Cable television is definitely making its presence known in my life. It's the one week anniversary of its instillation, and I've already watched more TV this week than I have in three months. This is BAD.  I have managed to maintain my rule of not turning on the TV during the day, but the nights have become trouble. Around six pm I watch the news, then “The Daily Show” on Comedy Central (man, do I wish I was writing for that show!), then I have about 150 movie channels to choose from. Who knew there were so many channels showing movies from my childhood ALL THE TIME? I can watch “Beverly Hills Cop” every day if I want to. 

I've always wondered about a few of the people in my building who never seem to leave their apartments. I pass by their doors and can hear the TV on and now I understand%3A they have cable. The outside world can't compete. 

So what's a writer boy to do? Get out of the house, I suppose. I've already made myself go out during the day to cafes to write. Now I've got to figure out the night part.  Problem is most of my friends are married and don't go to bars, and I can't stand going out like that by myself.  The alcohol goes straight to the depression switch. Not to mention it's too expensive to do that often. And I can only go to so many movies, which is pretty much the only alternative I can think of most of the time. Looks like its time to sign up for some more classes. Better myself. Last year I took cooking, salsa dancing, and photography.  My friends thought I was crazy but what did they know? They already had “significant others” and cable television. 

But enough about that. I went on a blind date this morning. I'd promised myself I would never do that again, but dating is like the lottery; you can't win if you don't play.  My friend in San Diego had a friend she wanted me to meet, and since we are both “freelancers,” we agreed to meet for brunch in Santa Monica. We emailed to coordinate, and I appreciated the fact she kept things brief. I didn't want to get into a long e-courtship, deciphering her emails for signs of personality and concocting clever, witty replies for weeks only to be disappointed by the real person. So I managed to show up at the restaurant relaxed and with absolutely no expectations whatsoever.  I didn't even ask my friend if this girl was attractive. Nothing. All I knew was she was in the design field, so I bet myself she wore glasses. (I was wrong).  Turns out she was attractive, not a knockout but pretty and down to earth. A design-type.   We survived that awkward first few minutes where you have to look at the menu but also make small talk and managed to order.  I wish there was something eventful and illuminating and funny to tell you about this date, but there really wasn't. It was perfectly… nice. She even paid for the meal because she had been twenty five minutes late and felt bad. Very noble of her, I thought.  I offered to pay, really I did, but she wouldn't accept my money. “You can pay next time,” she said. Which Perceptive Me can deduce means that she wants to go out with me again. And when we were leaving she said, “Let's go see a movie sometime.” Which I also think means that she might want me to take her to a movie. You don't say that if you want the person to vanish forever. “Sure,” I said. Which is my way of playing things “cool.” Another word, like “Absolutely!” or “Definitely!!” or “How about tonight?” would have sounded… desperate.  And though I am many things, I'm NOT desperate. 

I have cable TV, after all.