Browse through the first page to see if anyone is professing his/her love to your oblivious “Hunky Australian philosopher” blockmate. A more interesting aspect of the site is the posted stats, collected from the submission demographics. Of all four classes, seniors are submitting the most sightings, perhaps in attempts to take advantage of the last opportunities to get to know the Serena van der Woodsen lookalike or the guy stuffing his face with pita chips at brain break. But most surprisingly, sightings occur more frequently at the 12 Houses than anywhere else on campus. Looks like more than a few people are too shy to chat even in the dining hall.

Read Noice’s favorite declarations of unrequited love after the jump.

Behind the counter at Lamont Cafe: “I saw you mixing it up at Lamont Cafe…I melted when you asked me ‘may I help you?’… I like a little milk in my coffee.”

On DeWolfe Street: “I saw you… walking with another boy while I was on a run. I ran as fast as I could directly in front of you both and I knew I looked good.”

Cabot Science Library: “I saw you…filling out transfer applications. Iowa State? Really?”

The cheese table: “I saw you… next to the cheese plate. Looking all hungry because you forgot dinner. What’s your name, delicate? Is it Yvonne? My little croissant. My little cheese.”

Lamont: “I saw you… And thought you were cute until…I realized you were watching Jersey Shore instead of working on your paper. In the first floor reading room no less! Get it together!”

Mather dining hall: “I saw you…reading Sex and the Ivy before frantically clicking a new tab as I walked by.”

Faculty Club: “I saw you… going directly from the tri-house formal back to Lamont to work on CS50.”

How appropriate.

Well hey. This is awkward.

Speed dating is the least romantic situation that exists. It is intimate in all the wrong ways. The bottles of San Pellegrino on the rose petal laden tables remain untouched by couples until the event is over. Like many of the heel-wearing, hair-gelled participants, the romantic fixtures and dim lighting can’t help but seem embarrassingly artificial. This is not a real date. The person across from you does not know you. You are sitting not in a fancy restaurant but in the empty, wooden expanse of Leverett Old Library. Yet you are given three minutes to rattle off everything you can about yourself without scaring the other person away. Soon, the questions become protocol rather than intrigue. “So what year are you?” a date asks me in unison with the guy next to him.

Speed dating requires endurance and agility. You must balance a calm demeanor while ignoring the fact that you are attempting to appear attractive to eighteen complete strangers. I have never been through a job interview, but I imagine this is what it would be like, but maybe eighteen times worse. What should be an enjoyable night of getting to know new people soon devolves into a frantic scurry to sell, sell, sell--yourself.

Also required is an amazing ability to focus. You are seated inches away from the couples next to you; the urge to eavesdrop on conversations (or non-conversations) is in constant battle with the willingness to listen to your own partner, however boring or intriguing. Before you can untangle the adjacent conversations from your own, the announcer harkens the end of another three minutes. Hands are shaken, and a new body sits across from yours.

In an episode of Sex and the City, Miranda attends a speed dating event to find a quick date for Charlotte’s wedding. Carrie narrates: “Twenty dollars for seven mini-dates, each eight minutes long--which incidentally is about as long as a blind date should be.” Is speed dating a blessing in disguise? Three excruciating minutes instead of sixty. Eighteen males in one hour instead of one. More bang for your buck, or a waste of time? First impressions are, after all, everything. However, spending three minutes under the eyes of someone you know is actively judging you is not the best way to meet a soulmate. That Harvardian mode of perfectionism we all know so well kicks in and soon, speed dating does to you what Harvard has done to your learning: something enjoyable morphs into something exhausting. On the other hand, the phenomenon of speed dating at Harvard may be just what the doctor ordered. With the combination of minimal time, sexual frustration rampant and rising at alarming rates, and the failure of weekend parties to find suitable mates, speed dating provides Harvard with something it might actually need.

A 2005 study at the University of Pennsylvania of multiple HurryDate speed dating events found that most people made their choices within the first three seconds of meeting.

Mutual matches arrived via email with names, email addresses, and cell phone numbers. “We hope you enjoyed meeting people at the event and will follow up with them!” is all the email reads. In this day and age of technological uncertainty, how will Harvard students know what to do next without the hand holding and easy way out provided by a speed dating venue? Does the guy call the girl? Do we Facebook friend? Text? Email? Send flowers? So far, only two of my seven matches have followed up, both through Facebook. I think it is safe to say that technology--and speed-dating--has provided an unfortunate safeguard against humiliation or rejection. Call me old-fashioned, but I miss the days when the gentleman would call the lady for a second date, not cryptically ask about plans for the weekend over Facebook or Gmail. Gone are the days of amorous bravado. In are the days of masked affection. Speed dating simply speeds it up--something every Harvard student may need what with their busy schedules. Sad but true. FML

JACK: Uh, what’s your major?
PARIS: Seriously? You’ve got one minute to make an impression and that’s all you can come up with? You want to know my sign too, Jack? Or how about my favorite color? Or if I’m a Britney or a Christina? Here, I’ll ask you a question. Was the last time you had an interesting thought, when you considered flinging yourself off a building?