Still, it wasn’t until yesterday, while taking a break from proofreading to watch some Doctor Who-related link (via Neil Gaiman’s Twitter feed) on YouTube that I discovered Trock. Oh, yes, that means Time Lord Rock. I spent the rest of the afternoon flipping between my work and finding yet another song to listen to. The style of many of the songs isn’t necessarily mine but I am still thoroughly amused as they are quite clever and fun — usually involving original music and a lyrical exploration of an episode plot, theme or general Doctor-related element. At least that it is what it seems from my early investigations. The “pioneering” Trock band Chameleon Circuit have their second album coming out in July, so I gather I’m a little late at finding out about this Whovian genre. Better late than never.

And so here we are, a few videos I enjoyed during my YouTube exploration:

“Blink”

“Madame de Pompadour”

“DoctorDonna”

And, finally, “Say Hello” which I believe was the link that started this whole journey into Trock

I obviously have more exploring to do.

Used my Swiffer sweeper to pick up all the hair on my tile floor.

Tried to do work for work, but the blue sky outside made me go for a walk instead.

Watched this video 8 times and sent it to a bestest friend remarking on how I wish I could be so innocent. We both reposted it to Facebook and she got more comments and I felt vaguely bad about my existence. And watched the video 5 more times.

Downloaded the latest episode of Doctor Who.

Called my mother and she didn’t pick up.

Sent my mother an email with links to download Judee Sill albums.

Decided I should be a porn star instead of a chart editor after listening to the Dana DeArmond episode of the Nerdist podcast.

Decided that was maybe a bad idea.

Decided it was maybe not a totally bad idea.

Decided it was a bad idea.

Talked to my neighbor who complimented my retarded outfit. Tried to convince him it was actually retarded instead of just taking the compliment.

Cleaned out the fridge.

Took out the garbage.

Now just writing about it.

But with Doctor Who, I quickly became skeptical because of how early people would show up — the Doctor was going to be in the building in more than one way and Whovians are known to be devoted überfans. I wouldn’t be able to get there until after work, and there is no way that would be early enough to secure a spot. (And I was right, but would have never guessed without the word from Twitter that fans had started queuing the night before and by midday they were estimating 350 people had lined up. Unless that was some crafty lie to discourage me.) But, überfandom aside, I had a sneaking suspicion that another thing helped drive the masses to stand in line for hours. Its a word, just a little word, that prominently began the event announcement. The word “Free.” Followed by “come early, no RSVP.” UGH. My nightmare.

What is with New York/ers and free events? If you tell the city that an event is free the populace swoops down en masse, suddenly willing to wait in lines and experience discomfort to a level they would never stand for in any other situation. Especially if there are limited spaces or resources. Its been proven time and time again. A 200 guitar orchestra at Lincoln Center: no doubt it was an intriguing performance. It was also free; and the people came, filling block after block of the area around the venue. David Byrne at the Prospect Park Bandshell? There were tired looking families who had staked out their blanket space hours ahead of time. There was a line of people threaded through the trees, winding over uneven ground and stretching in and out of paved areas. I never even got in the line, but rather spent 45 minutes searching for where to get in line. After finding no beginning or end to it and becoming convinced it was just a mobius strip I just went home. An open-bar, art installation with performance by Cat Power at MoMa? Total clusterfuck. And have you ever seen a vendor giving away coffee? The line is so long that when passing you figure something “big” going on. And one of the worst experiences of my life — being the hired help at an exclusive yet free fashion week event. Kill me now. And these are the same people who will bitch and moan their way through the post office and then be so angry that they write scathing reviews about how terrible the experience is on Yelp!

The thing is — I understand why its neat that these things are free, and obviously I am not beyond trying to go myself. I have had good experiences at free events. Two summers of going to some of the Pool Parties in Williamsburg were always quite fun — the music was free and there was enough space. Except that one time where they moved a show into Brooklyn Bowl and the tired and angry sounding bouncers were turning hoards of people away because internalizing an outdoor festival into a venue very quickly brought the place to capacity. But my distrust of all of these events is that the majority of the people who show up would never be interested if there was a fee involved. Sure, I probably wouldn’t pay to see David Byrne for the rate his shows normally go for, but I would pay $25 to see him at Prospect Park and I’m betting a $25 entry fee would have thinned the crowds by half. That free cup of coffee? What does it taste better because you didn’t have to pay for it in currency? There are two Starbucks in walking distance and $2 means a lot less to me than 40 minutes of my time.

