craschworks

On Wednesday (the week before last), I had a lunch date with C., a professor of philosophy at NC state. Only 28 years old, remarkably young for a professor. She's originally from Sussex, England and has long flaming waist-long red hair.

After discovering that Helios Cafe, and Hard Times Cafe had incredibly long lines, we settled on the Armadillo Grill in Raleigh. We commiserated about grade school bullies, discussed movies and TV (she's really into British TV), and snarfed down some delicious tacos.

Given her field, I feared she'd throw up an impenetrable wall of babble regarding Foucalt or Heidegger when I asked about her work, but she reassured me that she believed in logic, evidence, and well-reasoned argumentation. We talked about the Sokal affair, and Pascal's wager. I mentioned Tabarrok's wager–she hadn't heard of it before. “You should read it, maybe you could make some money off your students.”

She showed me how to make a lovely rosette out of plastic cup.

The conversation went well, so I invited her to go see Constantine with me on Friday. She agreed.

[Friday night] We were supposed to meet at the Rockford at 7:00, and she was 20 minutes late. She was wearing a loose blouse with slits from the shoulders to the elbow.

C.:”I'm so sorry I'm late. I couldn't find my keys. Then I couldn't find the restaurant. I drove back and forth three or four times. And I forgot my cell phone, so I couldn't call you.”
Me: [looking at her blouse] “And someone ripped your shirt.”

Hey guys, here's a dating tip: don't make jokes about your date's clothes! Write that one down.

She shriveled up in her chair, and seemed to be trying to pull the slits of her shirt-sleeves together.

Me: “Uh, I didn't mean that to be an insult. I like the way your shirt looks. It just popped into my head.”
C.: “Hmmm…are you sure you want to continue discussing this?”
Me: “No, no, I think I've jammed my foot down my throat far enough.”

Fortunately, the rest of the meal went reasonably well. Then it was time to see the movie.

C.: “So what was the plot of this movie again?”
Me: “Well, Constantine plays a man who can see demons and angels, and he's trying to prevent the demons from entering our world. Rachel Weisz also stars, but I don't know what her character does.
C.: “Let me see the paper.” [I handed her a copy of the Independent, which I had been reading while waiting for her.]
C.: [Reads Constantine review] “…It's nowhere near surprising that first-time feature director Francis Lawrence's background consists of generating music videos, as Constantine is weighted almost entirely in hollow CGI atmospherics devoid of a cohesive (or plausible) narrative….one star”
Me: “Heh. Would you like to see something else..?”
C.: “No, if I didn't want to see this one, I should've said something earlier.” [Scans the other movie listings.]
Me: “Okay.”

So we went to see Constantine. I liked it well enough — it has some wonderful visuals. But the ending didn't work for me. I can't put my finger on why exactly though. C. seemed to like the movie well enough, although I don't think she would count it among her favorites.

So the date went reasonably well. I don't think C. and I will date much in the future though. Not much chemistry there, aside from my blunders.