It was the most beautiful wedding I've ever attended and, having four sisters, I've been to a few. Erin and Allan, all decked out in the traditional finery, exchanging tender vows of peace and love in front of the world. It was enough to move this columnist to the occasional tear, and I don't normally cry at weddings. Of course, I don't normally attend a wedding dressed in a MacRenderMan T-shirt and shorts either, but unlike the stick-in-the-mud family that Sister #2 inexplicably married into, the Crains had no objections to a pants-optional ceremony: Theirs was held in a live online conference room.
It comes as no surprise to people who can see the photo above that I am indeed a major geek, and therefore in my interludes with women, the phrase "like a brother" comes up with disturbing frequency. But Allan's wedding renewed my hopes. Clearly he pegged the needle on the ol' Geek-Meter too, and yet through the miracle of modern digital technology, he'd managed to get Erin to sign on the dotted line. Is that the secret? Could megahypersupercool technology help random geeks attract members of the preferred target gender (in my case, chicks)? Can a PowerBook 5300ce do for single guys in the '90s what a customized van and a quart of Hai Karate did for them in the '70s? Clearly it was a question that could be answered only through strict empirical methods, by consuming many gin and tonics in many downtown bars over a period of months.
Field Trial 1.
The Place: The Miracle of Science bar and grill, Central Square, Cambridge, MA. The Attractant: PowerBook 5300ce. Located mere blocks from MIT, the MOS has established itself as one of the bars of choice for the geek element to meet and interface. Confident that I have brought the right hardware to the right place, I open the PowerBook and begin some idle work. I am ignored. I order another drink. I maintain my invisibility. With the third drink, I realize the idiocy of bringing a hot notebook to a place where people go to take a break from Class 12 exposure to technology, and after the fourth and fifth, I fire up Speech Recognition and spend the rest of the evening having "Victoria" tell me knock-knock jokes. The Verdict: Success -- I was, technically, talking to a woman -- although limited.
Field Trial 2.
The Place: The Ginger Man bar, just a few short steps from Wrigley Field, Chicago, IL. The Attractant: Newton MessagePad 100. In a word, Jackpot. I get myself a drink and retire to the rear section of the bar. I take a seat along one of the three pool tables, torch my Sty-Lite Illuminated Stylus, and begin taking notes. Almost instantly, I am approached by a comely young lady, who asks about the illuminated pen. I describe the device and its purpose while she grins heavily. I make considerable progress, and she is very interested in learning where I've come from, where I'm staying, and how long I'll be in town. Ultimately, she makes overtures indicating her being amenable to interludes of a more personal nature. I'm about to award the Newton the coveted Barry White Trophy when she lets slip that she loves my music. I get a slightly nauseated feeling and through a series of questions determine that she believes me to be John Popper, lead singer of Blues Traveler. I break the news to her, and she returns to the gaggle of girlfriends whence she came. The Verdict: Just the ticket for overweight men with sideburns and not the barest hint of scruples. John Popper, you owe me one.
Field Trial 3.
The Place: Au Bon Pain, Harvard Square, Cambridge, MA. The Attractant: IBM ThinkPad 701C. Under the impression that the way-cool "Butterfly" keyboard of the 701 series might prove to be, like its namesake, a more colorful and therefore effective communication of the desire to mate, I open the lid and prepare to fire up a game. But Windows can't find the sound hardware. After an hour of troubleshooting, I realize that I have garnered the attention of three other patrons (1F 2M). I motion to them, and they each make suggestions regarding my .WIN, .INI, and .SYS files. After another half an hour's work, the game's opening strains come ringing out. Conversation ensues, and e-mail addresses are exchanged. The Verdict: Success, but it's a relationship forged in combat against a mutual enemy and consequently a bogus foundation for romance.
Field Trial 4.
The Place: Johnny D's music club, Davis Square, Somerville, MA. My empirical data being mixed at best, I decide I need a nontechnological attractant as a control. Therefore, I approach the bar, order a beverage, take a 5-pound bag of potting soil out of my satchel, and perch it jauntily atop my coat on the seat next to me. The sight of a man with a bag of dirt sparks one's curiosity, and by the end of the evening, I have two solid prospects, one of which leads to four very nice dates. The Verdict: Unqualified success. I suspect that it won't work for you unless you can answer the inevitable first question by saying you're writing a magazine column, but hey, I mean, who cares about you?
