Don't Ask, Just Tell

So I read pretty recently to never ask your significant other what she would like for a gift (I know, gifting again, right...this one evolves into something different, but it starts here).

The last time that I didn't ask, I thought that I did an awesome job in assessing the sorts of things that would benefit my wife: things that would make her a good deal more comfortable and happy. Of the four gifts that i was most happy with, all four got returned.

I did also once get her (among the jewelry) a Black & Decker cordless screwdriver, as she was continually stealing mine. I got months of crap (ribbing, really) for that, although she uses is pretty regularly and has for years.

One answer is usually clothes. My bit of wisdom: never, never, never, ever get clothes. If the article of clothing isn't the wrong size (which is a horrid sin), it's the wrong color, the wrong style, there's nothing that "goes with it"...the list of likely issues seems endless.

"Goes with it": Strike 1: I'm a guy. Strike 2: I'm an engineer. Strike 3: I grew up with all guys in the house.

This means, of course, that I've got no fashion sense whatever. I don't know what "goes" with what else.

Size in fashion is the most screwy thing in the world.

"What size are you?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"What's the piece of clothing?"

"Oh, a top."

"Depends."

"On what?"

"Who made it."

Wha??? Why can't designers across the world standardize their sizes so that a size 10 is a size 10 is a size 10, no matter who designed it, no matter who makes it. Shoes are the same. Nike "runs small", but Adidas "runs large". How is it that you can be a 9 in one manufacturer and 9 1/2 in another? Can't these idiots get together and decide that there are so many millimeters per size increment? Or better yet: why not just size them in millimeters? My shoes might be 254mm X 120mm. Or, we might have measurements for across the heel, across the arch area, and across the ball of your foot as well. Nice, specific, and most importantly: the same for every dumb-ass manufacturer.

Of course I understand for tops or pants that it can't be just about height and weight. People are different sizes. Me, for instance: I have a big fat head and a narrow ass, which makes it all the more odd how I'm so frequently looking out at the world through my belly button.

But be that as it may, modern man should be able to figure out how to assign a few different parameters to an article of clothing so that someone looking at it (not wearing it), and knowing what their numbers are can say: "This will fit me." It really shouldn't be that hard.

It's so damn hard and arcane that a person can't even tell me definitively that a particular number will fit themselves. You have to go and try it on and see how it fits.

We were out looking for pants for me recently. Should be easy; I've been pretty much the same size for over a decade. Take a look at what I'm wearing, and get that, right? Nope. Those jeans might have stretched, but I actually got smaller recently. It doesn't seem like I got any shorter, but those damn number changed nonetheless. I'll bet they would have been different had I been at a different store.

It seems like we can put numbers on everything under the sky EXCEPT for clothing. My advice: never, ever, ever buy clothes for folks.

The awesome gifts you would like. Please?

So I was requested to put up an article about what sorts of gifts I would like. This being the holiday season, this is the sort of question that's on people's minds, mine included, and I have to admit that it pisses me off more than a little.

I understand the question; really, I do. And I also know that it comes from the heart. I myself ask it from the heart, but the underlying attitude that it poses from many folks (kids especially, though you can't blame them readily: they just don't understand and it'd be wrong of me to expect them too as they've never known anything else) is just...well, it pisses me off.

The commercialism that Christmas has come to sickens me this year more than it has ever before. Perhaps it's just that times are tight all over the country, perhaps it's that times are very tight in my personal household this particular year due to a car accident that's had my beautiful wife out of work for months with no end in sight. Perhaps I'm feeling old and curmudgeonly.

To paraphrase Jim Carrey's Grinch: "That's what it's all about, isn't it? That's what it's always been *about*. Gifts, gifts... gifts, gifts, gifts, gifts, gifts. And the avarice...the avarice never ends! "I want golf clubs. I want diamonds. I want a pony so I can ride it twice, get bored and sell it to make glue."

