Friday evening roundup and ramble

Fareed Zakaria on immigration.

I don't know why, but I'm not offended by the concept of Spanx. I don't think they uphold an unrealistic standard; in fact, they do the opposite: nobody's perfect, here's something to help you smooth things out.

This piece on gestation crates made me angry. If humane sow housing is “cost-prohibitive,” then pork is cost–prohibitive. If you want to eat pork, pay the actual price of pork production, from (unsubsidized) feed to the environmental and health-care costs. Sometimes “farmer knows best” is essentially code for “what’s best for Smithfield’s and Cargill’s bottom line.” Consumers of agricultural products, just like any other consumer, have a right to make their ethical preferences known.

This Modern Love column was wonderful. I'm tempted to see a psychic, so that I can save myself the trouble if it's not in the cards. While I was happy in the past relationship, I told friends who were going through not-so-fun dating that it’s worth it, that all the bad dates are worth the one eventual good date that matters. It was so heartfelt and obvious then, but now—especially now that I realize I was sort of living a delusion—I don’t know. I guess it was true, but I’m just not feeling it. I started dating immediately almost out of symbolism, as a statement to myself and the universe that I was ready to move on. A very dating-seasoned friend said it would make me feel better, but it seems to have the opposite effect. At this point I’m essentially “over” F. I don’t miss him. That said, dating “other people” is the one thing that makes me nostalgic for that relationship, because as I sit across from men who can’t hold a conversation to save their lives, I have fond memories of sitting across from someone who could actually converse and even make me laugh. I know that there’s more to a good partner than that, but in the “please shoot me, I feel I’m getting dumber” moment, the contrast is very stark.

I mean—those of you who know me in person will attest to this—it’s pretty safe to say that if you can’t make conversation with me, you’re in bad conversational shape. I will help you along; I will throw you lifelines. If it’s a date, I understand that you may be nervous, and I’ll do more than my part to move the conversation along. But I’m not interested in entertaining you, and you have to do your part, too. You have to take those lifelines. I mean, on the first date with F., I did most of the talking, but it certainly wasn’t a monologue—he did his part in moving the conversation along. Whereas these guys just flay their arms in the air and ignore the donut thing. It’s amazing that people ( particularly men) can reach a certain age, be very successful in most areas of their life, and still not be able to hold a conversation.

At the Smith alum event last night, I was sitting next to a woman who’s been unemployed and mentioned that my agency hired attorneys, though I wasn’t sure whether we were hiring now. She replied that she was done applying to government jobs because the process was too frustrating. Fair enough, I told her, but I added that I’d applied to my current job four times before being hired, which is not to say that that’s for everyone; only that there’s something to be said for persistence.

The irony is, I keep hearing the same thing about dating, but you only have the will to persist if you want or need something badly enough, and I don’t currently want this dating-something at all. The other half—in addition to wanting it badly enough—is that you have to really believe that “it” is out there—the job, the person, etc.—and that “it” will eventually be yours. So my statement to this woman concerned the second half: I can’t tell you what you want, but I can tell you what’s there to be had. I took on the role of psychic in that case. So maybe I don't need a psychic.