Y’ever notice how (who am I, Andy Rooney here?) Israelis tend to answer requests for advice with absolutely ridiculous non-sequitur suggestions? It’s as if they decide to forget everything they know about the person and his situation and jump straight to advice based on who they are and what situation they’re in? Okay, even *I’m* not following at this point, so, an example:
Jook: I’m looking to rent a house, somewhere in Hod HaSharon, my budget is approx. $1000/mo, I’m looking for something small but nice, maybe around 150 square meters…
Israeli Advice Giver: Why don’t you rent a trailer in somebody’s backyard?
Yeah. So, for those that don’t think this is ridiculous, let me do a little recreation here, but let’s pretend I want an iPod instead of a house:
Jook: I want that new 16 gig iPod touch, it’s really cool.
Israeli Advice Giver: Why don’t you make a guitar out of a 1 x 4, rubber bands, and thumbtacks?
I mean, really? A trailer. And this suggestion came from several people. Who am I, Jethro from The Beverly Hillbillies? No, I’m a 27-year old bachelor internet executive who’s gonna go live in a trailer. Thanks, man. I’m not looking for professional advice here, but is it too much to ask that they have the attention span to pay attention to the part where I describe what I’m looking for? Just askin’ if you heard anything ’bout a house for rent, that’s all…Not that the trailer thing is so frowned upon around here, apparently. Successful, self-sufficient salaried guys are going out and renting trailers. I even have a friend whose friend built a tent in his parents’ backyard (and no he wasn’t Billy Madison) What’s with the infantilism? Maybe it’s cultural (and maybe I’m imposing my values a little bit here), but does it seem to anyone else that Israeli men sometimes live in a suspended state of adolescence until they get married? “Aw man, that Jook, king in the castle, with his SOLID WALLS and all…”
Maybe I should just go live in a treehouse for chrissake and instead of a phone, I’ll bring back the Campbell’s soup cans with the fishing wire between them and communicate that way. Then I’ll put up a sign that says “NO GIRLZ ALLOWD” until the tomboy down the street works her way into my heart and I experience my first tryst with summertime love and permaturely ejaculate into my light blue Ocean Pacific shorts that one time in my uncle’s basement in 1991. Huh? Right. House.
Lemme know if anyone hears of anything for rent!