Day 466: Feeling Gravity's Pull.

Wistfully watching a parachuter float down in Lake Elsinore last weekend.

Ten Things I Haven't Done Yet:

1. Attended all four Grand Slam tennis tournaments.

2. Toured Wine Country in Northern California and Washington State.

3. Gone one month without television.

4. Driven an Airstream cross-country (trip funded by finding stuff to sell on eBay along the way).

5. Learned to play the piano.

6. Traveled the Greek Islands.

7. Gone skydiving.

8. Raised a horse from a colt.

9. Taken a class from a master chef.

10. Gotten the tattoo I want.

Day 455: I Rode a Motorcycle Today.

My bike has lots of ... parts.

It turns out there's a lot more to riding a motorcycle than just sitting on it and pushing "Go." There's a clutch and two kinds of brakes and gears you work with your feet.

I practiced in the yard at first (watch out world) while Tea taught me how to shift. After I got the hang of it, I went up and down the block a couple of times (only in first gear, and never more than 10 or 15 miles per hour).

It wasn't exactly the biggest deal on the planet, I guess ... unless, of course, you haven't been on a motorcycle in 22 years. And if the last time you were on one, you crashed.

I was scared shitless, but it was also pretty fun.

I wish there were pictures.

Day 454: Day of Rest.

Catnap - 2007

Day 453: Insecurity is Never Sexy.

It was a simple enough question: "What size are you?"

I couldn't answer. I just sat there, frozen. With four words, Tea had opened the door to my single greatest insecurity, and she had no idea. As the seconds ticked by - and I remained silent - the moment just continued to get stranger.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The background is this: I received a new pair of jeans in the mail this morning (moss green, new with tags, for $12 shipped - buying clothes on eBay is just about the smartest idea ever). I was wearing them when Tea stopped by this afternoon, and she remarked that they looked good on me. That's when the size question popped out.

I immediately knew why she was asking. Tea likes to frequent thrift stores and she also likes to buy little presents. She was asking so that if she happened to stumble across a pair of pants in my size, she could pick them up.

When it became clear that I wasn't going to answer, Tea looked at me.

"You're not going to tell me?"

"I can't."

"Why?"

And there it was. All I had to do was stop the Drama Train and say it; after all, it's not like she doesn't know what I look like. The attraction between us is solid, and she's always saying sweet, complimentary things about my body.

"I just don't want to say," I finally muttered. "I'll tell you in two sizes."

Tea's expression changed as she shook her head.

"That's so insulting. I can't believe you think I would care."

I still couldn't answer. I was watching myself turn an innocent question into Drama, and felt powerless to stop it. I'd been doing a good job of keeping my weight/body insecurities out of my relationship with Tea, and suddenly, there they were, out on full display.

Finally, a good 10 minutes later, I looked at her and quietly said, "16."

Tea shrugged. "That's what I would have guessed."

I know, I blew this thing way out of proportion. Sorry, but you trying telling some hot little Size 6 chick that you've five tags up on her in the wardrobe department. It's no fun.

It's even less fun to realize that if I'd just said "16" to begin with - like it was no big deal - I would have looked confident instead of cliched.

When will I learn?

Days 449 & 450: Gula.

From The Seven Deadly Sins and the Four Last Things - Hieronymus Bosch, 1485

I was asked not long ago to choose between the seven deadly sins - which one do I most often abuse? Which sin is my ultimate downfall?

Like a deep, dark truth you know about yourself but rarely voice out loud, the answer immediately filled my brain's information screen. I (of course) didn't want to cop to it, so I insisted on going though the other six ... just to make sure I wasn't being hasty. It took a few minutes to come up with all seven (I always forget about wrath), but finally, I ticked through the list.

1) Wrath (originally, the Latin "ira"): I lose my temper sometimes - and I've been known to be a bully - but generally speaking, anger's not my bag.

2) Lust ("luxuria"): I've never been able to figure out why this one's a sin.

3) Sloth ("acedia"): If I had to choose a second-worst sin, this would be it.

