If I had my way, Facebook would be different.
Instead of:
I'm in the ER again! OMG, what's going on?
It would be:
I'm in the emergency room for the third time this week for chest pain. The doctors have eliminated heart attack and angina. Today I'm in for an imaging procedure. I would appreciate your thoughts and prayers during this time.
Instead of:
Well, guess what? ____ and I are having a baby in August! That's what happens when you can't take birth control pills.
It would be:
____ and I are expecting a baby in August! We're thrilled.
Instead of:
My #$%^&* husband left today. How am I going to explain to our four kids that Daddy just doesn't love Mommy anymore?
It would be:
Instead of:
[Below a photo of a newborn] One year. Miss you my angel!
It would be:
One year ago today my brother and his wife moved to Saint Louis. I miss my little niece so much!
Otherwise I spend too much time worrying people's future children are going to find out horrible crap from future Facebook archives, or that someone is dying in the ER, or that a baby died.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Decision Making
I greatly enjoy that Tuesday is garbage day.
This is not because I like taking out the garbage.
I have always disliked taking out the garbage. In college taking out the garbage was one of the contentious chores between the roommates: we all hated doing it and unlike mopping the kitchen floor, scrubbing the shower, or wiping down the stove, we couldn't ignore it for entire school years at a time. Living in a seven-person apartment made the garbage situation even more unpleasant, especially because the various randomly-assigned roommates who filled the spare bedrooms when true friends were gone for some semesters tended to do things like fill an entire trashcan with pizza boxes and beer bottles and then disappear into their room never to talk to us again for eight months (yes, that happened).
But taking out the garbage became a new height of difficulty after I graduated and lived alone for the first time. The trash in college was an unpleasant game of chicken where someone would eventually decide nothing more could balance on top of the can. Living alone, the issue was not volume. It was smell.
To explain this I might need to explain a bit of how engineers think. I don't have experience with it personally, but I imagine normal people make decisions based on a few straight-forward axes. "What do I want to do?" "What do I need to do?" "If I want to do it, can I do it?" "If I don't want to do it, can I delay it?" Etc. Engineers have an additional criteria which complicates everything else.
Efficiency.
Efficiency can by itself be variable. Do you want to be efficient in time usage? Cost? Effort? Engineers know that it is unlikely you can have all at once, so the decision become which type of efficiency is more important in any given situation.
Left alone to my own devices, the garbage became a problem of inefficiency that I couldn't solve.
The main problem was that I didn't generate enough trash to fill the can before it began to smell. I deemed it inefficient to take out the trash before it was full. This is because taking out a partly full bag of trash was inefficient in all variables - time, cost, and effort. I would have to take the trash out more often. I would have to buy more trash bags. And the trash bins were far on the other side of my complex, down a flight a stairs.
So the smell became the enemy. I tried freezing food scraps to prevent them from rotting in the trash, but some scraps inevitably made it to the trash anyway. I tried buying the odor blocking crystals touted by the radio morning show I listen to. I tried buying scented trash bags. I tried buying scent-blocking trash bags. I tried double-bagging the trash can and then tying off the inner bag when it started to smell.
Nothing worked. I was left with an inefficient system where I played chicken with myself of how long I could stand the smell of the trash.
I lost that game, over and over.
But now that I moved, Tuesday is garbage day. Tuesday is the day the truck comes to pick up the garbage, so Monday is the night I have to move the trash cans to the front. And since I have to move the trash cans to the front, I might as well use that day to take the trash out from the house. There is unlikely any true efficiency benefit, since I spend more time taking out the trash, and I take out partially full bags of trash more now than ever. But my perception is that I am "getting my money's worth" much more by having trash in the bin at the curb each week so that my $17 a month doesn't go to waste. Monday comes and without question, I will empty the recycling and the trash into their bins and wheel them to the curb.
Sometimes I just really, really, really like to be told what to do.
This is not because I like taking out the garbage.
