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"I'm going to a shidduch conference," I announce to my friends. Despite my protests that I'm going to the conference for research I am conducting about the desperate and dateless ... um -- I mean single and searching -- in Los Angeles, I am bombarded with a plethora of jokes by my (former) friends about wearing long sleeves, choruses of "Matchmaker" from "Fiddler on the Roof" and references to "Crossing Delancey."