My name is.......

People on boats will wave, but not people of buses. People on horses will wave, but people in cars never do. Tourists riding the cable car will wave but locals riding the cable car will quickly look away. People on those little pedal boats that are shaped liked swans will smile and wave, but people on bikes almost never do.

Being a small town transplant I've had to relearn the rules of social propriety. In Youngstown, strangers often say hello on the street and smile. It’s not uncommon to talk to strangers that you meet. A nod or some kind of acknowledgment is not uncommon and is not looked upon with suspicion. Not so in the big city.

The problem becomes even more acute when you are single and lonely and can think of nothing else but meeting someone. That's me. Single and lonely and still trying to meet someone after all these years. It’s hard when you see women on the street that are attractive and interesting looking. You want to go up to them and introduce yourself. You want to say, "Hi. I'm Frank. I would like to know someone like you. I would love to be in love with someone like you." But you can't do that. They give you such a look. And they turn away or they move to another seat. And then you feel like a very low life form. I've learned this from experience. Yet sometimes I do it anyway. I just can't help myself. I want to exhaust that 1 in a million chance that that beautiful intelligent looking woman will talk to me . I don't bother anyone. I'm sensitive to body language (though you don't have to be that sensitive to pick up on most of the body language. It's pretty clear, even abrupt and brutal).

With the help of family and friends I’ve started to formulate rules about when its ok and not ok to talk to people. It's not ok on the street. It's ok in a class. It's not ok on public transportation. It’s ok at an event. It’s borderline at the grocery store. So for now I'm focusing on events. Events are a good way to meet women. When you get there, you meet people who are interested in the same thing that you are. The more specific the better. For example if you are so inclined and you can find a vegetarian skydiving club and you go and you see an attractive single woman there, chances are she will talk to you. Who knows, you may even end up jumping in tandem. So now in my obsession to meet my soulmate, I'm am striving for subtlety and looking for events.

I went to the library and saw a flyer for a reception for fans of William Saroyan to celebrate a temporary transfer of his personal papers and effects to the SF Library. Perfect. I grew up loving the stories of William Saroyan He was an Armenian American. He wrote stories with simplicity and elegance. My favorites are the ones that he wrote about his childhood. They are contained in the collection,"My name is Aram.". He sees the world through the eyes of a child with the wisdom of an adult. They are gentle and kind and what comes through more than anything else is a soothing and uplifting view of the world, of its spaciousness and grandeur. This was for me. And if were to meet an attractive woman who shared my love of Saroyan perhaps we could dispense with all the preliminary knocking down of barriers and just jump right into intimacy. We would connect effortlessly, maybe.

I arrived at the event with high hopes. It was held in a downstairs reception room at the new library. There were about 50 people there. I scanned the room for possibilities. Almost everyone there looked like they were in their mid sixties at best. There were refreshments set up, Armenian pastries, coffee and juice. One woman came up to me. She looked at me eagerly as if I was just the guy she was waiting for. "Are you Armenian? " "No ", I told her.

"Mostly everyone here is Armenian. Do you like William Saroyan?" she asked. She was short, rather heavy and had a face like a squashed melon with hair. We chatted awhile. She filled me in on the scene. The Armenians were still hoping for their own country. Today they were scattered throughout the Middle East, mostly in Eastern Turkey, Iran, and Iraq. Saroyan because he wrote about his Armenian heritage was a hero for the Armenians. "You know many of his family are here today."

"Really? I would love to meet them."

So she introduced me to 2 of his younger cousins. I was blown away. I was actually talking to cousins of William Saroyan. They were blown away when I told them how much I liked their cousin's (or Will as they referred to him) stories. To them he was just a guy they grew up with. "Yeah he lived with us for about 9 years when we were kids. He was always around." They told me some stories. We swapped some inside jokes that only people who were familiar with his stories and his life would understand. Then his niece who was also a writer came into the room. Everyone surged towards her.

"Hi Jackie", the cousins said.

"Oh hi. What was your name again?"

" We are Marlene and Kathy, remember? "

"Oh yes how are you ", and she was off. The air temperature dipped noticeably. The cousins looked at each other and laughed.

"She's always been like that. Never liked us. I don't know why. You know Frank, our family is crazy , if you only knew."