4) Envy ("invidia"): I have a jealous streak - and I've been known to occasionally envy the success of others - but I wouldn't say it's anywhere near the top of my Sin List.

5) Pride ("superbia")" Like most of us, I make plenty of stupid decisions based on pride. Luckily, it rarely takes me long to backtrack and make things right.

6) Greed ("avarita"): Sure, I can be greedy, especially if you define greed as the need for more and more. But if you go by the more traditional definition (desiring money, power, and/or material possessions), it's not where my ultimate weakness lies.

No, my Numero Uno Sin is, of course ....

Gluttony ("gula").

"Modern views identify Gluttony with an overindulgence of food and drink, though in the past, any form of thoughtless excess could fall within the definition of this sin. Marked by unreasonable or unnecessary excess of consumption, Gluttony could also include certain forms of destructive behavior, especially for sport, or for its own sake." - Wikipedia

Yep. Pretty much sums things up. After all, if you look back at Day One of this blog, I say that I started it on Thanksgiving Day because it felt like a classic case of wanton consumption.

Nothing is ever enough for me, and nothing ever has been. I guess when there are missing pieces inside, you have two choices: You can learn to mind the gaps, or you can spend your life chasing anything you think might fill them in.

I've tried to do both, and as is often the case when one pursues multiple paths, neither one ever takes you where you truly need to go.

If I sit at the edge of my life today and take it all in, I can see where my neediness tends to override pretty much everything else that might be happening. I've got a literary agent and my manuscript is currently sitting with five publishers (waiting to be read), but that's not enough. I want it to sell. And then that won't be enough - I'll want it to be a huge success. And then I'll want one of those silver Newberry Award medals on the cover. And then I'll want whatever it is I'll want next. Nothing will be enough.

Mind the gap.

I'm crazy about Tea, but no matter how clearly she demonstrates that she feels the same way, I'm constantly on the lookout for disappointment.

Fill the gap.

And then there's food. I don't need to go into any detail about that one.

Mind it ... Fill it ... Whatever works (or doesn't).

I have a terrific day job (as far as day jobs go). I work limited hours doing something I like and get paid very well for it. That doesn't stop me from complaining, whining and trying to get out of it on a regular basis.

Nothing is ever enough.

It scares me. It scares me that the primary reason I despise neediness in others is that I'm often that person myself. It scares me that 43 years into the only life I'll ever have (Buddhist hopes aside), I'm still cycling through the same basic shit, still looking for ways to compensate for what's missing.

It may surprise you that I'm not unhappy as I write this. There is no dark cloud over my head. I'm merely frustrated, overtired, unnerved by the various states of limbo, and perhaps a little bit disappointed in myself.

My goal today is to embrace that which is good in my life - to appreciate what I can without worrying about what comes next.

The full Bosch work from which the top panel was taken.

Day 445: It's All Coming Back to Me.

Why I Moved to California - A Reminder (2007)









What's 's truly scary is that this is not a black and white photograph.

Day 444: Rinky Dink.

Bill discusses the finer points of rink management with Tina and Josephine.

One of the many things I love about Bill is his dedication to a project. Once he commits, he's in for the long haul.

It is for this reason that a winter puddle in the back yard has become the Marshall Family Ice Rink. No one has actually skated on the rink to date, but quite a bit of thought, discussion and preparation has gone into such an eventuality.

No matter how big a deal Bill has brewing - no matter how early his flight to New York City might be - he's out at the rink before sunup, Gucci loafers be damned, watering and smoothing his beloved ice.

There are also many mornings, according to Samantha, on which he'll call home from his travels and enlist one of the kids to go out and do the necessary watering. The kids are excited about the rink and happy to oblige - so far, Josephine and Tina have missed the school bus no less than three times because they were acting as human Zambonis.

I have been told that the rink is almost ready for use. Bill has the skates lined up, ready to go. It's supposed to go down to zero degrees Friday night, so the plan is to pour an inch of water after dark and let it freeze into a smooth surface layer.

