Traditional dating still takes the cake

Speed dating is taking over the world. This summer in New York, I saw signs for revolving door lunches and musical chair dinners where consenting adults over the age of 18 could come together for no fewer than 12 calm, relaxing two minute exchanges with other eligible bachelors and bachelorettes. Chicago, Los Angeles and even Philadelphia have been hit by the breakneck speed meet-and-greet bug that is the new dating culture.

Only now, it's gotten too close for comfort. Last Tuesday, the Center for Jewish Life hosted a "round-robin, one-on-one" date night for all those sick of "schmoozing with the guys or ladies on the Street." Intrigued, but not Jewish enough to qualify for a chair, I inquired about the possibility of an inter-fellowship speed dating night between the CJL and Agape Christian Fellowship. So far, no response. Remembering that failure is only not getting back on the horse, I looked for other pop-culture routes singles use to find true love. Or in this case, true e-love.

How hard could it be? We all filled out mock profiles when online dating first came out in middle school. In fact, I distinctly remember passing slumber parties placing ads in the local newspaper for men with guppies, ladies with size 10 feet and the divorcé who wouldn't mind half a dozen cats.

This time, I left the advice of my pigtailed friends behind (save my roommate), and armed myself with "The Everything Guide to Dating" and "The Rules," volumes I and II.

I logged on to a few of the most popular dating sites and set up free trial profiles, specifying everything I "desired/liked/needed/disliked/detested in a partner/penpal/companion/friend/spouse." The pull-down responses made it difficult and confusing. I could select preferences such as bald, hairy, "midget range," football build and "twinkling" eyes. I could rule out men with kids, men without kids or men in general. Baffling.

Step two involved creating my own profile. Determined to fit into the pop-culture craze, I strictly followed the dating guidebooks. The "Everything" book instructed that in order to draw the proper people into my "circle of love," I need only state my gender, age, smoking preference and allergies. Apparently, these are the golden essentials of dating. Beyond that, it supplied advice against the negative "key words" of personal ads including "seeking doctor/lawyer/wealthy." "The Rules" went much further.

"The Rules" was the earliest guide, hailed as the "dating bible." It is infamous for stating that ladies should have more suitors than shoes, and that "every proper lady has a closet-full of shoes." That's right boys, this is where girls learned to not return calls, never initiate contact and, in general, to play the game.

"The Rules" specifies that personal preferences are moot, as you aren't looking to contact anyone yourself. Men who are interested will come to you. (That's right after the chapter entitled "If he doesn't call, he's not interested. Period.") "The Rules" advised that ads should be "short, light, flirtatious and focused." Basically no sob stories, hints of desperation or ideas that the goal is a soul mate.

I was lost. Thankfully, the pull-down windows left little room for error. Or so I thought. I kept the advice of "The Rules" in mind: "Mr. Right is out there and he is looking for you" — uh — me.

Marital Status? Never married. Hair Length? Long curly/wavy. Simple enough. Eye Color? Green (shoot — or "twinkling"?)

The options got thicker. Is my fashion sense "smart" or "casual"? I know it's not "flashy," and I don't even know what "trekky" is. The only one I thought I had nailed, "Organizational Habits," which I selected as "I have my own system" was overridden by my roommate: "What? You are clearly a 'What's a vacuum cleaner' type." Thanks, Carolyn.

I thought e-dating would be simple. No muss, no fuss and no preparation. There wasn't even the face time required by the personal speed dating adventures. I never counted on the details needed to weed through the "hundreds of thousands of singles looking for someone just like you!" advertised on the homepages. The options and specifications are endless. Next time I'll just stick to getting tea with someone — I can deal with picking the artificial sweeteners, and I know I'm allergic to milk. Ashley Johnson is an English major from Florence, Ala. She can be reached at ajohnson@princeton.edu.