For several years now I've longed for time to be able spend *making* gifts for people. I'd have to "skill up" a little, and I think that I'd buy myself a mini lathe to help the process out, but to spend time in my wood shop (which is actually a very, very poor excuse for a wood shop) to make for folks special pen & pencil sets out of wood that I found in what I like to call "my forest". Or small highly polished cedar boxes and chests. Creative clocks, for instance. All sorts of things, and I'd like to think that I'd derive great pleasure and relaxation in the making too. Everybody wins. I'm hoping that my future holds such echoes for me.

I felt a little bad that when the girl (my favorite (only) daughter) sidled up to me last week and asked whether I'd like a gift card from a certain store, or perhaps from this other place, I told her to save her money. I'm very proud of her, as she is thinking of spending her hard-earned money on mom and dad for Christmas, but I need to also let her know that she can do better, and get better bang for her buck.

That conversation expanded some days later, as she was still having trouble with gifting me. We talked about what *I* think the season is supposed to be about as opposed to what *I* think it has become.

'Tis better to give than to receive. Problem: Too many people would rather receive, and for those kind-hearted souls that want to give, there's a subtle insinuation that the giving MUST be done, and it must be done in a non-cheap fashion. 'I have to give *this* much, as that is what they are likely to give to me'. Or the notion that you can't give a not-too-expensive gift for fear of being viewed as a cheap-skate.

Isn't it supposed to be about letting people know we care? About letting people know that we appreciate the positive messages that whisper in my ear when I think on you? Does a new cordless drill say that? Does a sweater? How about an X-Box? And in any event, if I find that there's something that I really want, or that I actually need, I'll go and buy it, so long as I can justify it. And if I can't justify it, you can't afford it. :)

I told her that the very best thing that I could get is Peace and Quiet. That, of course, is not likely to show up, as there are so many of us in the house, and so many of those of us who are there are not quite mature and  are as yet prone to squabbling. So, where do we go? Make me a cake: one of those cinnamon streusel cakes, and put some apples in it. Those are a life-long favorite indulgences of mine, and the effort would be appreciated.

The better idea, for her tastes, was to suggest that she write a poem for me and get it framed. That'd be nice.

Is it just me, or have we lost our way a little?

Gender Wars

This post is dedicated to Matt Conlon, in response to HIS post, written earlier today. I had written this years ago when I was ranting in the same fashion that Matt did just today at www.mattconlon.com

Echoes, sir: echoes...

It may be just me, but my perception is that there are a lot of messages bombarded at us every day that spout how difficult it is to be a woman today. To be a mom is touted as one of the most onerous professions in the world. The husband is usually positioned as just another one of the kids: useless and down-right counter productive.

You hear all the time how difficult it is to find Mr. Right. Ever tried looking for Ms. Right? Is just as hard. Well, at least I think it’s just as hard. I found my Ms. Right in college; she was my first girlfriend, and she is my soul mate.

We have plenty of comedy in our lives without either one of us having to look like the dolt. My life is every bit as difficult to me as hers is for her. We share most of the house work, and we share raising the kids. Believe it or not, she has actually gone away for a weekend here and there, leaving me to take care of all four kids for several days, and no one has died. I can cook, do laundry, help with homework, clean dishes, wash the floor, vacuum, and bath kids (although I really don’t like doing that).

I’m going to agree that, other than some biological functions, there is nothing in being a man that makes man superior to woman. I will submit a notion that I think has gone far too long unspoken, and that is that there is nothing in being a woman that makes woman superior to man either.

But let’s take a look at modern American media. From the picture that is painted by the television (both shows and ads) magazines, books, and conventional wisdom, the casual observer will take away an image that I think is not only flat-out wrong, but is one-sided.

Sickness: Men become babies when they are sick and women keep trudging along, because (I suppose) they are biologically superior to men.

TV: Men are just plain stupid and inept.

Commercials: Why is it that on nearly every commercial these days you see the woman always knows more than the man (no matter the subject – it could be that they are talking about carburetors, power tools, or athletic support devices)?

