The dark overlords who control RSVP from their Blofeld-style death bunker have created a monster. RSVP is really big. Big like space is big. I know because I signed up last year and boy howdy there sure are a lot of people searching for someone- special-in-inverted-commas.
Before I start poking fun at RSVP I should disclose that I have been involved in two rewarding but ultimately not quite right relationships (god how I hate that word) via RSVP, and have had plenty of casual and amusing to and fro email contact with witty and friendly sort-of-penpals. I do think internet personal sites are a really good idea and RSVP is not too expensive should you buy stamps with which to contact those who look like they might be goers. (I’d be cautious though about those smutty adult meet sites. When secret threesomes go wrong, loitering around the less than salubrious Adultmatchmaker may lead to your murder Snowtown style. An embarrassment and a waste of stamps.)
For someone like me who cherishes the English language (not to mention others I don’t understand, like New Zealandian, a strange impenetrable dialect spoken by the incomprehensible Tony Martin) as a gilded treasure, RSVP is a ghetto of vandals, and bovine rampagers through china shops. Yeah, I’m fussy and I completely understand that my objections might be scoffed at as churlish, but I won’t go out with someone who splats an ampersand down in written conversation instead of the word “and”. How could you buy a drink for someone who does that*? RSVP is Manglish central.
I should say that if someone rarely writes anything in their day to day life, and is simply a poor speller, and has no pretence to be a good one, well that’s life. It’s the ones who want to come over as all sophisticated and switched on who give me the shits. Linguistic lawlessness amongst thelattesippingchatteringagereadingsocialist classes is rife. Nothing riles me like words being made to look stupid.
When you join in and knock up a profile, the first task is to write a bit of general info about yourself. Let me straight away share some highlights with you.
I think the most thorough and concise self-description I have read is from the person who said, “I like to go out, but I like to stay in too.” Often you have to read something twice, just to ensure it makes no sense the second time either. An example; “I am a happy classy outgoing fun.” Was this person harpooned before they could end the sentence, or is there such a thing as a fun? I came too upon someone who was evidently “intelectual”.
You get breathless and experimental stuff in the vein of Jack Kerouac; words bashed out in a great rush of Nescafe Blend 43 (and maybe ketamine - you know how it is with divorcees). No edits or corrections, or revision or reading back. It’s authentic gritty writing, symbolistic, visionary, expressi- no okay I’m being silly. It’s rubbish. And if it HAS been checked over … lord have mercy.
One member dismissed life’s problems as nothing but “water on a duck’s back.” A brilliant screw up and one I’d have liked to have pointed out. It might have been the start of something beautiful. But I’m not made of stamps. You are, after all, encouraged to contact people you think you might get off with, not ones you’re tittering at. When I read "A wasted day is a day without laughter," I tried to convince myself that this was no idiotic mistake, but in fact a deliberate thought-provoking upside down take on a Hallmark card bromide.
Everyone lives life to the fullest and punctuates information with screaming exclamation marks!!! Half the sentences end with a detonating LOL!!!, (so a lot of professional women in their 40s and 50s are evidently smoking weed when they get home from work). It’s best to be “comfortable in your own skin”. I don't know what that means. Who’s skin do you look for if you don’t like your own? Some mandatory gear: a thirst for red wine (white wine is unfashionable), DVDs by open fires, walks along the beach, walks into the bush, “arthouse” cinema, the ABC and SBS only, and invariably very fine dining.
And things I don’t like, I now like even less. Nick Cave is a biggie. Talk about the relentless namedropping of the allegedly cool guy. Leonard Cohen is a staple. You can feel how pleased people are with themselves when they list Café Del Mar, Nina Simone and Van Morrison. The most infuriating prejudice is against country music – C&W as it’s always written. You know where this is coming from. It’s a fear of appearing redneck and unsophisticated. So that removes George Jones, Dolly Parton, The Byrds, The early Eagles, Emmylou Harris, Hank Williams. Ask Nick Cave what HE thinks of Johnny Cash. Heavy metal is absolute anathema too. Hip Hop is about as popular as paedophilia. These music listings never fail to lower my heartbeat.
Books? “I love reading” is a common cop out for those who don’t really like reading. The magic realists are popular.
There are fans of The Lemon Heads (sic), Cold Play (sic), Trueblood (sic). There are women who are “conjected” (sic), and if I had a buck for every appearance of “definately” (sic) I’d have about a hundred and twelve bucks. As for “independant”(sic), I could buy a pair of Puma runners on the proceeds of that.
The fad at the moment is Salsa Dancing. People relish salsa dancing … see what I did there? The photographs tend to be predictable too … surprisingly. Usually there’s the close up at home or in the garden, and the one taken at a ‘do’, (sometimes with an “ex” photoshopped into oblivion) and most popularly, the overseas snaps: sitting outside the Taj Mahal, playing with a monkey in Indonesia, on skis and on the piste in the alps. Travel is a badge of honour on RSVP. Wordliness works.
Again I emphasize that none of this is to say there are not gems amongst the RUBBISH. Talented writers and comics. Insightful and admirable thinkers. And total hotties. Don’t you hate when people are smarter and more attractive than you?
My current profile – I pop in infrequently these days - is, for want of a better word, and there is no better word, sarcastic. It’s my guide for new members who might be struggling to suss out what to say about themselves. I list the safe and popular clichés: acceptable spelling blunders, blatant lies, the kind of pics you should use, interesting interests, how you must avoid mentioning anything to do with sex. All the dispiriting nonsense that seems to get results. (I should say here that, from what I’ve seen, the men and women are pretty much the same. In fact the men I’m sure, ape the women in order to gain kudos. One correspondent thought I was talking to the men, which proves my point.)
My profile’s been really popular, because it’s not hostile per se. A lot of people have enjoyed a laugh. I don’t know how it slipped past the censors mind you. I’m tempted now to see how I’d go with something entirely carnal, but I don’t want to get barred.
Oddly enough, several women whose profiles are perfect storms as far as my gripes go have said hello, which is kinda touching, and proves they’re happy to have a laugh at themselves.
Creating a profile for myself consisting of nothing but comments on other people’s profiles has enabled me to steer well clear of any admissions about my own life. That would entail a choice between a comprehensive subterfuge, a fudging of the facts to re-invent myself as a bit of a high-flyer (perhaps literally – an international pilot!) or the awful truth, which goes something like this: I’m an unemployed freelance writer with a fairly low hit rate. I was working in a warehouse but it closed down. Sometimes I DJ at pubs. I am 48 years old. I play in a covers band. I am almost 49 years old. I have only had two proper relationships and have never lived with a girlfriend. I have never been to Thailand. My car is twenty years old. I don’t like bushwalking. I used to be good at soccer, but now I can’t keep up. I’d like a tennis partner but no-one here plays tennis. (That is a genuine disappointment.) I’m profoundly self-conscious until I know and trust someone at which point I begin to act like a 12 year old. If I had to describe myself in one word I would say autocontrarian. Probably not a good choice of word. … line up ladies.
In spite of myself, I’ve met some lovely women for whom a man with a scarce income and an inability to mend a latch on a shelf has been no impediment to searing romance. In the “I am looking for” box of her profile, my last ex wrote “Someone who can spell”. That was it. And it was perfect.
So perhaps less is more. Be mysterious and enigmatic, like Stalin. And don’t sign up until you’ve got a photo of yourself with a monkey.
*I have a very dear friend from RSVP who uses ampersands. I buy her drinks.
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