Stand by your man

Dating is tricky. In my first year of college, RAs in my dorm tried hard to impart upon the freshmen the painfully learned rules of dating (such as don't get involved with people on your floor) -- all to be disregarded by us. \nAs life progressed, dating did not become any simpler. While trying on discounted pants at Perennial Designs, I overheard two women discuss the vagaries of trying to find a datable man in Bloomington (the assessment was a standard one: the good ones with working equipment are married or gay, and the remainder are egolomaniacs with Peter-Pan complexes, no ambition and a fear of independent women). \nThe social urgency of the topic has been amply addressed by media culture via the means of columns, talk shows and sitcoms. Indiana highways are littered with billboards offering a chance at true love -- and barring that, great sex. Internet Explorer brings up a patchwork of colorful ads, all extolling their efficacy at ensuring that you need not spend another night alone. \nYet there is one place where dating booms: prison. The Aug. 7 edition of the Christian Science Monitor reported, "Online dating, the Web's largest trackable source of consumer dollars, drew $300 million last year. Prisons, one of America's largest industries, are worth an estimated $40 billion. Maybe it was only a matter of time before the two paired off." \nIndeed? Perhaps that's why the Kinsey Institute and IU's department of Criminal Justice are located in adjacent buildings. \nWomen -- and some men -- use convict matchmaking systems such as www.prisonpenpals.com, www.jailbabes.com and www.cellblockmail.com to connect with lonely souls behind bars. Outlandish though this might seem, the phenomenon is an established one. Serial murderers Ted Bundy, Richard Ramirez ("the night stalker" of Los Angeles) and John Wayne Gacy all married their wives while in prison. Charles Manson used to respond to personal mail, although in recent years he has limited himself to sending an autographed picture. Even though there are eligible people without convictions who are desperately searching for romantic fulfillment, individuals who resort to using our penal system as a singles bar don't want them. \nFor various reasons, they want inmates. In a culture that values power, for some, a prisoner exudes the aura of power they may seek. A woman might find it flattering to write to, date and eventually marry a man who might have bashed in someone's head with a bowling ball but treats his lady like a porcelain doll. \nIt is the ultimate proof that she is truly special. \n Others like the soul-searching offered to them: inmates have a lot more time to compose love-letters and lengthy missives than your average working yuppie who barely remembers to buy a Hallmark card on his wife's birthday. Dr. Sheila Isenberg, author of "Women Who Marry Men Who Kill," postulates that inmates are capable of chivalry that -- like jousting or "pistols or sword at dawn" -- has been fazed out of our culture. Finally, prison dating provides the excitement denied to some women by the mundanity of life: "Every day is a cliffhanger. Is he guilty? Was he falsely accused? Will he be able to call tonight, or will there be a lockdown? A fight? A riot? It's a roller-coaster ride," she writes. \nAnd for some, it is the ultimate martyr complex to date someone who was condemned by society but is really a lost soul in need of a nice, warm, loving lady to hold.\nThus, all is not lost for the lonely souls of Bloomington. If the bars on Kirkwood fail in yielding romance, opportunity may await behind the bars of the Monroe County Jail.