The Los Angeles Dating Manifesto
But first…Introduction Paragraph
Usually after a night on the town, I’ll throw on a classic. Maybe I’ll get some shots up on Pluto and lock into the first 28 minutes of No Way Out. Or as I’ve already written about before, vibe to the soothing 2 AM rhythms of a Season 2 Frasier romp. Just a couple of Saturday nights ago, Parad and I hammered out some Dark Knight Rises (Bane’s kinda having a moment right now). But what you’ll never expect me to turn on in the witching hours is something I never expect either. Then, about once a year it calls to me. Nay, it screams from inside of me.
I think it’s time to give John Adams with Paul Giamatti a rewatch.
Mind you folks, I never make it past the first episode. After all, it’s around 3AM once the credits roll. I think that’s why I keep coming back. Johnny Adams is the founding father next door and sometimes I get lonely.
Last weekend it happened again. Friday night. I’d returned from a postgame That’s right. An adult postgame. One minute you’re sipping a warm White Claw at your newly single friend’s 3k a month one bedroom - because he’s suddenly the life of the party - and the next you’re all tucked in, locking into a viscerally DANK dramatization of the Boston Massacre. Spoiler alert: It’s not how you remember it. I made it about 23 minutes in before dozing off and simply dreaming of joining or dying. A few nights later, I finally went back and finished what I started. Adams rides off to Philadelphia for the first meeting of the Continental Congress. Roll Credits. Of the first episode, that is.
Not only am I ready for more Colonial Giamatti. Who isn’t? But just in general, I need more colonial shit.
Obviously, I love the fits with the high socks. Fellas strolling through streets like they’re about to take third base on a wild pitch. And don’t sleep on the triangle hats. I feel like Jeremey Strong could pull one off.
I love the architecture. Because seriously, ask Camden Yards. Nobody ever went wrong with a little bit of BRICK. I love a good writing desk. Colonial Giamatti has a great one that he goes quill to parchment on. Right now, I’m typing this half asleep in bed. Just about everything but my fingers have completely checked out. But I’ll tell you what would bring me to attention. A piece of furniture specifically crafted for word action. I love the sayings we remember from that time. Give me liberty or give me death. We used to speak in this country - or I guess in these Colonies. What good quotes do we get now? Spit on that thang. That’s what we get. I might just start preparing quotes. Keep an arsenal in the back pocket. I’m hoping at least one will really stand the test of time. Maybe someone will react like Diane Kruger did when Ben Gates laid Colonial chum and she remembered we needed more of that too.
I do, after all, live in a micro-neighborhood named Colonial Corners. That’s not completely true. I live next to a shopping plaza named Colonial Corners. But it’s a good enough name that Parad and I declared our block Colonial Corners as well. There’s so much goddamn brick. You’d love it. Have you ever seen a Whole Foods with a George Washington plaque carved into the side of it? I’ll take that as a nay.
And while we’re on the subject of GW, it’s time to face the facts. Just become I need more colonial shit, it doesn’t mean I’m a fool. There’s a dark side to history and no matter how grand Jeremy Strong looks in that triangle hat, we can’t just gloss over it. So just because I’d like to highlight some Colonial touchstones to take with us in our cultural knapsack, doesn’t mean I’d like to celebrate the standards of the times. To put it quite simply…
I just need more Colonial shit.
The Los Angeles Dating Manifesto
I had doubts about whether I should put this out there or not. Rarely do I wanna be the here’s what you SHOULDN’T do guy. I’m no tastemaker nor am I a tastebreaker - even if I did just makeup the word tastebreaker. But I was having a Guinness with Elevator Pitch co-host Will Peters and his college friend E (not to be confused with my dawg E or my other dawg’s boy E or Vinny Chase’s dawg/boy E [wadup all four of you Es]) and the topic of LA dating faux pas came to the Dias. It was a good exchange of ideas both from those single and taken. Good enough that I wondered why it’s not a topic discussed more often. Many of the laws we abide by seem pretty obvious. Others seemed a little more intricate, mostly dealing with this town’s post-apocalyptic state of transportation. All in all, it seemed ripe for debate. That which I engaged in throughout the coming days with other friends. Regardless, you may think this is either entirely off the mark or instead far too obviously on the mark to warrant reading. I’m really not entirely sure. But let’s find out together. All of us. Especially those readers who’ve subscribed to this newsletter on a first date with yours truly. I’m guessing if something stands out, it means there wasn’t a second. Honestly, that’s pretty solid of you to still read this. Call me.
