Michael79, 43

My heart swells at the sight of bespectacled lit mavens.

My objective on this silly website is to find a girlfriend; a brilliant, snarky, gregarious (or not so gregarious), de Bouvoir-type to my Sartre-type (or vice versa), however, I take these things glacially slow. Friends, anyone?

Literature is the sum and substance of my threadbare little existence. I'm hemmed in behind Faustian stacks. I spend unchristian amounts of time skulking through second-hand bookstores.

I morn the death of letters - of physical letters - written by hand, delivered parcel post and received with due reverence.

I heart punk, noise and indie/underground rock. My shelves sag under the weight of accumulated vinyl. I may not have a 401-K, but at least I can caress those early Cravats singles in my unworthy little mits.

I like seeing bands play, especially at dingy, "intimate" dives like Rubber Gloves, but I loathe the party atmosphere and the slobbering provincials whose only contribution is staggering around drunk and spilling beer on your shoes.

I'm not conventionally handsome. Or unconventionally handsome.