During my first "speed date" experience, we interacted almost solely through icebreakers.
But that cynical thought had melted down, replaced with a pearl of wisdom I'd heard earlier from possibly some great philosopher: "I'm on a Ferris wheel in the world's greatest city, what could go wrong?
Several family members and close friends of mine have been to Chicago, and I was always super jealous of their trips.
As a single myself, I can also tell by their stories that Chicago can be an amazing place to find a date or find love.
According to Best Places.net, more than 35% of the 2.7 million people in Chicago are single, and our experts are here offering 10 ways to help them get out there and meet new people.
Three men were sequestered on one side of the gondola and three women on the other side, and they had polite conversations like this: This wasn't exactly patter to make your heart go flutter (or beat at all for that matter). "Actually, I know how to make meth," said her seatmate, a woman whose name tag pinned to her black top identified her as Elliott. Devon and Elliott were both in their late 20s, tallish and blonde, with easy smiles and rat-a-tat-tat banter.
I felt the need to shake things up on my second go-around on the big wheel of love. They struck me at first as sisters or an improv comedy duo, but they told me later they were just close friends. I can't recall what she said next because, well, have you ever tried to remember how a dozen people you met at a party answered the same innocuous question? His everyman charisma and Good Will Hunting-era Matt Damon looks convinced me he'd one day survive a crash on the surface of Mars by becoming a makeshift potato farmer.
The intention of Navy Pier's second annual "Spinning Singles" speed dating event last month was more clear than Lake Michigan on a sunny summer day.
All of us had journeyed here to mingle with attractive people while soaring on an amusement park ride, then drinking on a yacht docked in the lake. This wasn't one of those anti-singles parties that defiantly celebrate their resistance to Valentine's Day's Dracula-like suck on America's attention. This was V-Day on steroids, primed to shock and awe its participants into romance. The pink lights affixed to the Centennial Wheel (including a LED-lit cartoon heart the size of a SUV on the central hub) shone so brightly that everything around it looked dipped in Pepto-Bismol.
Had we been served booze (it didn't flow freely until later on the boat) or provided with the right soundtrack, we might have also believed we were in a tiny gyrating VIP room at a nightclub.