The fact that the rink measures 10' x 20' is of no consequence to anyone involved.

It is good to be here.

Day 439: The Motorcycle Diary.

It was the week before college graduation, and my friends and I had been drinking all afternoon. We were just starting to talk about dinner when a guy named John walked into the bar. He was still wearing his motorcycle helmet.

I didn't know him, but my friends did. Somehow, dinner thoughts turned to a local favorite: Brooks BBQ (it still ranks as the best I've ever had). Since no one wanted to leave the bar, John offered to go pick it up. For reasons I can't remember, he needed an assistant, and since I loved motorcycles (my first boyfriend and I used to ride his dirt bike all over the fields in upstate NY), I volunteered.

John was the only one who hadn't been drinking.

It was a 10 or 15 minute ride on the expressway, and on the way there, John's spare helmet was merely resting on my head. The straps were left dangling.

Brooks BBQ - Oneonta, NY

After we picked up the food, we were about to take off when John happened to notice the straps hanging down on either side of my head. He scowled at me, said something about how dangerous that was, and tied them extra tightly for emphasis.

We were halfway back to the bar - doing 60-65 mph on the expressway - when I felt the bike begin to swerve from side to side. I got mad because I thought he was showing off. I didn't think it was funny at all.

Turns out the back tire had just blown. Luckily, John was a good enough rider that he kept the bike from somersaulting. Instead, he tried to ride it out (thus the swaying). In the end, the bike fell on top of us and we slid for I don't know how long. I would guess maybe 20 or 25 yards? Who the hell knows - it could have been 50.

When the bike finally stopped, I got up and started walking. Luckily, there weren't a lot of cars on the road. It seemed like less than a minute before some woman stopped and picked me up and took me to the hospital.

I just left. I don't remember a single thing about the accident or what it looked like. I found out later that John had been pretty seriously injured.

It was a good thing John tied my helmet so tightly, because one entire side was shaved off by the time we stopped. The strap had made deep cuts into my chin. My jeans and sweatshirt were torn clean through, and my left cheek, arm and leg were missing quite a bit of skin. I'll never forget the wire brush they had to use at the hospital to get the rocks and grit out of my face. Painful.

That was the last time I was on a motorcycle: May of 1985 (Damn ... 22 years? Yikes). I did drive a moped once (I was vacationing on an island and had no choice), but then I got scared and crashed it into a brick wall. I was also a passenger on a moped once (in Hawaii last April, with Bambi driving), and I was quietly terrified.

Being around Tea these last few weeks has made me want to get back on a motorcycle (well, a dirt bike, anyway). I have no desire to be on the road, but the idea of paths and trails sounds fun. The problem is, her bikes seem too big.

Well, Tea has solved that problem by acquiring a 1978 Yamaha YZ80. It's not a gift or anything, but it's being kept at my house and she's going to teach me to ride it.

It's yellow. I like it. I'm going to scrub and polish it until it's shiny.

If it turns out I'm too chicken to ride it, well, at least I'll be able to enjoy looking at it.

Day 438: Day of Rest.

Town in Country - 2006

Day 436: Down and Dirty.

A biker soars through the air after taking a jump on the advanced track.

I had never been to a dirt bike track before yesterday - to be honest, I'd never even thought about the fact that they existed.

It was therefore something of a surprise to find that on any given weekday, there are a 100 or so dirt bike enthusiasts ripping up the tracks in Lake Elsinore (a desert community 90 minutes southeast of Los Angeles, and yes, the lake is very man-made). I'm told that number swells to a few hundred on weekends .

It was fun watching Tea run the track (one of the intermediate tracks, mind you), since riding is something she's so wholeheartedly passionate about. She set me up by the truck with a comfortable chair and a small desk thingie so I could work, but even though I managed to edit a few chapters of something new I've been writing, most of my time was spent watching Tea make practice laps.

Tea starts up one of the two vintage bikes she hauled out to the track.

