":{"rendered":"There’s No One New Around You"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"there<\/a>I am sitting in my office trying to write, but it\u2019s not coming. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and realize I\u2019ve had that whisk head massage thingy on for an hour. I remove it and put on my writing kufi, which is the only thing one should wear when trying to write.<\/p>\n

Naturally.<\/p>\n

I look up at the wall in front of my desk. A piece of paper hangs there with the words \u201cWhat if\u2026?\u201d on it. Since my writing kufi isn\u2019t drawing forth the inspiration it usually does, I play the \u201cWhat if\u2026?\u201d game to get my creative juices flowing.<\/p>\n

What if the pimple on my back exploded and began singing Mamie? <\/em><\/p>\n

What if the Pope wrote a letter to my penis for its 40th birthday? <\/em><\/p>\n

What if the zombie apocalypse happened and the only people I could communicate with were my Tinder contacts?<\/em><\/p>\n

Hm.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s very improbable that the Pope is going to write to my genitals and if the pimple on my back sings to me then I\u2019m going to Bohunice (the mental hospital in Prague). But the zombie apocalypse Tinder idea has me intrigued.<\/p>\n

I get my tablet and write a basic note to three new(ish) Tinder matches. My contact with them so far has been limited or nonexistent.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, how are you today?\u201d<\/p>\n

Two of them respond with basic responses and the conversation continues. I will simply slip in questions one might ask if they were talking to someone in the same city after the zombie apocalypse.<\/p>\n

Me: \u201cWhich part of Prague do you live in, again?\u201d<\/p>\n

Bachelorette #1: \u201cLet\u0148any.\u201d<\/p>\n

Me: \u201cAh, do you like it?\u201d<\/p>\n

B1: \u201cSure. It\u2019s lovely here, where do you live?\u201d<\/p>\n

Me: \u201cPodol\u00ed. So is there a clean water supply in Letnany?\u201d<\/p>\n

B1: \u201cYeah\u2026I guess so. Podol\u00ed is near the water works, you must have good water.\u201d<\/p>\n

Me: \u201cTrue. But not a lot of food.\u201d<\/p>\n

B1: \u201cReally? Why?\u201d<\/p>\n

I have found that many of my Tinder conversations have been the same old, same old. How are you? Where are you from? What do you do? Can I tie you up? Normal things. At the very least, this has spiced the conversation up a bit. Perhaps only on my side, but that\u2019s OK for now.<\/p>\n

With Bachelorette #1 surely pondering why the Podol\u00ed section of Prague would be lacking food, I go back to Bachelorette #2, who has just asked me \u201cWhat do you do for fun?\u201d<\/p>\n

Me: \u201cForage, mostly.\u201d<\/p>\n

B2: \u201cI had to look that word up. Why do you forage in Prague?\u201d<\/p>\n

Me: \u201cMan’s gotta eat…Anyway, what do you do?\u201d<\/p>\n

B2: \u201cI\u2019m a doctor.\u201d<\/p>\n

Me: \u201cWow. You must be in high demand these days!\u201d<\/p>\n

B2: \u201cSure.\u201d<\/p>\n

Me: \u201cWhere do you get food?\u201d<\/p>\n

B2: \u201cThe Billa on my street.\u201d<\/p>\n

Me: \u201cIt hasn\u2019t been overrun?\u201d<\/p>\n

B2: \u201cOnly on Friday afternoons.\u201d<\/p>\n

Me: \u201cAh.\u201d<\/p>\n

B2: \u201cI have to go meet a friend. Chat later?\u201d<\/p>\n

Me: \u201cSure. Be safe out there.\u201d<\/p>\n

B2: \u201cThnx.\u201d<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t know if the doctor has what it takes to make it in these rough days. I go back to bachelorette #1 and reply to her question.<\/p>\n

Me: \u201cWe have no animals here. Are there deer in Let\u0148any?\u201d<\/p>\n

B1: \u201cDeer? No. We have ducks and a lot of dogs.\u201d<\/p>\n

Me: \u201cDogs? Are they wild?\u201d<\/p>\n

B1: \u201cNo\u2026people own them?\u201d<\/p>\n

Me: \u201cInteresting.\u201d<\/p>\n

B1: \u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n

This is a fair question and one that demands a reasonable response. I leave Bachelorette #1 alone and retire to the couch.<\/p>\n

While I doze off into mid-afternoon dream land, I begin to think about this. What if this was real and the only website still working after the zombie apocalypse was Tinder? I guess we\u2019d all broaden our discovery preferences to both guys and girls. To not do so is would show a serious dedication to a lifestyle choice.<\/p>\n

Would we ever swipe left when shown a new potential match? And what if we were never matched to anyone? The rejection would be huge. It would mean being left without a group, solitary living, and almost certain doom. Rejection would mean death!<\/p>\n

In any case, the pressure to look your best would be massive.<\/p>\n

And then there\u2019s that all too terrible notification on Tinder: There\u2019s no one new around you. It would be utterly depressing to see that because one day it might be literally true.<\/p>\n

I wake and have a Tinder message from Bachelorette #1 asking if I have a dog. I think about telling her that I did, but then ate him for survival, but I don\u2019t do this. It would be crossing the border from silly inside joke to quasi-threatening statement from a creepy stranger. Instead, I give up my fantasy and tell her I have a cat. She has a dog (that she has not eaten). And, with that, we are right back to the same old, same old.<\/p>\n

I never hear from Bachelorette #3. I guess the walkers got her.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I am sitting in my office trying to write, but it\u2019s not coming. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and realize I\u2019ve had that whisk head massage thingy on for an hour. I remove it and put on my writing kufi, which is the only thing one should wear when trying to […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[8],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2529","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-blog"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p1EvEu-EN","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/damiengaleone.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2529","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/damiengaleone.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/damiengaleone.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/damiengaleone.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/damiengaleone.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2529"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/damiengaleone.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2529\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2533,"href":"https:\/\/damiengaleone.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2529\/revisions\/2533"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/damiengaleone.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2529"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/damiengaleone.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2529"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/damiengaleone.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2529"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}