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Although Aish HaTorah developed SpeedDating with the good intentions of helping Jewish singles find their beshert (soul mate), some of the women at this event, including Janet, are willing to dismiss the idea of a beshert in exchange for a compatible companion. "It's so hard out there to go from nothing to finding something in common," she says. "Although I don't really care if the person is Jewish, it is at least a starting point. I find that a lot of people don't end up married to the love of their life. That said, there still has to be some kind of spark."

This is also the second event for "Helen." A divorced mom with her own business, Helen wants to meet a Jewish man. "My last marriage, I married somebody who was a Southern Christian," she explains. "I'm a Jew from New York. I think that was a factor in our divorce."

After her first speed-dating event, Helen did match with a Jewish gentleman she liked quite a bit. But he ended up going back to an old girlfriend, and so she's giving Pre-Dating another try. "It's just another avenue to meet people," she says. "I'm not looking to get married again, but I would like to spend some good one-on-one time. I'd like someone to go with to services on the holidays. The more compatible you are with another person, the easier it is for the relationship."

The next morning both women report they didn't have a match with any of the men they chose. Both say they'll probably try Pre-Dating one or two more times. (Making it three or four times total -- right in Gelormine's predicted range.)

Recently Gelormine helped a New York-based colleague hold a "Lock and Key" party at Oxygen Lounge in Coconut Grove. Gelormine thinks this will be the next big trend in dating events. "You'll notice a total reversal of behavior," he advises. "The women approach the men just as much as the men approach the women."

When I arrive at Oxygen for the party on a Friday evening, the front room is already almost too packed to walk through. Each man, when he registers, gets a key. Each woman is given a padlock. No one knows which key opens which lock. The object is to find out via trial and error. The crowd is different from the people at speed-dating events -- I notice this immediately. Or it's the same crowd but the people need to work to get noticed since there are no guaranteed one-on-one interactions. As I watch Deco Drive's cameraman shine his light into the room, I come up with a new question for speed-dating coordinators to put on their scorecards: "If I were a reporter, why would you be an interesting source for my piece on speed dating?"

As a reporter, I'm going to answer my own question: People who attend these events are interesting because they're willing to face rush-hour traffic, the smirks of their friends and family, and most important, their own emotional baggage in the attempt to connect intimately with one another. I think this is what all the reporters at these events are trying to say: No matter how stratified and specific our romantic tastes have become, no matter how prevalent divorce has become, and no matter how far we've driven from that 1950s American suburb, people have not given up on love, and they have not given up on the possibility that they can find it with someone they've yet to meet.

At the bar I bump into "Andrew," a guy I sat with during HurryDate. I'm the fourth woman he's recognized from another event. He's the third person I've recognized from another event. (One was a coordinator for 8minuteDating.) There are too many people in the room. Andrew is getting frustrated -- he's not meeting any women here -- and says he liked the other events better, even though they've yielded no girlfriends.

"I wore my ass pants tonight!" he yells above the din.

"What's that?"

"My ass pants! I figure, if you can't dazzle them with personality, attract them with the ass pants!"

He turns and wiggles his ass, which does look quite nice in this particular pair of pants. I congratulate him. Then we decide to split so he can try to meet more women. As I watch him nudge between bodies, I'm reminded of something my mother once suggested to me -- that all conversations between two people can be traced psychologically to this one question: "Do you love me -- yes or no?"

Speed-dating coordinators, of course, would encourage you to amend that question when attending their events: Is it at all possible that you could see yourself feeling an affinity for me in some professional, romantic, physical, or friendly context at some point in the future?

Nonetheless, at night's end, no matter where you've done your speed dating, you'll still have to answer the big question: Yes or no.

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