After she finished riding (only one crash!), we decided to find a place to stay the night. We got a room at a cheap-but-cheerful motel and rested for a while, and then it was time to hit the mean streets of Lake Elsinore.

There was clearly no choice but to play some Blackjack at the old-school Casino across the street.

It was an exciting five minutes.

We were suddenly broke, and that's when a good-natured guy named Bill started chatting us up. Tea introduced herself as Tess and I followed her lead by becoming Kate, and Tess and Kate graciously let Bill buy them drinks for the rest of the night. Throw a few other oddball casino patrons into the mix (a party girl visiting from London was particularly amusing in a scary kind of way) and a good time was had by all.

The casino looks like an etxremely cool piece of Americana at night ...


... But reveals its tired side in the light of day.


I had a great time on my little getaway. You learn a lot about someone when you travel with them, and I learned that Tea is easy to be around and doesn't get on my nerves (she's also pretty relaxed when certain people who are supposed to be reading the map miss the exit and/or go the wrong way). An added bonus? I was never bored. A shocking development? She not only beat me in Scrabble, she kicked my ass.

The whole trip almost made me want to ride a motorcycle again, but after what happened to me on a bike more than 20 years ago, I'm not sure that will ever happen (it's a good story, but I'll save it for another day).

That track sure did look fun, though ...

Day 428: Good News.

Life got a whole lot better today when news came that the agency I've been talking to in New York has decided to represent The Falling Joys.

I mean, I think they're going to. The email sure made it sound that way. I'll know more after I speak with them tomorrow.

It's hard not to jump ahead in my mind - to imagine selling the book and actually seeing it get published - but I'm trying my best. Luckily, I have a seriously superstitious side (I had to mail the rewrite from the same post office I mailed the first draft, had to use the same color Sharpie on the box, needed the first person who read/edited the manuscript to be the last, etc). This means I'm terrified of jinxing the next step by assuming an outcome. If anything, my tendency is to underplay the potential.

(Okay, so I walked around the house earlier turning the words "book-book-book-book" into a truly retarded chicken sound ["book-book-book-bawwwk!"]. It was a momentary lapse of karmic judgment - not to mention a clear lapse of anything resembling cool. I'm over it now.)

So. I might get to have a book.

This is an idea that appeals to me.

Day 425: Dating and Dieting Don't Go Together.

It's hard to focus on losing weight when you're starting to like someone. When they call you up and say they feel like pizza and ask if you'd like to join them, it's hard to say no just because you know pizza is off-limits.

So you instead say to yourself, "I'll only have one small piece. And I won't eat the crust."

You say it because what you really want isn't the pizza (although it does sound pretty damn good) ... you want to see the person you like.

Then you get to the restaurant and there's salad and good beer and when the pizza comes it smells amazing and you eat your one piece and you know you should stop but then there's the part where you have to try a piece with eggplant because you've admitted that you haven't tasted eggplant in like, 15 years and you know that if you don't step up and try it you'll look like a stick-in-the-mud with no sense of adventure.

Suddenly, there's a second piece of pizza on your plate. One with eggplant.

Unfortunately, it was good. I was shocked. I ate almost the entire piece.

Like I said up top - dieting and dating don't mix.

I'm sure some of you are thinking that what I should have done was told Tea that I couldn't eat pizza, or wasn't in the mood for it, or suggested somewhere else to go.

No.

This is the first time in ... I don't know, maybe forever that I've started seeing someone without making my weight an issue. It hasn't even been mentioned in conversation - not once - and I haven't felt particularly insecure about it. Tea does know I'm in the throes of some no-pot-lose-weight-blog-experiment thing, but that's about all she knows.

Now, with all that said, I also realize that I need support when it comes to the diet, and if I'm going to keep seeing Tea (the red flags, by the way, are feeling increasingly insignificant), I'll have to find ways to get my dieting needs across without making them a constant topic of conversation.

Even though I'm not used to emotional balance when it comes to my weight, it feels very freeing to not be worrying about it.

Day 416: Self-Sabotage Monkeys.

