20 October 2005

Where have all the good men gone
And where are all the gods?
Where's the street-wise Hercules
To fight the rising odds? 

Holding out for a Hero
by Frou Frou

I am slightly obsessed with this song at the moment. My iTunes tells me I have played it 15 times in the last five days, I whistle it when I am walking and it scrolls through my mind each time I have nothing else to think about. And at the moment it is also inextricably linked to a person.

It was playing in Ash's car on Saturday as we shot through the white glare of midday towards her birthday party and I made her play it again, and then got it burnt to CD so I could hold it close to me always. It was the first two lines that really grabbed me, because at the moment all I find myself asking (let's face it, we all ask this ALL the time) is the same thing – where have all the good men gone? Where are all the gods?

I was so determined not to have man troubles when I returned to Perth, and I was so sure I knew what kind of man troubles I would have, that the man troubles I do have are not what I expected. I am not in the least surprised though, because that is how life is.

Basically I thought that I would get home, the men would be so tanned and good looking and straight forward that I would spend 18 months trying not to pine my life away sighing after men with long term girlfriends, Perth being couple central and at our age we are fast approaching the Bermuda triangle of single Perth men.

So, once in Perth I called up the old friends, arranged to meet and catch up and when I met my admittedly small amount of male friends, I was shocked at how boring they were. They don't do anything beyond make clever remarks about unimportant TV shows, they don't think, they don't care, they are rude and they are arrogant with no grounds. This is particularly annoying as I very seriously miss conversations with men. I miss hearing the non-girlie opinion. I also miss being able to mix two genders at a meeting, instead of reverting back to my all-girl group of Perth friends.

After a few meetings it was with dismay that I concluded that they must never have been the epitome of male sophistication, just that I had so few male friends that I assumed they were the best I had to work with. Since I left Perth I have met men of all ages, inclinations, careers, interests and level of friendship and it has left me infinitely richer for the experience. Richer certainly, but it has meant the bar has been raised to a height that my old friends cannot reach, let alone leap.

Goddamnit. They are good friends, funny guys, nice boys that have done their best with their education and what Perth has to offer. They simply haven't moved out of their comfort zone and so have no driving goals like the ones that hound me. In a frank assessment of my list of people to maintain contact with, only one man has made the cut. There are another two on the list, but they are new friends.

So I have another aim for the next eighteen months, to find those good men, preferably with girlfriends that I get along with, so I can have an intelligent conversation with a young man again. Of all the things I miss, eh?

So that settles the good man question, but it is the plaintive cry for a god that has suddenly taken more significance for me. Saturday lunchtime, when I first heard the song, the quest for a god was not important to me, it was a nice line that related more to a long-term wish to meet a god, but it was not an immediate concern. Then I ran into a god and he is now nestled in my brain right, cosying up with my sanity thoughts of new visas.

So, in the course of my rants you have been introduced to the Charming Italian and his mother, who is a bit of a Max fan.

Bella Pelt Wanted For Marital Bed - the Wedding Weekend and the Charming Italian

Although I have admittedly been a little dismissive about that weekend, it was more for anger at the situation than the players involved. Suffice to say that I need to apologise to the Charming Italian for what happened that weekend and subsequently other comments that I made and I took the initiative, got in touch with him and we were to go for coffee in a month, after his exams. The Charming Italian, with his intelligence, his good manners, his travel and his goals was one of my top three men to cultivate for good conversation, and I was looking forward to our meeting so I could see if we would get along.

Then, Saturday night at 12.30 I ran into him in Northbridge and a few things happened. He spotted me and leapt across to say hello, introduced me to his friend and was altogether UTTERLY CHARMING! I was there with Ash's party and we were heading to Bar Open, which impressed him mightily as he is evidently one of the few who has heard of it. So he walked with me, we chatted easily, and then I mentioned my official reason for wanting to talk to him, information on the Italian visa and his reply ensured he went from mere mortal to god in one quick sentence.

On the subject of travel he told me that as soon as he finishes his med degree, he flies to Ecuador for six weeks to work in a mobile operating theatre that is travelling the poor villages giving free medical treatment, all paid for with his own money. Now, as you can imagine, having a god reveal himself in Northbridge early on a Sunday morning is as an unlucky event as a fashion revolution starting in Basildon! (oh, hang on …)

He mentioned this selfless adventure and I just remember thinking that I owed his mother more than I could repay her for ensuring that we met and talked. A man with manners, intelligence, convictions and a purpose in life standing right in front of me, inviting me to his grandmother's place to learn to cook real Italian food and confirming a date for coffee in the future. This one is only going to be prised from my cold, dead fingers, I swear it now.

We parted, and I spent the rest of the night with my gaze turned inwards, trying not to get too possessive of him, yet turning over and over the idea of him travelling for the good of others, while contrasting it with my hedonistic travelling. For the first time in a very long time I respected a man for his performance in the area of life I most treasured, life experience. I have even started trying to work out what projects I would be anywhere near useful on so I can do the same. Competitive charity travel – there are worse ways to select goals!

It was only two days later that another thought occurred to me regarding that meeting, and it is a rather more amusing realisation. It has to do with the hugging that is now the default way I greet someone I care about. My sisters and Wifey really trained me to hug, but spending two months hugging people goodbye and hello have meant that sometimes I hug inappropriately over here. That night I was with Robbie, Ash, V and my Cousin and we hug as a matter of habit and we had spent the whole night in comfortable contact.

Basically, I actually cannot remember how it happened and I cannot remember even noticing it, but the Charming Italian and I did the whole Mediterranean hug at our greeting and our farewell. This is something that amuses me, while it worries me, because in Perth terms we are almost months away from hugs, and considering our ages and his status as Romeo's friend, it was nowhere near appropriate. But he didn't bat an eyelid, I never even noticed I had done it and I think it would mean one of two things. One, he would think I have the hots for him (this may be the truth, I am not sure yet). Two, he realises that I am comfortable with the Italian way (this is a good thing, he is a big family man). I just think it is funny that I didn't even realise I had done it on that occasion, whereas every other inappropriate hug has been an embarrassing moment!

So, I sit and wait and try not to become obsessed (you know how we are once we meet a good man) and see how this goes. In the meantime, I try to distract myself with other brand new friends and my new house. Living alone gives you lots of time to think though …