JDate

So I've been on JDate. JDate? Yes. JDate. "Isn't that for Jews?" On my profile, I said, "I thought JDate was an acronym for JapaneseDate." Har, har. Well, it least it broke the ice. Or the matzah.
Since I was a kid, many of my friends were Jewish. And working in advertising, nearly all my writers were Jews. I had come to "become" a Jew.
I attended Passover dinner, and Shabbat (Friday night dinners). I went to Temple now and then with my friends. Mostly in Chicago.
I've always had a "thing" for dark, Sephardic looking women.
Smart, intelligent, and most importantly, witty and comedic women. Not that Jews have exclusive title to those traits.

Still, I had no interest in the so-called "Jewish American Princess." Then again, there are plenty of Japanese America Princesses.
The quintessential JAP, and I mean Japanese American Princess, are (and don't get me wrong) usually looking for a rich, Caucasian guy. Tall, blonde and handsome that has a house in the Pacific Palisades. And these "white guys" are looking for that "exotic", quiet, meek, subservient stereotypical geisha girl. Well, that woman doesn't exist. Not here in America. They can be "dragon women." Pushy, loud, and annoying.
I dated a Japanese American woman in and after college. She was nothing like that. I won't name her, but she was in the news. She was accidentally shot in the head, and mortally wounded by a drive-by gang-banger in Westwood. Near UCLA. (I'll leave that story for another day.) To say the least, I was pretty much shaken up by that event.

Aside from that girl, I had never dated another "girl of my kind." Other Asian women, especially Japanese American women wouldn't even give me the time of day. One girl said that dating another JA was like dating her brother. I never felt that incestuous about another Asian person. Where in the world would someone get the idea of dating within your own race as incestuous? But many JA women feel that JA men are weak, "mama's boys", and not all that attractive. C'mon, not every JA girl is the bee's knees. Almond-eye beauties with long, straight black hair and a sultry, but wistful smile.  I've seen better looking women in Tokyo. I'll be honest. I'm not the greatest looking JA guy. We are farmer stock. Most JAs are. Or former fishermen. Not Samurai stock.

So on a lark, I decided to sign up for JDate.com. It might have seemed like a lark. But I was actually serious. I got quite a few "looks." I think many of them were curious. Some were outright angry: "What the hell are you doing on this site? This site is for Jews. Are you a Jewish man? If not, then get the f- off!" I'm not kidding. This was antisemitism in reverse. What if I were Jewish? Then what? I Japanese guy can't be a Jew? Sammy Davis, Jr. was a Jew. He converted. And so did I.
Nevertheless, I did go on several dates. Not many, but all were very nice women. Some better than others.
I finally met a very nice "girl." She was about my age. A year older. A beautiful woman. And a kind heart. She had been in marketing for a large package goods company for years until she started taking classes in Chinese medicine and acupuncture. Maybe because she was into Asian culture and medicine she took to me. Then again, she was still on JDate. I doubt you'd normally find an Asian Jew on that site. Lucky her. Better yet– lucky me.
We dated for a year. And had a great time together. We had a love of gardening. Of nature. Of cats. All of this when I lived in Chicago.
Then my dad had his stroke.
And I decided to move back to California to take care of him.
As for my girlfriend, she couldn't come. She was so invested in per own medical practice (she had a license to practice in Illinois, but it wouldn't be recognized in California, and she would have to take even stringent tests and more classes to get a California license) she decided to stay put.
Oh well. There went another girlfriend.

I've never had a great track record with women. Something always came between us. And I was left holding the bag.
Well, my girlfriend in Chicago is still a good friend. We still talk. Not as often as we should. But I'm dating another woman now (not Jewish. What gives?). So my friendship with my old gf is best left as a casual call and a few emails now and then. Though, my ex-girlfriend is happy for me and would love to meet my current girlfriend (whom met me through Match.com. And that story I'll leave for another day.)

So why not another Jewish girlfriend? I did date a number of them here in Los Angeles when I moved back. I found many of them nice, but many of them a bit cold and aloof. It had nothing to do with being Jewish. It had everything to do with living in this shallow la-la land of Hollywood, Beverly Hills and Santa Monica. Of palm trees, and sunny skies and individuals who care more about their BMW and what they wear, or the pseudo-intellectual, macro-biotic hippy chick who despite her vegan ways seem empty-headed to me. There is a facade about Southern Californian women. Most of whom were not born here. They came from places like Cleveland or New Jersey and suddenly take to what the stereotypical California woman is "supposed" to be. "Oh, I'm in show business." More often then not, they are trying to get into show business. "I'm a writer" some say. "Okay, tell what you've written" I reply. "It's a screenplay, it's not finished yet and I don't want to talk about it just yet" she says. Uh huh. Right.

My girlfriend is a true born and bred California girl. None of that pretentious crap. I find that most true California girls are level-headed, honest and not your everyday air-head, hippy liberal, vegan, or the other side of the coin: Beemer-driving bleached blonde bimbo with fake boobs and a nose job.
But we have our share here. And thank god I don't know them. Nor have any attraction.

Though, just once an awhile, I would like a good brisket and noodle kugel.

The Carp Speaks

They, and I never quite know who "they" are, say that life begins after fifty. Hmm, I thought life began in my mom's womb. Which I barely remember other than it was wet and warm and I didn't want to leave.
But aside from anxiously waiting for my AARP card, or getting the blue-plate special at Home Town Buffet, I'm looking forward to sharing my putrid, I mean pretentious, okay, rather pedantic life with those who are willing to follow along. Musing about this and that and the other. Not specifically about being an Asian American man, the son of African American sharecroppers, and was convicted of a ponzi scheme when he was twelve. No, my rants, and raves, and disassociated non sequiturs are only a part of what I have to tell. Truth is, I am barely over fifty years old. The last of the great baby-boomers. And a fourth generation Japanese American man (so I've been told by my psychiatrist and my parents.) My grandparents on my father's side were not African American, but were indeed sharecroppers. A subject I will most likely feature later. The whole Manzanar thing. You know, the internment of "my people" during World War Two. The stereotypes Asian American's face. Though it's true, Asian men have small penises, so there's no chance I'd be caught in an Anthony Weiner wiener Twitter scandal. Say that ten times fast. Then take a picture of your crotch and send it to me as I forward it to a college co-ed.
I'll talk about my "Mad Men" days in advertising. My torrid affair with my secretary as I pitched a major account while knocking back a single-malt scotch and smoking a Marlboro (unfiltered). Oh, the nostalgia!
I continue to work as an "ad man." But that's not what I'm all about. I hope. If so, I really need to get out more.
As a single man in his fifties, I've learned a few things about life. Like cooking for myself. And that a microwave oven is useful for drying out wet socks. And not making a gourmet meal. Unless you consider a Hungry Man TV dinner the height of haute cuisine. But I'm not judging. I'll microwave a Hot Pocket and call it an evening.
In the meantime, if I'm not writing some blurb here, I'm off fighting the evils of Sarah Palin. More to come on Mama Bear Bimbo. I never knew Paul Revere rang bells and fired warning shots in the air to tell all Americans that the British were here to take away our arms. Wow, I"ll have to check on that. 
Even I, as a former high school teacher with a MA degree, I never realized Ms. Palin was such an astute a historian.