Having published fifteen posts of stunning originality, I believe I have fair claim to being the most compelling presence in the blogosphere in this new decade. Despite my fearsome intelligence, hunger for truth, and unflinching political commentary, I actively seek the company of others. In fact, I'm currently searching for a Best Friend Forever.
Sixteen fortunate preliminary B.F.F.s will be identified and whisked to the tip of Cape Cod, where they will spend the month of March in an unheated cottage. Each potential B.F.F. will receive a cubic-zirconium-encrusted cellphone with my personal coodinates entered into its memory.
All 16 contestants will be blond, extremely attractive, and younger than 23. I warn those of you educated (even privately) in the United States that some among your number will be products of British state schools and may, therefore, prove intimidating or at least more verbally adept. You will be evenly divided between men and women as I do not intend (at least initially) to bed my new B.F.F.
I plan to call each of you at random with a series of ever-escalating demands. I may ask you to run naked down a wind-swept beach with your mouth full of sand, to plunge into the Atlantic's icy depths, and then to grind sea glass or sharp, splintered driftwood into your sex parts. Why? As a test of loyalty and to determine if you are entitled to the moniker "B.F.F."
During your try-out or apprenticeship, you will use whichever bath products, consume whatever foods (even sea glass and sharp, splintered driftwood), and sleep wherever I decree (expect to spend several nights in an abandoned vehicle or tree). Your cohort of sixteen will be winnowed to four. The other dozen will be asked to return their cellphones promptly and to arrandge their own transport home (N.B. Provincetown airport operates on a vastly reduced schedule in winter and does not service the U.K.).
Finalists will then make their way to New York for a series of costly lunches with me on the Upper East Side (also at Savoy on Crosby Street). A few conversational guidelines: I am not particularly introspective and do not welcome intrusive, "psychologically acute" observations about my character. Don't inform me that I'm "parsimonious," "feel owed," or "have profound issues." Also, don't stare at me while I eat. Just keep your trap shut, allow me to discern if you can handle a fork in public, and when I tactfully excuse myself to "visit the gents'" at the conclusion of the meal, pick up the check.
Don't utter things you think make you sound interesting. Announcing "heliskiing is better than sex" won't make me want to try the sport, but will force me to wonder what sort of sex you've had (and possibly even to picture it).
If your parents or other relations own unoccupied properties in locales that conceivably could be considered desirable, by all means say so. Don't fail to inform me about a vacant flat because you blithely assume I "don't like London." I do like London. Especially South Kensington.
What I don't like is human selfishness. B.F.F.s share. Everything: popcorn at the movies, secrets, stock tips, and, above all, a sense that we're there for each other. Why else have I loaned you an encrusted cellphone? But if, let's say, you're worried about a promotion at work, ask yourself if I, as a matter of course, would be interested in this facet of your life. (If you labor in the financial services industry at a (pre-promotion) salary below $125,000, probably not. If, however, you work with people I went to high school or college with and happen to know their salaries (regardless of size), do give me a ring.)
The same applies to your personal life. Having trouble with a girl- or boyfriend? If you're gay (particularly lesbian), I'm all ears to any details you may wish to furnish. If you're straight, think things through before phoning me (particularly after 6 PM). Is the one with whom you're intimately involved "just a person," or does he or she have some allure that makes him or her worth discussing with me? (Examples: he or she is on the masthead of the "New York Times" (editorial; not business); owns more than three successful restaurants in Manhattan (museum cafes excluded); earned more than $3.6 million in each of the last five fiscal years or possesses a house in Amagansett or better (neither heavily mortgaged nor north of the highway); currently serves or has more than a passing acquaintance with someone who currently serves on the board of the Brearley School.)
After our series of lunches has ended, the two remaining finalists will accompany me to Central Park for a gantlet of sack races, tug-o'-war, bark-and-insect munching, and finally to a bed of hot coals on which each will be expected to tread for a minimum of 20 minutes. At the conclusion of this day, the most worthy will have been selected and my new B.F.F. and I can go out for a celebratory dinner. Probably to Savoy.