The Self-Sabotage Monkeys were out in force today, hitting me between the eyes on two different fronts: career and romance.

I hate it when they do that.

First, the career. I sent the revised Falling Joys draft off to the agent this afternoon, and the second I walked out of the post office, the monkeys began their obnoxious chatter. What if it's not good enough? What if there are mistakes? What if you didn't go far enough? What if you went too far? They're not going to like it. Stop dreaming.

When I told them to shut up and mind their own business - after all, it's a very good manuscript, and if this agent doesn't take it, another one will - all they did was laugh.

I hate the way monkeys laugh.

But if I managed to quiet the little shits on the manuscript front, I had a much harder time on the personal front.

I recently met a very cool girl with a strange name and an even stranger nickname - let's just call her Tea for now - and we had an excellent first date. We were supposed to go out to some bar, but Tea has a foosball table in her apartment (a big place on a hill not far from me that would cost a fortune if she hadn't rented it years ago), so we played foosball and drank champagne and she DJ'd a great mix of old vinyl (The Stooges, Buzzcocks, The Stones, etc). She kicked my ass in foosball (I dug that) and a good time was had.

At the end of the night it became clear that there was definite mutual chemistry, and I wasn't seeing any red flags. Tea is old enough to take seriously (39), has a good job (film/tv editor), is smart, makes me laugh, has interesting hobbies (racing vintage dirt bikes, making short films, collecting records), seems emotionally balanced, and (not for nothing) is incredibly easy on the eyes. She's a definite California native (words like "rad" and "dude" are on the table), but I actually find that kind of cute.

Anyway, the date ended on a very good note, and I had nothing but positive thoughts. The good vibe continued today, when she called and invited me to lunch (oh yeah - I should mention that the only drawback here is that she works the graveyard shift at a network - as in 9 p.m. until 5 a.m. - and then sleeps until noon. It's not ideal).

The monkeys began their evil chatter as soon as she picked me up. You don't look as good as you did at night, when the warm glows and champagne softened everything. Now it's the harsh light of day. She's thinking twice. You know she is. She's figured out you're overweight. Your hair looks shitty. She's 5'3" and weighs like, 120 pounds - get real. She wishes she hadn't kissed you. She just wants to be friends. Duh.

Nevermind that we had a very nice lunch, and that a few flirtatious lines were dropped. Nevermind that we've talked on the phone twice since then and had good conversations. In Karen's monkey brain, if someone's not overtly telling you they're into you, they're probably not.

For the most part, I stood my ground today. I know the manuscript is good, and I certainly have a shot at getting representation. I like this girl Tea, and there might actually be some potential there (if I can possibly manage not to act like a total freak).

But I have to admit, I really hate those god damn monkeys.

Day 410: Pear for the Course.

Tonight's unexpected dessert - the black things are walnuts.

As far as dates go, tonight's was a pretty good one. Brenda is smart, funny and engaging, and if I leaned just a little bit more towards the whole Woody Allen thing, I'd be really interested. As it stands, well ... we'll see.

The evening (sans date) began with dinner at Randy's - despite having recently emerged from the hospital, he rallied to make a killer chicken stir fry with cashews and a cous cous he'd prepared in homemade broth. Knowing Randy would go down for the count early, I arranged to meet my date for a drink afterwards. (When I say "meet" I mean that literally - Brenda and I had exchanged a few emails and spoken on the phone, but never actually met).

The chosen spot was Vinoteca in Los Feliz, but I'd barely arrived when I realized I'd forgotten my wallet (classic Karen, unfortunately). No cash, no cards, no nothing. I sat in my car for a good minute or so deciding what to do next, then took out my cell phone and dialed.

"Hello, Brenda? You're taking the 134 to the 5, right? Good, well ... I was thinking, how do you feel about a change in plan? Turns out Vinoteca is a total scene tonight - it took me forever to find a place to park. And then there's the part where I forgot my wallet ... Would you be up for going a few more exits on the 5 and having a drink at my place instead?"

