There's something about Davids...

Everyone has their kryptonite

It all started in 1994. And it never ends.

Let’s call him David, because that was his name. He was a freshman at Yale when I was a sophomore. He was a computer geek just before that got cool. The internet was not yet a thing, and we all checked our email in the basement of our dorms with an email program called Pine (Pine Is Not Emacs. You had to be there.)

I was the flavor of the week as young ladies of the Yale Political Union went. I was the Chair of the Liberal Party, a great speaker on the floor of the YPU and all the party’s debates, even the conservative parties (where I regularly went to flirt with conservative guys. Y’all knew that was why I was there, right? I didn’t even care about the drinks back then.) I dated Political Union luminaries, Yale grads who were already at Harvard Law, Harvard grads who were at Yale Law… high status males. Being a computer geek freshman was not high status in those days. But there’s something about Davids…

He walked up to me at a party in someone’s dorm room. Everyone was dancing. I was wearing a black mini skirt and a white man’s t-shirt. I can’t believe I don’t remember what he was wearing that night but I do remember the purple jacket he would wear when he spoke at the Yale Political Union, which he did incredibly well. He was one of the cleverest, smartest men I’ve ever met. Sigh. A brilliant Jewish man named David. I’m doomed.

BUT! It started out great. He walked right up to me and put his arm around me. And left it there. This was my first experience with being caught in the Death Star tractor beam of a David. I had every intention of moving, but I just couldn’t. I was suddenly, irrevocably attracted to David.

I kept running on and on about “What will people think?” But we danced together all evening and he never took that arm off of my waist.

Now I suppose I should take just a moment to answer the people who may be whining that this kind of behavior is not acceptable. Thank the good Goddess I went to college before complete insanity hit gender relations. There was nothing creepy at all about his forward gesture, and I’m certain that if I had made one move away he would have politely removed his arm. But the element of surprise, a computer geek freshman approaching a high status female, worked its magic. My friend Mark Judge, the inspiration for my first piece in Splice Today, would have been impressed with this gentlemanly yet direct gesture.

The next morning, I received an email from David. Subject line: “What do YOU care what other people think?” Text: “Excellent book by Richard Feyman.”

It was a fun fling, and when he broke it off after a few weeks I went a bit insane (Yale friends collectively rolling eyes). I called too many times. I started taking computer science courses and read all of his favorite books. I systematically dated my way through all of his friends, basically the entire computer science department. I became a Computing Assistant, a job that paid well and taught me fantastic skills (such as: turn the computer off and turn it back on. It still works.) I even learned to program in C++, and wrote a version of Tetris in the ancient computer language Scheme. All of which I’ve completely forgotten.

My good friend once found me on one of my little walks around Old Campus, where the freshman lived. He asked, “Why are you not over David?” I replied, “What makes you think I’m not over David?” He astutely pointed out, “You’re standing under his window.”

Yeah.

For the record I was only 19 and I have never engaged in such wacky behavior since. No means no, and no thank you means no thank you. I am good friends with almost all my exes, and if for some reason it makes sense not to be in contact, I do not contact them and expect the same courtesy of them.

Yet there is something about Davids. I have a long history with them. At first glance, you might think that is because David is a very popular name for Jewish men, and I have a long-standing attraction to Jewish men, who frequently kindly reciprocate said attraction in a most polite and civilized manner.

Now before I get accused of fetishizing anyone’s ethnicity (which in fact I suppose I do, and I stand by anyone’s right to be attracted to or not attracted to whomever they are!) I will point out that I have had lots of non-Jewish Davids in my life. I am a fairly equal-opportunity David fan. I had a disaster of a working relationship with a Japanese David to whom I was very attracted until we started hating each other. I had a disaster of a relationship with an atheist David of WASP origins who is now a good friend. I had a brilliant Jesuit educated serious Catholic David ghost me, which had literally never happened to me before in my entire life. I’m pretty sure the fine brother was kidnapped by aliens, so we’ll give him a pass. Hope he enjoyed his space travel.

I am searching my memory banks for one David I dated who did not turn out to somehow be a disaster. I come up with nothing.

I am good at being friends with Davids. One of my current closest friends is a David, but his name isn’t actually David. That’s his alias in the work we do together, where we kinda have call signs. You know, like Maverick, or Iceman, or… David.

I also seem to have no problem with Daves. There’s something about shortening the name that takes away its power. I like Daves, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t get that sense of impending doom when I meet a Dave. Dave seems like the kind of person you could ask for directions in New York City and he’d be nice about it.

I have never met a mediocre David. Well, I don’t spend a lot of time meeting mediocre men (David who isn’t David may argue with me about this - he has high standards for who his female friends are allowed to date - but he’s not here so there.) I always fall for the brilliant, quirky, unusual Davids. The ones who create new computer programming languages or negotiate peace treaties in the Middle East.

[Side note: Does anyone remember that great line in the classic The Rules about why you shouldn’t try to meet men in bars? Something like, “The man of your dreams is (insert several important things a man could be doing), or negotiating peace in the Middle East. He is not warming a bar stool.” I never forgot that. I did once meet a David in a bar. It did not go well. Perhaps I should promptly move to the Middle East. Do they allow cats?

I do hope that this piece will be taken in the lighthearted spirit in which it is intended. To all you Davids out there: you’re awesome. What is it about Davids? Please share any insights in the comments. If you have friends who are Davids, feel free to share this post with them. If you are married to or partnered with or otherwise involved in some positive way with a David, I hope it is going swimmingly! Davids rock. Everyone go appreciate a David today. Last week there was International Cat Day. Maybe there should be a David Day. Except that I’m sure lots of people would say since it’s a common man’s name every day is David Day. Oh would that it were…

I am afraid of Davids, of course, because of their Death Star-like planet killing potential. I find them magnetic, so I have to be wary. I even have my current David Not David programmed in my phone as Death Star, just to remind myself. Davids are not to be taken lightly.

But I would take one to dinner.