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http://www.jewishworldreview.com --
HERE'S AN IMAGE for you: balding Jewish men dancing the limbo.
The setting is El Jardin, a tacky Mexican-theme bar on Chicago's hip
north side. It is Thursday, the night of the week that once demanded a party
to toast the coming of the weekend parties. It's a rare Thursday evening I go
out these days. I work on Friday. It's not even a casual day at my company.
I've aged. And apparently, so have my peers. Because there was no denying
a lot of the men at El Jardin last Thursday were losing their hair. As we
spoke.
I returned to El Jardin for a party sponsored by Steppin' Out, a Jewish
adventure group. The oxymoron piqued my curiosity - not enough to sign up for
the scuba diving trip in Belize, but enough to venture out on this
Thursday night.
The event, like all events put on by this particular group, was
distinctly not billed as a singles party. It was simply a Jewish Mexican
Fiesta, a chance to welcome new people to the group.
Still, I had that sinking feeling singles parties are so great at
provoking. The feeling I was the only pathetic person standing alone. About
to get hit by a pool cue.
Which is how I came to bond with a computer programmer, also forced by
the happy pool players to reposition. We recited our first names, even though
our name tags were in plain view. He's Allyn. With a "y". This was his second
Steppin' Out event. His first was the recent ice skating party. It was cold,
he told me.
We talked on, mostly because there is safety in twos. Unfortunately, I
began to zone out, wondering why I was telling this stranger how I happened
to move to Chicago, when I could be home watching a rerun of "ER." So when he
asked why I was the only person there without a drink, I took the opportunity
to bolt. I felt bad - maybe he had been trying to buy me a drink. Then again,
he didn't exactly chase after me, so I choose to think it was for the best.
At the bar I met Marla, a tan, 30-ish business executive from Florida who
looked like she could hold her own on Rollerblades. In town visiting her
cousin who raves about this group, Marla told me her experience at the
Mexican Fiesta would determine whether she moves to Chicago. I offered to
write to her in Florida.
We wandered toward the dance floor, where the limbo contest was getting
underway.
Just then a true Jewish outdoors man approached me. He was tall, wore a
sandy brown goatee and looked to be fresh off a mountain. He was much too
cool for a name tag, saying he would rather decide who learns his name. I
missed it when he told me.
This man doesn't go on the Steppin' Out hiking trips, so much as lead
them.
"I wouldn't really call what this group does adventurous, but I
guess it is to some people," he said, explaining how he prefers to camp out
during extended bike trips, rather than spend nights at cozy inns along the
way, as Steppin' Out members sometimes choose to do. "When it's raining in
the morning, and you're at a nice, warm hotel, everyone whines about going
back outside."
And your point would be?
But I smiled in a way I hoped looked understanding, and rugged. I
was thinking how this laid back, interesting guy is the reason for joining an
alternative singles group centered on activities, not dating. And then he
asked if I was seeing someone.
"Well, ah, yes, actually," I confessed, explaining that I am a reporter,
definitely interested in taking a group bike trip through Europe, but more
likely to just write about it so other people can endure that pain.
He told me he is six months out of a long relationship, thinking it would
probably make sense to go white water rafting with single Jewish people,
rather than alone. Apparently a whiny woman is better than no woman.
With the DJ calling last song, I searched for Marla, anxious to learn
if this party warranted a cross country move. Since the only single men in
Florida are 96, Marla said even the limbo seems cool. Besides, she told me,
the people here are friendly - if not quite as serious about sport as she, a
devoted runner, might have hoped. I offered to introduce her to Mr. No Name
Tag, the consummate outdoors man.
At 10:15, this wild crowd was dispersing. I didn't think I was having
that much fun, but I had somehow forgotten to jot down notes about why people
like this group and how they got involved. Fodder for a legitimate news
report.
On the way to retrieve my coat, I spotted a clan of super trendy girls.
Young, coifed, and a million miles away from the singles functions they can't
imagine they will attend in just a few short years. I'd like to think a long
bike ride would reduce most of them to tears.
Suddenly I understood why my group was being shooed at 10 p.m. The next
party was arriving, and they were Northwestern University sorority girls.
People who go out on Thursday nights.
I said to the bouncer, before making my way to the door, if the Steppin'
Out men were wise, they'd stick around for this fiesta. He laughed, and I
felt strangely satisfied. I really should get out more
Jewish World Review August 22, 2000 / 21 Menachem-Av 5760
Hot air in the Windy City
By Allison Kaplan
Comment on JWR contributor Allison Kaplan's column by clicking here.
