Chris Walker Vs. A Treasure Trove Of Inadvertent Hilariousness

I know Craigslist — the online destination for everything from home swapping to selling vital organs — has been around for a long time. And apparently everyone is on Craigslist doing, well, something. Everyone but me, that is. I’d never been on Craigslist until a month ago and, although I knew it existed, I honestly had no clue what was going on there. Then a friend told me I had to see something called “Missed Connections.”

Missed Connections, for those of you who don’t know, is the place you go on Craigslist when you think you’ve made a connection with a stranger yet, circumstances kept you from acting on that perceived connection. Let’s say, for example, you were shopping at Barnes and Nobles and thought the pierced, goth girl who rang up your copies of Maxim and High Times was attractive but you didn’t have the balls to ask her for her phone number. You go on Missed Connections and profess your undying love to pierced, goth girl, with the hope she’s narcissistic enough to care if any of the hundred or so customers she came in contact with that given day fancied her but didn’t have the fortitude to say so. And then, in the off chance she actually reads your post and identifies herself, you hope she doesn’t remember you as the creepy guy in the Spider Man t-shirt and track pants (which you probably are) and contacts you for date.

Missed Connections is perhaps the most brilliant, unintentional comedy I have ever witnessed. It’s an uproarious exercise in desperation, cataloged over and over for your reading pleasure. I’ve gathered some of my favorites, which I would like to share with you now.

Shel, Hope you got the video – m4w – 41 (where i’m supposed to be)

It says everything I feel!!

today was an almost awesome day: golf with the flat rock crew in the morning, took mandy to the park, chilled out at home for awhile, all thats missing is you sweetheart

J

I can just imagine “Shel” sitting in front of her computer reading this, beside her a FedEx’d videotape containing a poorly lit and long-winded plea from a guy with a mustache in a striped polo. Initially, Shel wanted nothing to do with J but then she read his Missed Connection, something J could’ve just as easily e-mailed Shel, but decided Craigslist was a more direct channel of communication. J was right. “What?” Shel asked herself as she read the missed connection. “He went golfing with the Flat Rock Crew and chilled out at home for awhile? I thought J was a douchebag but I was wrong. After reading this, I just have to have him inside me!”

Scared to say – m4w – 45 (Carson)

You work at 7 eleven on hwy 50 Across from taco bell one night you had to pee but you waited on me any way. Me tall black male you maybe to young for me but very haelthy just the way I dream of.Let me know if someone has your heart if not you have mine.

I like to envision what would happen if this message on Missed Connections actually led to a relationship.

“So, how’d you two meet?”
“Well, I was just working my shift at The Sev, you know, the one by Taco Bell. Anyway, I needed to take a giant shit but Steve just had to have his menthol cigarettes and Mountain Dew so, I rang him up before I went and stank up the ladies room. Later that night I got home and checked Craigslist; lo and behold, there was this message. I just knew it was Steve. The way he sounded like a caveman and obviously has no comprehension of spelling or grammar, it just turned me on! We’re expecting our first child in December.”

Then there’s this personal favorite, which I found in the Men For Men section:

Handsome gentleman with beard at Outback – m4m – 52 (Outback Steakhouse, Reno)

We were both alone sitting in the bar area, early Saturday evening, in separate tables and facing each other. You were a handsome man with blond beard and glasses and wearing shorts. I wanted to say something but I had to wait until the end of my dinner. We both ordered “Rack of Lamb.” Would love to meet for a drink or dinner sometime.

While not blatantly humorous, I love it for its subtleties. First of all, it’s oddly refreshing to know there are 52 year-old gay males in the Reno area. Secondly, I didn’t know “handsome” and “blond beard” could go in the same sentence; it seems like an impossible combination. Third, I like how our author points out they both had “Rack of Lamb”. And not just rack of lamb, no, Rack of Lamb with capital letters and quotation marks. Like, super rack of lamb. I don’t know, maybe I’m just not in the loop; is “Rack of Lamb” gay code for “raging hard-on” or something?