Here’s one: the man is on the telephone calling dealers for the SUV of his dreams. You get the impression that this is his sixth or seventh call, and that he’s not getting the information that he needs. The woman, sitting at the computer, finds exactly what the man is looking for in about half-a-minute.

The latest commercial on this slant these days is where the wife finds the husband in the back yard, setting up the power washer to clean the place. "Washing the house?" She asks. "Not washing," says he, "power washing." He slaps his safety glasses over his eyes, and the next thing you know the power washer is going crazy, ruining the nicely set patio table, because the husband is unable to control the power washer. Naturally, the woman has to fix this too.

Or this:
Sit-Coms
Cosby, According to Jim, Everybody Loves Raymond, Home Improvement, Listen Up, Still Standing, The Family Guy, The Simpsons.

Why is it that TV wives are always smarter than their husbands? Where did Archie Bunker go? Maybe this is why the sit-com is all but a thing of the past? Is this why “Reality TV” has become so popular? Because the scripting on the sit-coms has been so predictable?

Today's sit-coms that follow this formula include Rules of Engagement (one of my favorites, actually), Mike and Molly (to a lesser degree, but the same still), and Last Man Standing.

I do agree that the basic formula is sound, but why is it that every time the MAN is the idiot? How about both of them being idiots in their own way?


I'm not saying men are superior or smarter; we're all stupid in our own right. I'm just saying let's spread the wealth and not be so one-sided.

I'm here for you, Matt. :)

A Long Drive with a Large Cup of Coffee and a Lollipop

I must admit: I'm not feeling it tonight; haven't been for the last few days. I'm just plain tired of so many different things, I haven't found the gumption to laugh for days.

Ah, well.

During a meeting at work today, one of the upper managers opened what was apparently a carbonated beverage that had been a bit shaken, if not stirred. That's always fun. Reminded me of a recent drive I took with my wife: our weekend away. It should be noted that on trips like this, my wife drives, as she hates the way that I drive (which, in her words, is like an old man), and she's a bit of a control freak.

As we drove our truck northerly, penetrating that much further along the Maine coast, the wife was licking on a lollipop. Not just any pop, this was a barley pop - one of those heavy lollipops that look like thick sea glass mounted to a wooden (not cardboard) holding stick; this one was a blue light house. At some point, she decided that she no longer wanted it, but where to put a half-eaten glob of now-semi-hard sugar?

Well, fortunately, she also had recently had a cup of coffee, now cold, stale, and half-gone. The half-filled Styrofoam cup was sitting derelict in this little cup holder that popped out of the truck's dash. In went the unwanted confectionery, though the largish wooden ball on the end of the lollipop holder caused the coffee cup's lid to not sit properly. It seemed obvious to me that the lid, which had coffee on it still, would fall off of the cup and get coffee spots in my beautiful truck. This, of course, would not do at all.

It occurred to me that if I could push that wooden ball through the cup lid's sipping hole, then the cover would sit properly and NOT get coffee everywhere. A grand idea. Except I didn't think forward the half-minute to where the wooden stick might poke through the bottom of the cup, filling the cup holder with old coffee. Ugh.
And worse: the cup holder holds two cups of coffee, and in the second holder is an upside-down iPhone.

Now, what to do with a leaking cup of coffee? There's really only one answer: out the window with the coffee (not the cup). But this is an operation that must be done quickly, not only to save the iPhone, but also: as the coffee will continue to drip out of the bottom of the cup as I try to move it from the cup holder to the window.

Step 1: hit the button to open the truck's window;
Step 2: pull the iPhone from the growing pool of coffee;
Step 3: grab the cup of coffee, being very careful to put a finger over the hole in the bottom of the cup (to keep that coffee from leaking from the cup);
Step 4: quickly get the coffee out of the window;
Step 5: WISH that when I had hit the button to open that window, that the window actually opened.

And that's the story of how I took a coffee shower while riding in my truck.