"I do know, "I said," I read his stories, remember."

"Oh yeah," and we all laughed.

The cousins moved on. I scanned the room again only to meet eyes with the melon face again. She smiled sweetly. I quickly turned to the desert table. Wow, baklava. I grabbed 2 and ate them quickly. There on the other side of the table was an old hippy who was likewise scarfing down baklava. "Are you Armenian?" I asked.

"No I'm not. I'm Diamond Dave. I run the poetry jam at the Brainwash Cafe every Wednesday night and I am a true admirer of Will Saroyan?" He had a strange glow in his eyes like he had taken too much speed for too long.

"Did you know him?"

"I did not , but I knew Neal Cassady of Jack Kerouk fame", and bang he was off talking about the good old days. I let him talk for a few minutes. I had to interrupt him if I ever wanted to say something.

" So what was Cassady like? Was he a nice guy?"

" Nice guy , bad guy, its all beside the point. He was a guy who made things happen. When he was around things just happened, like the time......."And he was off. After that story and another I felt the need to assert myself. "Say , Diamond Dave, I wonder if you could help me?

"Sure."

"Well I'm feeling wholly inadequate. I mean here you are Diamond Dave and here I am just Frank. You are a poet . Could you give me something catchy to stick in front of my name?"

"Sure. Sure." He rubbed his hands together. This was getting good.

" Uhhh. Fearless. Fearless Frank. There you go." He had a satisfied look on his face. Like he had just put in a good days work and now he deserved a beer.

"That's good Diamond (may I call you Diamond?) but I'm not fearless at all. I'm afraid all the time. "

"Oh yeah yeah afraid, I can see that now. Umm. How about fast? Fast Frank." He looked relieved and shot a glance over at me. I wasn't buying it. Not so fast.

"Furious Frank,no no.... Flatulent Frank "(while I had to admit it was accurate I didn't want to draw attention to it.) " Frank Frank, no too repetitious. I know," he finally said with a big grin on his face.

"Free----wheeling -----Frank."

I let it sink in. Freewheeling Frank. I liked it. Except for one thing.

"What does it mean Diamond Dave?"

He explained that freewheeling meant that you were flexible in any situation and able to go with the flow etc. Something I was in my better moments and always something to strive towards. I tried it on some more. I practiced, "Hi, nice to meet you , my name if Freewheeling Frank. Diamond Dave watched nervously. Finally I smiled and held out my hand to him, "Diamond Dave I am forever in your debt. Thank you."

"My pleasure Freewheeling Frank. I'm happy to be of service. "

I scanned the room one more time. It looked like melon face had been joined by what appeared to be her twin sister. Two people couldn't be that homely without sharing the same genes. I quickly turned back to the desert table and grabbed 2 more baklava. As I was eating them the twins came up to me on either side.

"Frank ,I want you to meet my twin sister Anna." I said hello to her and then there was a moment of awkward silence. I felt uncomfortable as the two women felt like they were standing too close to me. All of I sudden I was startled. One of the two women had pinched my behind. As I was straighting up the other one put her arm around my waist. I was trapped. I didn't want to have to push them away and cause a scene. I glanced at the women, they had a hideous lasiviious grin on their faces. What to do? Just at that moment, I spotted Diamond Dave walking towards the baklava table.

"Diamond Dave. Come over here , there's someone I want you to meet."

He walked over eagerly.

"Anna and Ann this is Diamond Dave. Diamond Dave this is Ann and Anna. They are Armenian.

"Diamond Dave. What an interesting name. A pleasure to meet you , I'm sure."

"Anna and Ann the awesome Aremenians.", he improvised.

The twins giggled. They seemed fascinated. They walked over to shake his hand.

"Diamond Dave was a friend of Neal Cassady of Jack Kerouac fame." I added hoping to prime the pump.

"Oh really. How very interesting."

As the twins siddled up to him, I saw him straighten up suddenly. I knew the cause. But Dave's face broke into a big grin and he put his arms around the women. They were perfect for each other. I scooped up 2 more baklava, waved goodbye to the cousins, nodded to the big picture of William Saroyan and then I freewheeled my way out of there. I hadn't meet Ms. Right but it had been an interesting afternoon nonetheless.