Missed Connections is a treasure trove of inadvertent hilariousness. The desperation is palpable; the delusion is plentiful. More than anything, though, I think the abundance of bad grammar is a firm indication of how much we’ve declined as a society. It brings to mind a part of comedian Greg Giraldo’s standup where he compares the love letters of Civil War soldiers to those of Iraqi War soldiers. Giraldo read a book where, even though the Civil War soldiers were very young and barely educated, every letter read like, “My dearest Hannah, … I’ll bear your cherished memory with me as I battle the forces of tyranny and oppression,” Meanwhile, Giraldo said, imagine an Iraqi War solider writing to his girlfriend in New Jersey, “Dear Marie, it is hot as fuck out here … It’s hard to fight these sand monkeys with your balls sticking to your leg … what else did I wanna axe you? Oh yeah, don’t fuck nobody ‘til I get back.” Not to discredit anything the troops in Iraq are doing but it’s true. We’ve lost our mastery over diction and lack eloquence when it comes to writing. Me included. At least I have the decency to use spell check and know synonyms for ‘amazing.’ I’ve met people who take pride in their inability to know the difference between ‘to’ and ‘too’, ‘their’ and ‘they’re’, and have pathetic excuses for their horrible writing like, “Oh yeah, I just write like I talk.” Well, guess what? You talk like an idiot.

Honestly, I’m not bothered by subpar wordsmiths or the delusional, hopeless romantics / borderline stalkers that litter Craigslist. I love them for the endless entertainment they provide. I love them for giving me the opportunity to say, “At least I’m not that pathetic.” I mean, without them, what else would I do? Read “mommy blogs”? I’ll pass. Long live the Missed Connections.

BONUS MISSED CONNECTION:

I’m pretty sure this one is fake. Nevertheless, it’s fantastic.

False Teeth – m4w – 25 (Winners Corner Elko)

You worked at the Winners Corner in Elko. I was coming back to Reno in my Ford Pinto(just got it after my raise from Walmart.)I smiled at you and you threw up and you teeth came out and landed in my shirt pocket I didn’t realize it until I got home. Let me know your hours and the days you work and I’ll bring them back.
Sorry I’m hard to look at.(Dinner with me one night?).

xxxooxxx
Cleatus

Chris Walker Vs. The Perception Of Failure

“How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Are you married?”
“No.”
“Oh. Just haven’t found the right girl yet?”

Conversations like the one above have become more and more frequent now that I’ve passed the quarter century mark, and I’m sure they’ll continue to increase as more time passes. I know I’m not the only one struggling through these exchanges, and I’m sure I’m not alone when I say they’re ridiculous.

(Note: Aside from the ones I’ve made up, I’ve sought out no statistics for the coming statements however; I’m almost certain my presumptions are true. Refute them, if you must.)

Most parents of people my age came from the stern, working, middle class; their parents were middle class, they were middle class almost by default. Religion is huge in the middle class, so is settling into a steady job and starting a family. It is the “American Dream” after all, isn’t it? Husband and wife, a plot of land, 2.5 children, a cat and a dog, and church on Sunday. My generation didn’t buy into that version of the dream. And while most of us came from the middle class, the majority of us no longer belong to the middle class. Financially, perhaps, but not in ideology.

Generation X was the first generation to shun the “American Dream.” (No, of course they weren’t the first. I’m excluding generations like those from the 70s with all their free-love and hippie-dom. I’m speaking currently here.) Whether defiant in their slackerdom, or pursuing the dot com dream, Generation X were rebels because they were unwilling to settle into the roles of their parents before them. Perhaps you can attribute it to the fact Generation X was incredibly spoiled but, nevertheless, they shunned life in the suburbs; opting for life in the big city, working as freelance writers or graphic designers or being grunge musicians or whatever. Social significance, personal wealth, and professional accomplishment became more important than starting a family and working a nine-to-five.