Uber no matter the price. Complaining about the trials and tribulations of street parking in Mid-City is the worst icebreaker imaginable.
Never text an unsaved number on a Sunday. Or a contact whose last name is the bar you met at. Kelsey Brig is busy.
Resist the urge to wear all-white sneakers. Everyone knows you bought that pair of Common Projects exclusively for Hinge dates and your one day a week in office.
Gentlemen, you’re not Susan B. Anthony for suggesting Sadie’s Wine Bar and they will not have a table for you past 7 PM.
“Grabbing a drink” might be overplayed, but you’ll never catch me dead hiking with anyone I haven’t known for at least 5 years.
Don’t meet in the middle. There’s nothing convenient about Koreatown at 8 PM.
Don’t bring up anything that must be referenced on your phone. If it’s not interesting enough to describe verbally, it doesn’t warrant conversation.
Avoid long distance if you can. Whether they’re in Phoenix or god forbid, Eaglerock.
Have opinions. If they don’t, now you have an opinion on them.
If you’re only interested in talking about your favorite podcasts, go have sex with your car stereo. Nobody else is interested.
Do not sit anywhere with a TV in your vantage point. No one you just met is as compelling as Scott Van Pelt and Stanford Steve on mute.
Avoid anyone with a substack. You heard me.
Reference the gym. Don’t discuss it.
If your date starts a question with “I have to ask everyone I go out with this” provide the worst answer possible and leave immediately.
Los Angeles is an endless topic of conversation. Just avoid its most pressing issue, the homeless crisis. One of you will step on an irredeemable landmine.
If you have sub-30 minutes between your commute and date, the shower beer is not concerning. It’s just efficient.
Your farmers market celebrity story is as uninteresting to your date as it was to the celebrity you saw.
Three apps is enough.
This is also a rule in life.
Don’t ask about hobbies. Let’s admit that we spend our free time after work merging onto the 10. Not juggling.
Booth > table > high top > bar > standing at the host stand > the Venice boardwalk at 2 AM > The Victorian patio at 10 AM > just about anywhere in a coffee shop.
Let’s hear yours…
Recs
Conclave (MOVIE) - Hit the theater with Brockwell and let me just say - the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit (AKA Ralph Fiennes, Stanley Tucci, and John Lithgow) did not disappoint. The movie does what most movies are terrified of these days - actually sticks to a cohesive story. Who knew that could make for an entertaining flick? 3.75 Wagon Wheels.
mst (BAND) - Shout out to friend of the publication, Mert, for the rec. These are friends of his, in fact. But get this. They’re actually good. Correction…they WERE good. mst is no more. They all got real jobs apparently. Maybe I can sign ‘em as the first artists under Pioneer Records (patent pending). Start with Driveway of Roses and find your way home from there.
Taking a walk around the block (THERAPEUTIC ACTION) - One lap can really give me some perspective. Center my focus. Two laps? I’m Cooper Scooper on the Limitless pill. Three laps? Three laps is too distracting. Most likely I’ll get nothing done after three laps.
(somber) Conclusion Paragraph
Lately, I haven’t felt super confident about writing and I’m not exactly sure why. I’ll never know. I also won’t suddenly feel like Sorkin after he typed dating you is like dating a stairmaster. Chasing such a high is a fool's errand. The best I can chalk my lack of confidence up to is the fact that I’ve committed to marketing whatever this is. I mean really pedal it out there. Publicly. After all, my real name is on it now. Matt Laniado. That’s me. And while a whole lot of this seemed to live up to the anonymous title I hid behind, suddenly I’m not sure any of it lives up to the unrealistic standards I set for myself. The practice has stayed true. I get up and I write. But the relief I used to feel upon completion has now been replaced with panic. Terrified of the conundrum I’ve put myself in. I must put something out as I promised yet nothing I write seems ready to do so. The mental gymnastics have become harder each week and I’m not too sure when I’ll turn a corner. But I think I will, right? I have to. I must. There’s literally no alternative. This thing you read has stretched beyond doubt or reason. It has reached the point of no return. And there’s something quite exciting about that. Far too exciting to ever quit out of fear. Forward is the only way forward…Wait. Did I just make that up? It’s no dating you is like dating a stairmaster but I’ll take it. It’s a start.
God I love John Adams
Your exact feelings about running the LA marathon...And you did it! You are funny and The Pioneer is a true joy to read. Like a piece of candy in a noisy medial world.
Mom