Dean writes that the Internet is ruining urban nightlife. But I don’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing.

“No more need for small talk, or extricating yourself maturely from a dead-end conversation.” I tend to disagree… I mean, bars aren’t really conducive to small talk in the first place. I can’t remember the last time I actually met someone in a bar. On the Internet, you really can communicate with people, and small talk is required there, too. Many of those people may turn out to be duds, but you can still find a couple of interesting folks.

“And no more chance you’ll meet somebody who hasn’t made it past the parameters of your search for age, body type, race, income, education level, employment status, commitment to fitness and taste in music.” True, but if someone sets up these parameters for himself, aren’t those parameters going to apply in a bar just as much as online? We set up these parameters because they’re based on experience. We know what we want and what we don’t want. If I’m at a bar, I’m not going to pay much attention to those who don’t fit my tastes. At least on the Internet, we can do some filtering. I know… you can say that in person, there’s at least the chance that you’ll be unexpectedly drawn to someone who doesn’t fit your preselected parameters. But online, you can be unexpectedly drawn to someone who can communicate well, which you may not have known if you had just seen the person from across the bar.

I think that Dean’s point does make sense from two perspectives.

One, it makes sense if you’re going to a bar just to look for sex. Like sexual attraction, bars are primarily about the visual. And anyway, if it’s all about sex, then the downsizing of urban nightlife isn’t much of a loss. Sex can be found anywhere, anytime. But if the goal is to meet interesting people, I don’t know if loud, crowded bars have ever been good for that. At least online, you can communicate with people. Of course, the problem online is that for many people, chatrooms cease to be a means and instead become an end in themselves. They go there to chat, to while away their time — not to meet up with someone. I think there’s a third option: besides bars and the Internet, there are the friendlier ways of meeting people — social groups, friends of friends, and parties (where, because you already know several people, the social interactions become easier).

Dean’s point also makes sense from the “joy of life” perspective. It can be so damn fun to go to a bar, see the tight-shirted guys, be overwhelmed by the sounds and the sights and the smells. In that case, maybe it is a loss. But then you can always just go to the circus.

Tonight I went out to dinner with my friend UrbanPlanner and his new Taiwanese boyfriend. UrbanPlanner and I used to date; we met over the Internet when he was in grad school in Atlanta, and it’s sort of my fault that he wound up looking for jobs up here and subsequently moving up to the area. Shortly after he moved up here, I told him I just wanted to be friends. You’re not my type, but welcome to the neighborhood.

Anyway, UrbanPlanner has become one of my best friends, and tonight, I, the guy I used to date, and the guy whom the guy I used to date is now dating had dinner in Chinatown. It felt kind of weird — I kept imagining what was going through UrbanPlanner’s mind; it was probably something like, “Cool, I’ve slept with both of my dinner companions.” But we’re talking about gay men, so it’s not like that’s anything to write home about.

UrbanPlanner’s boyfriend took us to a Malaysian restaurant. We didn’t order pork, because I’m Jewish and I try to keep kosher. (Strangely, I won’t eat pork or ham, but I have no problem eating bacon or sausage. Then again, I fuck guys, so it’s not like I’m getting a gold star anyway.)

Afterward, the boyfriend innocently suggested that next time, I should take them on a cultural experience.

Which means what, exactly? The Second Avenue Deli?

I don’t want to play the role of cultural ambassador, primarily because if I do it, I’m going to have the entire Twelve Tribes of Judea telling me to sit up straight and not bite my nails and blaming me for not being a fount of Judaical knowledge.

And to UrbanPlanner’s boyfriend, I will always be Uberjew.

Lately I’ve been spending lots of time alone, and mostly it’s been by choice. In October I moved into my own apartment. It’s the first time I’ve had my own place since the spring of 1997. The biggest problem with this building is that the walls are too thin — my upstairs neighbor works nights, and often when he comes home he plays videogames and watches TV in his room all night long. His bedroom is directly above my own. I can hear it. It makes me want to scream.

Nevertheless, it’s nice to have my own apartment, with my own phone line, my own bathroom, and my own kitchen. I can cook if I want, I can go to Subway if I want. I can do what I want. Alone. About two weeks ago, I came home from work and made chili. It takes about an hour and a half to make. While cooking and then eating it, I watched lots of TV — a “Seinfeld” rerun, “Dawson’s Creek” (which I rarely watch, and when I do, it’s so I can see the gay guy), and “The West Wing.” I ate and ate and ate and watched and watched and watched. You know what? It was wonderful.

This past fall, I was hung up on one guy for three and a half months until I finally realized that he was never going to be interested in anything more than friendship. So one of my New Year’s resolutions was to meet new people and start dating again. Well, I’ve been on several dates this month, and I’ve come to realize that I don’t think I want a relationship right now after all. Like some other things, a relationship seems so much better in theory than in practice. I’m so much enjoying my solitude. I have friends, and I can get sex; what more do I need right now?