Whenever I'm looking for freelance work on craigslist—an utterly futile operation, of course—I always stop by " missed connections." It's like tiny little bite-sized soap-operas.

This morning the very first one I came across was this gem:

I Am a Complete Idiot - Cute Long Haired Guy on the Red Line - m4m - 20

Date: 2007-08-04, 1:13AM EDT We both got on at South Station (although you might have gotten on at Downtown Crossing, I can't remember) and you were standing one door away from me and my friend. I think you noticed me when my friend and I moved to the other side of the train between Central and Harvard. We were making obvious eye contact the whole way to Davis and when I got off it seemed like you were continuing to Alewife but then all of a sudden you got off. You walked past me from behind as I got onto the escalator and I saw you slowly make your way to the inbound side as if you had missed an earlier stop. As I walked towards the second escalator after the turnstiles I looked down and saw you had walked back to the outbound side. At that point it was clear you had gotten off only because I had, but I guess you lost your nerve once you got off. But don't worry, I was even more of a chicken because instead of immediately running down and giving you my number I hesitated and another outbound train came right after the one we just got off of. I finally decided to stop being a twat and made my way back through the turnstiles while trying to write my number down. I looked down one side and you weren't there and then I ran to the other side but at that point you had gotten on the train I guess.

I can't believe that in spite of it being horrendously obvious that you were interested, I decided to be a giant tool and completely miss an opportunity that was basically handed to me on a silver platter. I hope against hope that you read this so I don't have to kick myself for the next week. Let me know what you were wearing so I know it's you. I'd love to grab coffee with you!

For the most part, this is an excellent missed connection. I found two glaring errors, however:

1) "...immediately running down and giving you my number..."; and

2) "I'd love to grab coffee with you!"

Dude, what he wants is not your number, and what he'd love you to grab is not a coffee. Get it right next time! And remember, the phone number comes after the fucking—maybe—and not vice-versa.

I mean, why not: "I ran after you scrawling our pre-nup on a scrap of paper, but couldn't find a wedding gown and a notary public in time to catch you!"

Let it go. Live a little.

There are things in life, thank the gods, that you can't define or contain, however hard you try. Sex is one. That's why when it rears its head where you least expect it—in the humdrummery of your workaday routine, say—it's scary.

Desire's a dark force.

It's not about scraps of paper, cell-phones, and Starbucks. Even right here in Davis Square, with its puritan dykes, frat brats and pomo poseurs, people are, on occasion, still animals. Again, thank the gods.

It's about rutting. Not about let's date and have everything in common and be boyfriends forever and ever, and the whole world will envy us our enduring monogamous love! That's nice as far as it goes, I guess, but sometimes a good old-fashioned romp is even better.

And don't give me this "but I was with a friend" crap. Tell your friend to fuck off. You have priorities. Your time is limited. You're only twenty for 365 days. You're rapidly approaching your use-by date. Your friend will understand. And if he doesn't, he's not a real friend. (Keep him in mind for a fuckbuddy, though.)

The long and short of it is: sometimes you get one free ride. One. That's it. Could be the ride of your life, but you can't drive it home.

But I keep forgetting this is Massachusetts, where marriage is a liberal cause. I have a new friend who moved here from New York recently and said he was surprised that here, in the epicenter of American liberalism—home to gay marriage—people were so straight-laced and buttoned-up.

I asked him why he thought gay marriage was a liberal cause. I suppose it is for the right, but from the left, it seems pretty conservative to me. If gays here were really out there, they might be fighting to, say, reintroduce bathhouses to Boston. They might be as sleezy and skeezy in the open as they are in private. But that would mean gays and their allies acknowledging that gays actually have sex—sometimes promiscuous, profligate, pornographic sex—with their penises!—and polite society is not quite ready for that.

I saw a kid in Back Bay the other day—he looked Latino—in the kind of painted-on low-rise, crotchless bell-bottoms that were popular in the seventies, with his huge, irrefutable wad stuffed down his right pantleg. It was wonderfully, grotesquely, Tom-of-Finlandishly sexy. Especially in a day when, while women have their bits bobbing about everywhere you look, the boys are all in baggies.

But it was also painfully incongruous. People had to pretend not to notice the massive struma in this kid's trousers.  It was like the elephant in the room.  An open secret.  That's because even self-proclaimed progressives in these parts—even gays—are puritans at heart. There is a cold, dry materialism at work in the souls of white folks, and what we grab we want to hold. But some things aren't for keeping. They are not worth less for being fleeting and fugitive, but more.  This kid in his painted-on jeans was priceless.

