matchmaking

Everyone dreams of falling in love, and the first step in that process is usually going out on a date. For some people, finding a date is almost as easy as shooting fish in a barrel. But for others, finding a date is very, very hard work.

The poor souls who fall into the latter category are the people who tend to frequent the self-help section at Barnes & Noble — that’s where pick-up artistry handbooks are shelved, right? These are the people who are willing to hand thousands of dollars to matchmakers like Patti Stanger in the hopes of going on a single date.

But try as they might, sometimes matchmakers fail. In fact, sometimes matchmakers fail because they allegedly charge exorbitant prices to send their clients on dates with convicted criminals. In times like this, these broken hearts don’t go home; instead, they go to court….

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haWe know a lot about law here at ATL, and maybe we know a little about love too. We’ve sent a handful of New York legal types out on dates as part of ATL Courtship Connection, our amateur stab at matchmaking. We’ve gotten three reports back so far.

Elie’s matchmaking attempt fell flat. Lat’s set-up showed promise. Now I bring you the results of my handiwork with Cupid’s bow and arrow. Since a Covington colleague and Duke classmate that I introduced are now married (and about to give birth to their first child), I can claim some archery expertise.

I matched two 30+ attorneys because they both named My Cousin Vinny as their favorite legal character. If a shared appreciation of Joe Pesci’s courtroom tuxedo doesn’t lead to true love, I don’t know what will. I sent them to one of my favorite East Village bars, Scratcher, which I thought would have a relaxed, romantic vibe. I was wrong about that, but perhaps right about these two getting along.

Here’s the male take from a “mid-level associate, refugee from the NYC boutique firms, now working at a non-profit and developing an allergic reaction to dress pants”:

So you would think that finding someone you never met in a bar without so much as a first name might be a problem. Especially when that bar is packed with drunken college types on St. Patrick’s Day. As it turned out, it took me all of two seconds to spot the one lawyer in the place, BlackBerry in her one hand, Redweld in the other.

Our college years long behind us, we decided to find a place where we could have a conversation, and perhaps get some real beer instead of that green swill.

So how did it go from there?

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