I clicked off the cell phone. "Styl

I clicked off the cell phone. "Style talks really fast," I said to my housemate's
cat, who understands these things and was my longstanding partner in crime
when it came to getting girls to the house. (The offer of, "Want to come back
to my place and watch the cat do back flips?" hardly ever failed.)
That was my first impression of Style's real life persona. Two weeks later I
sat in a restaurant in San Francisco's Fisherman's Wharf waiting for Style to
arrive, mentally tallying a list of crazy things that could be wrong with him. I
ignored the waiter who was trying to upgrade my beer and made a prayer to
myself. "Please, goddess of seduction and patron saint of pickup artists and
guys trying to get nookie everywhere, please do not let Style be weird."
Talking too fast is usually a sign of a deep lack of confidence. People who
feel that others aren't interested in what they think talk fast for fear of losing the
attention of their audience. Others are so in love with perfection that they have
a difficult time editing it all down and continuously speed up in hopes of
getting it all in. Such people usually become writers. That was it: weirdo or writer. I hoped it was the latter. I needed a friend and equal in this world of
seduction, not another student.
I'd first heard of Style on the Internet. We had come to admire each other's
postings on a website dedicated to the art of seduction. He wrote with grace
and eloquence. He seemed to be a positive guy who was focused on sharing.
What he saw in my posts I can only guess.
Style entered the room with a galloping lope. Were those platform shoes
he was wearing? He made easy eye contact, beamed with a beautiful smile,
and was a touch nervous in just the right amount to make him endearing—an
effect I'm sure was deliberate. With his relatively short stature, baby-like shaved
head, and soft-spoken voice, no one would ever suspect him of being a pickup
artist. I perked up. This guy could be good.
I liked Style right away. He was obviously very practiced at making
people like him. He made me feel important. He had a way of summing up
many of my more clunkily expressed ideas into simple, beautiful statements—all
the while attributing the eloquence back to me. He was the perfect accomplice
for an up-and-coming guru.
And yet I wasn't sure what his weakness was. We all do that as we get to
know someone. Like a tabloid editor, we search for both greatness and
weakness, jotting notes in our heads for future exploitation. We are never
comfortable with those who have no visible flaw. Style's softness was not real
weakness. My only guess as to Style's flaw was a pride in his ability to get
others to open up and reveal themselves. Pretty lame as far as a weakness
goes but that was all I had to go on.
He was a cool guy. But he had a lack of confidence that made no sense,
as if he felt there was something missing about himself—a piece that would
make him complete. I was pretty sure he was searching for it outside when he
would eventually find it inside.
After lunch, we did exactly what all hot pickup artists on the make do in
San Francisco. We went to the Museum of Modern Art.
We walked downstairs and spread out—commandoes of seduction. I
turned a corner in the dimly lit new media section and noticed a cute
twenty-year-old. She was small. I love petite women. There is something about
their inherent weakness that turns me on. I joined her at a video projection on
the floor. The scene looped every minute or so—white petals falling delicately
off seasoned branches.

Kết quả (Việt) 1:

Tôi nhấp vào tắt điện thoại di động. "Phong cách nói thực sự nhanh chóng," tôi đã nói với housemate của tôicát, những người hiểu được những việc này và là đối tác của tôi lâu đời ở tội phạmkhi nó đến để nhận cô gái đến nhà. (Lời đề nghị của, "có muốn trở lạiđể nơi và xem những con mèo của tôi trở lại flips?"hầu như không bao giờ thất bại.)Đó là ấn tượng đầu tiên của tôi của persona của phong cách cuộc sống thực. Hai tuần sau đó tôingồi trong một nhà hàng ở San Francisco Fisherman's Wharf chờ đợi cho phong cách đểđến tinh thần kiểm đếm một danh sách những điều điên rồ mà có thể là sai với anh ta. Tôibỏ qua những người phục vụ những người đã cố gắng để nâng cấp bia của tôi và thực hiện một lời cầu nguyện đểbản thân mình. "Xin vui lòng, nữ thần của quyến rũ và thánh bảo trợ của nghệ sĩ đón vàkẻ cố gắng để có được nookie ở khắp mọi nơi, xin vui lòng không cho phong cách được lạ."Nói quá nhanh thường là một dấu hiệu của một thiếu sâu của sự tự tin. Những ngườicảm thấy rằng những người khác không quan tâm đến những gì họ nghĩ rằng nói chuyện nhanh vì sợ mất đi nhữngsự chú ý của đối tượng của họ. Những người khác là như vậy trong tình yêu với sự hoàn hảo mà họ cómột thời gian khó khăn chỉnh sửa nó tất cả xuống và liên tục tăng tốc độ hopes củanhận được nó tất cả in. Những người như vậy thường trở thành nhà văn. Đó cũng là nó: weirdo hoặc nhà văn. Tôi hy vọng nó là sau này. Tôi cần một người bạn và bình đẳng trong thế giới này củaquyến rũ, không là một sinh viên.Tôi đã lần đầu tiên nghe nói về các phong cách trên Internet. Chúng tôi đã đến để chiêm ngưỡng lẫn nhaubài đăng trên một trang web dành riêng cho nghệ thuật quyến rũ. Ông đã viết với ân huệand eloquence. He seemed to be a positive guy who was focused on sharing.What he saw in my posts I can only guess.Style entered the room with a galloping lope. Were those platform shoeshe was wearing? He made easy eye contact, beamed with a beautiful smile,and was a touch nervous in just the right amount to make him endearing—aneffect I'm sure was deliberate. With his relatively short stature, baby-like shavedhead, and soft-spoken voice, no one would ever suspect him of being a pickupartist. I perked up. This guy could be good.I liked Style right away. He was obviously very practiced at makingpeople like him. He made me feel important. He had a way of summing upmany of my more clunkily expressed ideas into simple, beautiful statements—allthe while attributing the eloquence back to me. He was the perfect accomplicefor an up-and-coming guru.And yet I wasn't sure what his weakness was. We all do that as we get toknow someone. Like a tabloid editor, we search for both greatness andweakness, jotting notes in our heads for future exploitation. We are nevercomfortable with those who have no visible flaw. Style's softness was not realweakness. My only guess as to Style's flaw was a pride in his ability to getothers to open up and reveal themselves. Pretty lame as far as a weaknessgoes but that was all I had to go on.He was a cool guy. But he had a lack of confidence that made no sense,as if he felt there was something missing about himself—a piece that wouldmake him complete. I was pretty sure he was searching for it outside when hewould eventually find it inside.After lunch, we did exactly what all hot pickup artists on the make do inSan Francisco. We went to the Museum of Modern Art.We walked downstairs and spread out—commandoes of seduction. Iturned a corner in the dimly lit new media section and noticed a cutetwenty-year-old. She was small. I love petite women. There is something abouttheir inherent weakness that turns me on. I joined her at a video projection onthe floor. The scene looped every minute or so—white petals falling delicatelyoff seasoned branches.