But speaking of missed connections, I've had my own ongoing soap with a kid—another twenty-something—a dead-ringer for Tom Brady (I shit you not), who's been cruising me at my gym. It's not a particularly cruisy gym, if you want to know the truth, although all gyms are cruisy to a point.

I've seen my Tom Brady Twin around for some time—he's always in baggy basketball shorts, and a sweaty t-shirt—but the minute I saw one of those Christian fish...


... tattooed on his calf, I put away all unchaste thoughts. I mean, if you're going to go so far as to have it tattooed on you where people can see it...

I met a very sexy guy at a party a couple of years ago, who after a few drinks started showing off his tattoos. I don't feel one way or another about tats. If you can carry 'em off, go for it. But most people might as well just have "meme-impaired" stamped on their foreheads. The tale most tats tell is: I'm a tool.

The greatest episode of Judge Judy ever was the one where the tattoo artist gave his buddy a free tattoo after finding out the dude had slept with his girlfriend. It was one of those Chinese characters, and the dude later discovered that instead of the symbol for "power," he'd gotten the one for "douchebag." Judge Judy, after asking him to speak up and then telling him to pipe down about fifty times, was like, "well, sir, that's called 'truth in advertising,'" and, smack went the gavel.  She ruled in favor of the defendant.

So this fellow I met at the party pulls down his pants just enough to give me a peep of this tattoo on his pelvis (and, no, I was not on my knees at the time)...


...from the poster for Judy Garland's famous concert at Carnegie Hall. I showed him the "Rufus-Rufus-Rufus" on my butt cheek, and we've been together ever since!

No, actually, it was funny, but kind of a buzz kill.

So, before you go off and get one, remember: tattoos can be fatal.

Back at the gym: I've seen the kid with the fish tattoo around for months, and aside from a sort of cursory acknowledgment of one another when absolutely unavoidable we had never exchanged even a grunt, much less a glance, until a couple weeks ago when I looked over while doing my biceps curls to find his reflection in the mirror glaring at mine. I don't know if they had met before somewhere and my reflection had pissed his reflection off, but his was glowering at mine something fierce. He still had his back to me, of course.

This went on for awhile, so that there was absolutely no denying looks were being exchanged. But nothing came of it, and I thought nothing of it.

Then, just yesterday, I saw him again. In the mirror, of course. I was doing some more curls, when from halfway across the room I saw his reflection glaring at mine. This time when he caught my eye he started sort of playing with his balls through those loose-fitting basketball shorts. But guys do that, don’t they? But then he just kept doing it. How delightfully primitive, I thought.

But that Christian fish thing on his calf—not going there.

If he would just make a couple of teeny modifications—


—wouldn't cost him anything—he could do it himself at home—he would have a much better chance with me.

I watched him juggling his balls for a minute, thinking, jeez, he could really use some Gold Bond powder, and went to get a drink of water. When I came back he was gone. He hadn’t been there long. But again, I didn’t think anything of it. I go to my gym to work out, not to hook up. If it happens, it happens, of course. I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

I was almost done. I wanted to do one more thing, for my trapezius and delts, downstairs with the free weights.

And there he was, doing the same thing I was there to do. He hadn’t been down there a minute, but when I came in he finished his set, and on his way out—in the direction of the spooky downstairs toilet—he looked back significantly. Of course, significantly means sort of an angry grimace, but I’ll take it.

Actually, I didn’t bite (or nibble, or suck, or even lick). It's that frakin fish's fault.

Anyway, that was my little "missed connection" for the day. Here are a couple more of my favorites from yesterday, for the road:

Argyle Sweater outside borders last night - m4m - 29

Date: 2007-08-03, 12:52PM EDT You were inside buying childrens books with two lowlifes (one had black polo other black t-shirt... both with white socks showing!) I was right behind you in line and couldnt stop checking out your gucci bag. HOT. I really wanna meet up with you so you can fuck me sensless. Deep and hard. bite me hit me with a 2x4 I can take it.

yankee lobstah - m4m - 35

Date: 2007-08-03, 7:48AM EDT yeah i'm the old dude [outside boa pavil] that was eyeballing you the one with the eyebrows and cute butt. I did catch your name when they called it out for the ta go order. Now I have this thing that I can't date some one with the same name as me so not much can come of this.. I was just wondering, were you interested too.

Ah, Boston! Love is in the air. Be careful out there!