My generation, Generation Y (perhaps even more spoiled), promptly followed suit but, by the time we started thinking for ourselves, there was nothing to collectively rebel against. The dirt road had already been paved. With that lack of crisis or need for rebellion, and the glamorization of lifestyles once considered highly unrealistic or unattainable, we became confused about our futures. In turn, a lot of us have no idea what we want out of life. We know what we don’t want, though: We don’t want to get married right away. We don’t want children. We don’t want to conform. We didn’t even necessarily want to go to college, it just seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

Surprisingly, all of this is okay. (And, of course, my summation is a vague overview of a multifaceted subject with countless variables and exceptions. There are a lot of people my age who know exactly what they want out of life. I know people who’ve graduated, gotten married, and had children and are at the pinnacle of happiness. But I also know a lot of guys who probably wished they would’ve worn a condom and are now reluctantly giving up their dreams for diapers, with the prospect of marrying someone who isn’t the supermodel they thought they’d one day meet because they now feel obligated to do so.)

Not getting married and having children by age twenty-five, and not even considering that combo anytime in the foreseeable future, should not be considered failure. It’s perfectly acceptable to still be single or consider career goals and personal satisfaction as something more important. It’s okay to desire more on a personal level than to unthinkingly root down and do what is considered “normal”. It’s okay to be selfish. It’s okay to take your time.

I remember this miserable, middle-aged socialite approached me at my sister’s wedding. With her acrylic nails and fake tan she snidely asked, “How does it feel to have your little sister get married before you?” I wanted to retort, “How does it feel to be married to a man you don’t even love anymore, and who probably doesn’t love you? How does it feel to have done nothing substantial; how does it feel to have no real interests or opinions on matters other than who is getting kicked off Survivor? Isn’t it time for another tummy tuck or an eye lift to fill the void in your otherwise meaningless life?” Alas, I did not.

I didn’t fly off the handle because I wasn’t bitter. My little sister is a different breed: almost three years younger than me, she graduated college in three-and-a-half years, is already a year into her desired profession, and now happily married. She’s got it all figured out but what she wants out of life and what I want are two completely different things. No, the only reason I wanted to unleash a ruthless tirade on the woman who asked the question is because I don’t like her.

Returning to the conversation snippet I started this piece with, being twenty-five and unmarried does not equal haven’t found the right girl yet. Maybe I have found the right girl and I’m just not in a hurry. I mean, I could sit there and tell complete strangers, “Well, I was engaged but it didn’t work out so now I would rather take my time so I don’t fuck it up again,” but sometimes those complete strangers are moral Christians and they’re offended by the word fuck so I refrain. Besides, I was relieved when my engagement fell through. I didn’t really want to get married in the first place.

I don’t know, maybe I’ve written this whole thing to validate myself and my life choices, to make my selfishness seem more acceptable. Probably not, though. I don’t need validation. There’s nothing wrong with being selfish; I know this when people my age with screaming babies tell me how lucky I am. I’m not lucky; I’m just different. I’m happy with a girlfriend and a condo, traveling the globe and calling it work, and making a reasonable income which I get to spend all on myself. I’m still striving towards greater goals and bigger dreams — even if I’m not 100% sure what those goals and dreams are — and I’m not compromising them by starting a family. I’m certainly not alone in this mindset; I’ve got an entire generation, whether knowingly or unknowingly, doing the exact same thing.

Chris Walker Vs. A Great Place To Die

All photos by Chris Walker.

Elko, Nevada. Quite the anomaly. While it seems like a great place to go and die, it’s filled with children. Hundreds of them. Most belonging to redneck families. But it’s also jam-packed with some of the oldest, on the verge of death, people I’ve ever seen. I couldn’t wrap my head around it, and in a moment of drunken clarity I wondered, is Elko where all life begins and ends?

My good friend Brian spent many of his formative years in Elko. He’s also a lover of Basque food, culture, and women. Because of these factors, every Fourth of July weekend Brian makes the trek to Elko for their annual Basque Festival. I opted to go with him this year.

There was mayhem. And debauchery. There were also chorizo, Basque games (including: tug-of-war, metal object lifting and wood-chopping), fireworks, chorizo, Basque songs (my favorite: “Lili bat ikhusi dut (MSTRKRFT Remix)”), deep-fried chorizo (the highlight of the trip), and a parade. Well, as you can see in the pictures above, I wouldn’t call it a parade as much as a stream of miscellaneous vehicles, a lot of them fire engines, blaring loud horrible noises. Especially for those of us with hangovers. (And yes, you saw correctly, the “parade” ends with a sweeper truck kicking up dirt at onlookers.)

On egin!