It's a good thing she said yes, since I was already halfway back to my house by the time I finished my spiel. Fifteen minutes later she arrived, a cute Jewish woman with an excellent sense of humor and a serious allergy to dogs and cats. I sequestered Sydney, Callie and Mojo (they were not amused) and we sat at the kitchen table and had a drink (no wine for Brenda, who's allergic to the tannens in wine. She instead had a Cointreau and Soda, even cutting herself a nifty French Twist with a lime peel).

We began talking and telling stories, and when she noticed the fruit on my table (a fancy selection given to me by one of the families I tutor), she suggested baking some pears. Right then and there. I liked that about her. Ten minutes later, after being dolloped with butter and sprinkled with brown sugar, walnuts, and cinnammon, the pears were in the oven.

Brenda was sweet and complimentary as we talked, and impossible not to like. I definitely got the impression she was interested. Did I feel a similar attraction? I'm not sure ... maybe. I'd certainly go on another date to find out.

The pears were delicious.

Day 401: Day of Rest.

The Lighting of the Tree - 2006

Day 399: The Amazing Face.

For three years now (ever since I moved into my house), I've watched the woman pictured above make her daily walk around the neighborhood.

Her pace is slow but steady, and her expression never changes. I've never seen her talk to anyone, carry anything, depart from a location, or arrive at one. I've never seen her stop walking, either.

I've wanted desperately to take her picture, but I haven't for two main reasons: I don't usually carry my camera around, and I feel weird asking strangers if I can take their picture. I also worried I might offend her.

I was driving home from my final goodbye over at George's on Friday when I saw her ... and this time, I had my camera with me. I guess my sadness made me bold, because I stopped the car alongside her, rolled down the passenger window, and asked if she'd mind if I took her picture.

She spoke no English (and I know like, 50 words in Spanish), so maybe that's why she thought I was asking her to take a picture. She nodded - and reached out to receive my camera - and I snapped one shot. "No, I meant I wanted to take your picture," I said at roughly the same time. I suddenly felt guilty, like I'd stolen something.

She stared at me for a moment, shrugged, and continued on her way.

When I saw her again this afternoon, she smiled at me.

Day 386: Day of Rest.

A Final Look Out George's Window - 2006













...

Day 385: Door Monkey.

When I was a kid, my family moved a lot. Florida, Virginia, New York, Colorado ... when someone asks me where I grew up, I never know quite what to say.

As an adult, I've also moved more times than I care to remember. Since coming to Los Angeles 14 years ago, however, I've actually been pretty stable - I've only moved six times.

It always sucks. Even when you're happy about where you're going, it's stressful. Watching George and Jackie prepare to move over the last few weeks has left me empathetic.

It's also left me a lot of stuff.

As he's been paring down to take off, George has been gifting me all kinds of cool belongings. It's a random assortment that's dribbled in as he's made tough packing choices: a half-dozen books, a painting he's had since high school, an antique meat scale, a gazillion This American Life shows on tape (all handmade), the extra-special 1977 presidential plate (featuring all 38 Commander in Chiefs, with Jimmy Carter in the center), an antique wooden mini bar (with amber glass decanters) ... the list goes on.

The best gift of all, though - without question - is Door Monkey. I just noticed him tonight, sitting in the bottom of a box, smiling up at me with one hand raised in salutation. I picked him up and smiled.

Door Monkey has been stationed next to the door at George's house for as long as I can remember. George's keys were generally hung on DM's hand - or, on occasion, tossed into the foot dish. When George used to wear a watch, I think I remember seeing that there, too, and sometimes, Door Monkey was in charge of George's wallet.

He had a lot of responsibility. I guess that's why he wears the top hat.

I was surprised George had gifted me Door Monkey. When I called him up and asked why he was letting him go, George said something about having had a lot of good years together, but it being time for someone else to steward him. When I mentioned that I didn't have a place for Door Monkey by my door - and that maybe he'd have to become Desk Monkey - the idea was gently shot down.

Apparently, Door Monkey has a job to do, and if you deny him this job, well, George says he can't be responsible for the "mischief" DM might get up to.

