"That's the End of That" - by Resident Traveler

Introduction here.

That's the End of That - by Resident Traveler, CC 2007

(AKA "The Impossible Dream", AKA "She's a Frecha")

They say every pot has its lid. But whenever I look around:

She's a frecha* - and that's the end of that.

If she's not a frecha, she's a neo-hippie - and that's the end of that.

If she's not a frecha, nor a neo-hippie, she's either the over-driven career type, a scantily-clad, deathly-thin Mars-creature, or a sour-faced urban burnout - and that's the end of that.

If she's not (any of the above), she's not physically attractive enough (hard as I try to overlook it), and that's the end of that.

If she's still not any of the above, she lacks heart. Or any kind of joi d'vivre (joy of life), and that's the end of that. (Lots of these. Lots and lots and lots.)

ISSNAOTA, she's married, or has a long-term boyfriend. She does. Trust me. No "that" to end. (OODLES of these.)

ISSNAOTA, she's got serious emotional baggage from past relationships, can't shake it off - and that's the end of that.

ISSNAOTA, she's "going through a rough period in her life", turning hot and cold at the drop of a hat - and that's the end of that.

ISSNAOTA, she's intensely interested in fashion and/or new-ageism, excessive materialism, hip-hop, smoking or, god help me, "real men" - commanding, go-getting, impulse-driven, egotisitical, insensitive, stubble-faced men - and that's the end of that.

ISSNAOTA, she simply doesn't know what she wants. I give up! That's the end of that.

ISSNAOTA, she's insecure - which on its own is ok - but expresses said insecurity in an unwillingness to attach to anyone and will string me along like I'm a toy. Once reality finally seeps in - that's the end of that.

ISSNAOTA, she's just sort of apathetic. Has no burning interest in something - anything. And for me - that's the end of that.

ISSNAOTA, are you sure she doesn't have a boyfriend? Thought so. That's the end of that.

ISSNAOTA, she's rabidly anti-religion, anti-Zionist or anti-any form of capitalism, with a major chip on her shoulder, and that's the end of that.

ISSNAOTA, she's religious. Just a liiittle too religious to give me a chance because, after all, she wants to get married, so why waste her time with someone who isn't her particular micro-stream of orthodoxy? - and that's the end of that.

ISSNAOTA - and we're already talking about something rarer than an incorrupt politician - she doesn't give a damn about music and has no artistic interest (either would be surmountable). For me - that's the end of that.

ISSNAOTA, did I mention we're talking only about women here? Who are under 40? Without children? WHO LIKE MEN? Thought so. That's the end of that.

ISSNAOTA, This is it, I've found her. After years of searching, I've found my one-in-a-million. My holy grail, my lid. I'm ecstatic, and can now preach to my pessimist single friends not to lose heart; that despite all the potential pitfalls, they are out there.

But remember, all this has only been half the equation: she still has to like me. And guess what:

That's the end of that.



* - Frecha: the Israeli equivalent of whatever they call women overly preoccupied with an intensely juvenile fashion sense in your country.





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"You're Single? How Come?" (AKA "That's the End of That" - Introduction)

It's moving season, and this time I decided I'd rent on my own (I'm 29, figured it's time). The hunt is thankfully over, but while I was searching, I noticed a pattern: the landlords, in their 50s and 60s, would ask whether I am, indeed, looking just for myself. When I'd answer in the affirmative, they'd give me a cockeyed look and ask, "you're single? Really? How come?" This happened several times...

While I was resisting the temptation to give an answer along the lines of "they ran out of my size at the girlfriend store" or "because I ate them all", they'd usually temper the question with a compliment - "I'm just saying.. good-looking guy like yourself..". Obviously they meant well, but this only underscored the assumption, still somewhat common amongst our parent's generation, that unless something's really wrong with you, the only thing separating the average single and a sustained, happy relationship is merely the decision to have one.

So, to try and properly answer the question, I've cooked up a little song/ditty/prose-poetry piece (not all based on personal experience, it should be noted) called "That's the End of That", which addresses this issue. It's being finalized as we speak (you read?), and I'll put it up in the next few days.

[...and, it's UP!]

Important clarification:

This post has been picked up by the good people over at Israelity, and I'm grateful for it. Looks like I left this somewhat open to interpretation, however, so let me clarify:

This post wasn't an expression of having chosen singledome, but rather of frustration over how impossible it is to find anyone! This should be made abundantly clear with my next post...

"I Got a Call From This Number.."

I'm all of 29, but the technological changes my generation has seen make for some strange memories.

Just around a half hour ago, walking home on the same path that's spawned other trips down memory lane, I saw I'd received a call to my cellphone from a number I didn't recognize. Calling back and telling the complete stranger on the other end of the line, "I got a call from this number", I was struck by how naturally this sort of interaction came to me.

I remember not so long ago when the callback service was first offered on our (landline) phones. Cellphones were yet to be seen, and our phones were limited to the only things I could ever imagine they'd do - dial and talk. Games? Call ID? Internet? Third Generation gadgets that run your finances based on self-updating stock-market reports? Science fiction!

Then one day, I could punch/dial a code - using that mysterious "*" sign I had always wondered about - and call the person I had just missed. The first time I had this sort of conversation was incredibly bizarre. "uh..." - what should I say? Describing this random, somehow inherently modern/urban/hyper-something incident was awkward. I was a kid. I knew everyone there was for me to know, and actively calling someone "out there" was an almost transcendent, philosophical experience. Talking to a total stranger - now so natural to us thanks, in part, to the internet - felt like those first radio bursts sent to outer space in search of alien life.

Being young didn't hurt, of course. Everything was new, strange, exciting yet scary, bizarre yet easily digested as the new norm. Growing up parallel to rapid technological innovation makes me wonder how much these sorts of memories are the result of a child's limited world view, and how much our perception today really has been expanded through communication technology.