Double Take

At Naples, Yale's popular pizza joint, the owner asked me and three male friends what we were doing by ourselves in an empty restaurant late on a Friday night. "Isn't it date-night?" he asked in disbelief. We shrugged our shoulders, laughed and continued to munch on our slices.

As we launch into a new semester, we are stuck between an event that demanded sophomoric intentions (eating club initiations with multiple hookups in tow) and one that requires a more mature approach to romance: Valentine's Day.

In Princeton's sometimes summer-campish atmosphere, artless hookups run rampant. They are often considered a stepping stone to achieving couplehood. Granted, cases to the contrary do exist here (congratulations), but in general, especially after an incestuous weekend at Prospect Avenue, these "physical encounters" are ubiquitous.

Maybe this weekend will be different. Whether it's sending out a carnation, arranging a pleasant dinner or even getting up the nerve to make "the move" sans Robopound (Horrors!), Sunday brunch ought to have more interesting gossip than usual.

Does date-night exist at Princeton? On the cusp of the biggest one of the year, let's examine the options available.

The Coffee. (I tell women I don't drink coffee, just natural fruit juices; this is charming and it works.) If you choose coffee, this usually entails a trudge to Chancellor Green for that battery acid they call "latté" with over-parched pastries. Or if you like to pretend you are a grad student, then strap on a black shoulder laptop bag and head inside to Small World Coffee (keep your scarf on). Don't forget to carry your Albert Camus biography – your date might be late. While a common choice for beginners, the Coffee is actually an advanced approach for courtship since conversation, a sober one, is key. Jokes, quips, hand movements and reciting Keats all can dazzle your date. (Me? I go for Lionel Richie lyrics and translate them into French: Bonjour, c'est moi que vous cherchez?)

The second date-tier is Dinner. The significance of the date depends typically on the restaurant, but sharing a bacon double cheesburger hoagie at The Haven can be just as lovely as dinner-for-two at Lahieres. (Make sure you say it correctly: Laheeyhairz, not Larry's.) The task of a dinner date daunts us, especially when the man tending the bar at Alchemist and Barrister wants ID and won't let you flip quarters into cups around the other guests. Not to suggest we put down our beer cups altogether, exit the T.I. taproom, and hang out at A&B every Friday night, but on occasion, sipping a glass of Merlot is more attractive than sucking on a plastic cup full of piss-beer.

The third level – I consider this the penultimate – is the scheduled Video Rental. Whether it be Billy Madison or 9 1/2 Weeks, the point is you are alone, probably on the couch, that should be velvet, and then. . .

The Ultimate Fourth: Going to the City. See an opera, see a play, take a walk in the park. Anyway you have it, couplehood is established. New York can offer up a splendid chance to flaunt sophistication. (Hell, I'm from Kentucky and I take my dates on the subway. Taxis are for tourists, I tell 'em.)

Bruce Springsteen always sang, "Gettin' up the nerve is a man's man's job." To which a lady friend of mine says girls usually are on "the defense," and guys must make the move. At a place like Princeton, though, busting with modern independent women, such romantic dictum is hogwash. Nonetheless, I bear the onus of the Boss' words and will ask out my dream girl come Saturday.

Hell, it's better than staring at some greasy slice of pizza with three other guys.

Especially in New Haven.