So ... I guess I'll be finding Door Monkey a home near my door. I actually kind of like the idea, because then, every time I walk in or out, I'll think of George.

It's funny how one little thing - a strange little monkey, no less - can make a big thing somehow easier to bear.

Day 384: Turning 40 Was Never So Good.

I like that I can say "I've lost 40 pounds." It sounds so much better than saying, "I've lost 39 pounds."

I don't know why ... it just does.

Another parent gave me a box of chocolate today ... can you believe it? (I'm tempted to roll out the "fucktard" label, but I won't.)

I went out to my goodbye dinner with George and Jackie tonight. I'm going to miss them both in ways I can't even begin to think about. There were moments during dinner in which I was dangerously close to tears ... but I maintained. Why?

Because (of course) I am not one to be maudlin.

Well, until I think about the fact that I ate and drank 100 points.

Seriously.

But it was a great dinner, and worth every second I'll spend making up for it over the next 6 days (if that's even possible).

I can't believe they're leaving on Friday.

George was supposed to be here forever.

Day 380: Hammer Time.

Sometimes, when you can't find the right art, you just have to make it yourself.

I went on a date yesterday and actually had a pretty good time. We played pool during Happy Hour, and the games were fun. The conversation was lively. The girl (Alice) was cute, bright enough, and had a good sense of humor. On paper, we should have hit it off.

But there was no romantic spark. None. Seriously - when you've each had a couple of drinks and you're still not flirting, well, that's just a serious lack of chemistry.

It got me thinking about my take on the laws of attraction, and what it is I'm looking for. Then, on the drive home, it hit me: Alice was a nice girl and all, but nothing about her hit any of my bells (and, apparently, I hit none of hers).

I wasn't picturing ordinary bells, though - they were those bell and hammer games you play at the county fair. You know, when you use a hammer to smash a platform as hard as you can, the goal being to make the little metal thingie shoot all the way up and ring the bell.

I think four Hammer Bells need to ring in order for there to be a true connection: Emotional, Physical, Intellectual, and Companionship.

Or, if you want to make an acronym out of it (and you know I do) ...

A four-bell person is E.P.I.C. (there can be Epic Girls and Epic Boys; this is a theory that crosses gender and sexuality lines). An Epic Connecion is rare indeed, and if you're lucky enough to stumble across one, you know it in your bones.

What needs to exist for a particular bell to sound?

The E-Bell looks at a wide range of emotional issues, from basic kindness and compassion all the way over to stability (no mental cases, please), maturity (no drama queens, thank you very much), and sincerity. The ability to process a problem quickly and efficiently is also key.

The P-Bell is the most obvious. Does the thought of kissing this person make you feel all melty inside? Do you even find his or her physical shortcomings attractive? And, at the end of the day, is this someone you simply like looking at?

The I-Bell covers basic smarts, self-awareness, the depth, range and power of conversation, and the degree to which the person is both interesting and interested. Are you challenged, intrigued, surprised and confounded? Does the potential exist to grow in directions that might actually keep it that way?

And then there's the C-Bell: Companionship. This one's about the day-to-day - the level of basic compatibility when it comes to everything from workday routines to shopping to vacations. Is this the first person you want to see when you wake up and the last one you want to see before going to bed?

Granted, it's tough to know on a first (or second or third or tenth) date whether or not someone is Epic. But you can generally tell pretty damn quickly when someone isn't. (As a believer is all things idealistic and romantic, I suppose I should add that yes - I do believe in rare cases of love at first sight. I swear, it's a fucking miracle that I don't believe in unicorns and the magic of rainbows).

Hey, if nothing else, the Epic Theory makes it easy to rate a date.

She was a two-bell girl, but in the other two categories, she barely registered.

Well, he only hit one bell, but since it was the P-Bell, I went home with him anyway.

That date sucked - she didn't even have a hammer!

And then, there's ever elusive:

Holy shit - I think I've met someone truly Epic!

Hope springs eternal ...