Sometime between Valentine’s Day and the end of February it will be 60 years since I met my future wife. It was at an event where such things weren’t supposed to happen, an ancient rite called a mixer (aka meat market) at Bryn Mawr college. I’m not sure such things exist any more, but the principle is the same. If you are of an intellectual bent, single and looking for someone whose brains match your own, which I assume some readers of this blog are, then your college and/or graduate training years is the time (and place) to look. You are likely never to be in a place where so many likely candidates are to be found. Also at this time of your life, everything is likely to be fresh and not old and warmed over.
At a mixer, you’ll have to actually talk to someone for a prolonged period face to face to see if there is anything there. No swiping and moving on. No controlled electronic dialog to shield you. Surely life has more to offer the two of you than sitting at a table staring into your respective cell phones.
One mixer story. In grad school I was friendly with a law school student who was also a Rockefeller, a very intelligent unassuming individual. We went to a mixer together. I left covered with bruises from being stiffarmed by aggressive females who wanted to meet him. It was a humbling experience.
Chemiotics II 