I think the game changer for me is knowing that I am decidedly in. I’m not going to wait on a maybe. I definitely have waited in line for long periods of time in order to secure a better seat at both free and paid events — but I always knew I was getting in. That is my breaking point. I will wait as long as I’m assured I am waiting for something. Lines that seem to have no beginning or end, vying to win a position by sheer will and time commitment, being in the game to win or get something for nothing — its not for me. I would rather put down some money as my commitment and be able to plan on going.

So I gave up on the Doctor Who screening. It was far from a sure thing. Whereas the $5 entry fee to another early screening/fan event was easily purchased online and will conveniently take place in my neighborhood. And it took a whole 3 days to sell out. There will be no Q&A with the cast or mooning over how much I like Steven Moffat. But I get my early screening and my nerdy event; I still get to hear the Q&A via Nerdist. And though there is a wait involved, I’m sure I will get to experience both of them.

The last time I was single I was 22 and living in a student building in Amsterdam. I was decidedly not looking for a relationship, had very little stress over the fact that I wasn’t in a relationship and had easy access to meeting new, interesting people via graduate school. I made a new friend and that grew into something bigger. While I wasn’t paying attention (five years, countless jobs and three cities later), that “something bigger” fell apart.

At the time when all other couples who had been together as long as we had were announcing their engagement, I got to announce he was moving out. I’m not bitter about it; we still are friends, really. After being coupled so long it was a breath of fresh air to worry only about myself and have a bit of space. But its been almost a year since and I’m starting to feel ready to “get out there.” Whatever that means.

When I was 22 I was a work-in-progress with an open schedule and easy access to meeting peers. On the verge of turning 28 I’m more “me” than I’ve ever been before, am very busy and find it difficult to meet new people. My interests used to be growing but within five years, they haven’t changed; they’ve just gotten deeper and more specific. I no longer have a “job” but rather a career that I’m serious about at a company I respect. I am no longer moving as the mood strikes. I’m tied to NYC by my work and I love my little corner of Park Slope, where these days I can afford to live without roommates. I am here. Like my now ingrained interests, my work-life and the place that I live are more settled than ever before. And its not just me, its my friends too. Their relationships (or lack thereof), young families, careers, projects and activities have them as preoccupied as I am. The days of just hanging out are over; now we make plans at least a week ahead, usually focused around an activity such as a wine tasting, going to a concert or perhaps a dinner party. I will more likely be meeting a girlfriend for drinks on Sunday afternoon than clubbing on a Friday night, and when we meet its to genuinely catch up and to take a break from our regularly-scheduled responsibilities. I don’t disparage this. I like these activities and they have evolved naturally as time went by.

So. The game has changed. Now there are stakes. My mind is no longer so open about who I want to meet and my schedule has lost its flexibility. I’m looking for a partner in crime. But, much like my interests and situation, I have only gotten more specific and unbending about what I like:  I don’t want them to move in but I don’t want a casual relationship. I probably want to spend more time at my place than theirs. I want to go to DIY concerts and new Brooklyn restaurants but no amount of interest will have me staying out past midnight on a work day. I want to be naked with them often, but if they don’t remember the difference between me and a porn star they might as well put their own dick in their eye. And…if they make fun of Doctor Who while I’m reveling in the newest episode they can show themselves out. No, really. I’m a dork, and if they disrespect my Doctor Who or Top Chef fandom they must pack their knives and go.

Its a fairytale list, but somehow I am both more fanciful about what I want and more skeptical that I’ll find it. I “just” want someone who thinks doing things we both like together is usually the most fun. Ultimately, I want a participant in my life and I want to participate in someone else’s life. Over the years the open space in the jigsaw puzzle of my life has become a bit more warped, a bit more curvy. Many pieces that used to look like they could fit no longer do. I can take care of myself. I have no use for a prince in shining armor. Unless the shining armor is entirely inappropriate: because despite all the serious grown-up stuff I am still ridiculous and silly and I want someone to be silly and ridiculous (and serious) with me. And to not be offended by my overuse of the term “retarded*.” Unfortunately I think that means there is so much more at stake than the last time I was single.

It means I, and they, have to be honest, open and vulnerable. It means that, now, we must want the same things out of our future(s). It means that we will no longer get together by happenstance and will actually have to work towards being together. And that scares me to death. I am not stressed out because I am single. I am stressed out by the idea that it is becoming painfully obvious that by having a mostly-formed life, interests, opinions and requirements that its quite possible I will never find someone who both fits in the space and wants to make an effort to stay in it. I’ve never been good at faith… but I have to believe somewhere out there is some retard like me who would love to stick around and be retarded with me. And until I find that, I just have to keep working towards making my life what I want without them. For as much as I’d like to share my life with someone, my lack of having them cannot be a driving force as long as there is still so much out there to do.

*you can be offended if you are the type, but its most likely a dealbreaker