These days, all you have to do to get a date is lounge around the house and watch TV.
Jessica Scott, 28, of Philadelphia was among the first to use Comcast’s “Dating on Demand” video dating service, which was test-marketed in her city in 2004.
Once her brief interview appeared on Comcast’s digital cable system, she received e-mails from hundreds of men, most of whom also had made videos. She then went channel surfing for a date from the comfort of her couch.
“I could rule out guys right away,” Scott said. “If somebody came across like they didn’t have a personality … click … and then I’d see what the next guy was like.”
Comcast launched this service nationally one year ago today. It now attracts up to 2.5 million viewers a month. (It’s free to digital-cable subscribers. Making contact, however, requires an online account with a monthly fee of $14.95. For details, go to datingondemand.com.)
I’ve been out of this market since meeting my wife 12 years ago. But for me, Dating on Demand is riveting reality TV.
On Monday, with a little help from Comcast’s Colorado spokeswoman Cindy Parsons, I scrolled through several videos from yearning Coloradans. The first clip we came across was from a striking woman named Autumn, 27, a “recreational therapist” with long blond hair, high cheekbones and an enticing smile.
I was charmed until she spoke. “I sing songs to my cat. She sings back,” said Autumn. “I do work with a psychic and a medium. … I have a niece that sees dead people. … Call me and I’ll tell you about it.”
Then I watched Katie, a 21-year-old social worker. “The thing I like about a man is the smell,” she said. “It’s really strange, but every man has that distinct smell. … Rolling over in the morning and smelling a pillow that has that (smell) … it’s great.”
Those on the videos responded to questions posed by an unseen interviewer.
They were asked to describe guilty pleasures, passions and even the worst thing that ever happened to them, which included being kidnapped, shot at, nearly eaten by a barracuda and asked to worship the devil.
“The worst thing someone could do on a date with me is expect me to pay for half the date,” said Olivia, 26.
What Julie, 45, is looking for: “A great guy. … He can be divorced, only he has to be really divorced.” What Julie is not looking for: “Somebody who is mean to the waiter. … Because that’s how they are going to be to me in six months.”
Some folks seemed to be intentionally limiting their pool of dates.
“I could not date a man who was really into sports,” said Sherrie, a 44-year-old optometrist. And then there was Conrad, a 21-year-old cop and restaurant owner wielding the words every woman longs to hear: “I play football, and I collect cars. That’s my passion.”
Said Andrew, a 26-year-old firefighter: “I could not date a woman who chews with her mouth open.”
Said Christian, a 23-year-old civil engineer: “I am sick and tired of meeting women who tell me I am everything they are looking for, but not right now.”
Said Charlie, 24: “I’m kind of a geek, but I try to keep that at work. … I would love to date a woman who has some kind of background similar to my own, something in science or math.”
I give John, 53, credit for trying the hardest to impress. “I have learned so much in my life from women,” he said. “That’s what I really love about women.”
“What kind of things have you learned from them?” the interviewer asked.
“Oh, I just learn things … that are so obscure, it’s hard to bring them all to mind.”
Scott, the woman from Philadelphia, said video dating is about embracing possibilities.
“The love of your life may be thousands of miles away, and you have no idea,” she said.
Yet out of the hundreds of guys she attracted through Dating on Demand, she went out with only one. And he never became “the one.” She’s now in a relationship with a guy she met at work.
“Sometimes, you have no idea that the person you are looking for has been right next to you the whole time,” she said.
Al Lewis’ column appears Sundays, Tuesdays and Fridays. Respond to him at denverpostbloghouse.com/lewis, 303-820-1967 or alewis@denverpost.com.
