The Luv Doc: A Bit Desperate

Dear Luv Doc,

I moved to Austin three months ago, and must say I am disappointed by the social scene. Really I need to hook up with a potential, compatible soulmate. I am getting a bit desperate, but just saw an ad in your esteemed publication for a penetration testing consultant, and want your advice on applying. It seems like an opportunity to break out of my present involuntary state and get to test the waters. I am a simple guy, and not used to the current journalese. I prefer to call a date a search for a mate. Why is it all so complicated in Austin? I think you may be the guide and adviser for me.

– Long John Silver

First of all, love your fried cod. Seriously. It always brings back fond memories – at least until the patina of oil forms on my face and I realize that the only thing nutritional in a piece of Long John Silver's fried cod is the actual cod itself, which as fish flesh goes is about as tasteless as fish can possibly get. Jim Gaffigan is less white and more flavorful. Let that roll around on your tongue for a bit. Still, somewhat inexplicably, I can occasionally get the fuck down on some fried cod from Long John Silver's. It always ends up being a gateway to a very dark shame spiral, but my memory has always been spotty and unreliable.

Back when I was in high school I had some stoner friends who would always want to go to LJS for lunch just so they could slap each other's hands and scream, "Don't touch my cod piece!" loud enough to annoy the Baptist church lady that managed the place. I know that among the sophisticated, intellectually elitist Chronicle readership that humor seems extraordinarily juvenile, but when you're a stoned 17-year-old, it's comedy gold. Actually, in my humble opinion, it still is if performed with the proper amount of campy gusto.

Notwithstanding the dark pull of Long John Silver's crunchy comestibles, as Judge Reinhold proved in Fast Times at Ridgemont High, being a fast-food pirate can seriously hamper your game – even if you're throwing mad eyebrows at Nancy Wilson in a T–top 'Vette. She may look thirsty, but she ain't snacking on your barracuda. In other words, if your name really is Long John Silver, you better have some magic man energy going on or you're going to end up sad masturbating to Phoebe Cates while staring through the guest bathroom window. And you thought that fried cod shame spiral was dark.

Here's the deal: You want to be a penetration testing consultant? Go for it. Live your best life, but I can tell you that being a consultant has its low points. I do a fair amount of consulting myself, and it can be maddening. For instance, one of the things that drives consultants batshit is not knowing what they are being consulted about. I am going to go ahead and risk making the assumption that you're having trouble searching for a mate in Austin because Austin is complicated. Austin is many things, but it's not complicated. As a resident of this burg since basically forever, I can tell you with unabashed, full confidence that in Austin you only have to be one thing: Yourself. If you open up, are honest with yourself and others, and embrace the complete fucking dork you may or may not be, you will find your people and very likely your mate. That's the true Austin – the one I like to believe I live in, at least. All the fronters, grifters, and social media "influencers" walking these streets making duck lip selfies trying to cultivate a marketable image may live here, but they haven't gone native, and very likely they'll be on to the next big thing soon enough. Hopefully that's Waco. They've been asking for it for so long. OK then, there you go. Get out there and swing that big barracuda around and see who bites!