I have always disliked taking out the garbage. In college taking out the garbage was one of the contentious chores between the roommates: we all hated doing it and unlike mopping the kitchen floor, scrubbing the shower, or wiping down the stove, we couldn't ignore it for entire school years at a time. Living in a seven-person apartment made the garbage situation even more unpleasant, especially because the various randomly-assigned roommates who filled the spare bedrooms when true friends were gone for some semesters tended to do things like fill an entire trashcan with pizza boxes and beer bottles and then disappear into their room never to talk to us again for eight months (yes, that happened).
But taking out the garbage became a new height of difficulty after I graduated and lived alone for the first time. The trash in college was an unpleasant game of chicken where someone would eventually decide nothing more could balance on top of the can. Living alone, the issue was not volume. It was smell.
To explain this I might need to explain a bit of how engineers think. I don't have experience with it personally, but I imagine normal people make decisions based on a few straight-forward axes. "What do I want to do?" "What do I need to do?" "If I want to do it, can I do it?" "If I don't want to do it, can I delay it?" Etc. Engineers have an additional criteria which complicates everything else.
Efficiency.
Efficiency can by itself be variable. Do you want to be efficient in time usage? Cost? Effort? Engineers know that it is unlikely you can have all at once, so the decision become which type of efficiency is more important in any given situation.
Left alone to my own devices, the garbage became a problem of inefficiency that I couldn't solve.
The main problem was that I didn't generate enough trash to fill the can before it began to smell. I deemed it inefficient to take out the trash before it was full. This is because taking out a partly full bag of trash was inefficient in all variables - time, cost, and effort. I would have to take the trash out more often. I would have to buy more trash bags. And the trash bins were far on the other side of my complex, down a flight a stairs.
So the smell became the enemy. I tried freezing food scraps to prevent them from rotting in the trash, but some scraps inevitably made it to the trash anyway. I tried buying the odor blocking crystals touted by the radio morning show I listen to. I tried buying scented trash bags. I tried buying scent-blocking trash bags. I tried double-bagging the trash can and then tying off the inner bag when it started to smell.
Nothing worked. I was left with an inefficient system where I played chicken with myself of how long I could stand the smell of the trash.
I lost that game, over and over.
But now that I moved, Tuesday is garbage day. Tuesday is the day the truck comes to pick up the garbage, so Monday is the night I have to move the trash cans to the front. And since I have to move the trash cans to the front, I might as well use that day to take the trash out from the house. There is unlikely any true efficiency benefit, since I spend more time taking out the trash, and I take out partially full bags of trash more now than ever. But my perception is that I am "getting my money's worth" much more by having trash in the bin at the curb each week so that my $17 a month doesn't go to waste. Monday comes and without question, I will empty the recycling and the trash into their bins and wheel them to the curb.
Sometimes I just really, really, really like to be told what to do.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Color Conundrums
My system for picking paint colors is horrible and inefficient.
The first rash of painting in my house was done before I moved in, and the colors were selected as follows.
Living room:
Looked at gray paint chips, two samples, chose the lighter one. Boom - living room is painted Bay Waves by Valspar.
Verdict: Love it. This is the right gray to go with my eccentric green couch, massive Ikea pussy willow print, and to blend into the dining room color.
Dining room:
Endless pouring over blue paint chips, two samples, chose the darker one. Boom - dining room is painted Tinsel Beam by Valspar.
Verdict: Love it. This is a great light blue on the edge of slate blue which blends seamlessly with the living room gray.
Bedroom:
Sorted through green paint chips, one sample of sage green, it looked like puke. Scrambled to choose a second paint chip, got a sample, thought it was okay. Bedroom is Desert Seedling by Valspar.
Verdict: Like it. It's a good girly mint green, but I had intended more of a sage green. I also find this green hard to accessorize or match with anything because I don't shop a lot and I'm an engineer.
Craft room:
Endless pouring over yellow paint chips, two samples of butter yellow, chose the darker one, Maple Cream by Valspar.
Verdict: It's too dark. This room is very small (that desk is the actual width of the room) and it's also dark - that window is under a porch. I also used satin paint, which was too shiny for a small room too. If I repaint this room (and I might) it would be two to three shades light, in eggshell finish at the shiniest. This room's walls also have an issue where the paint will stick to anything that leans against it. If I repaint I would investigate super-duper primer like the VOC-heavy, this-might-be-the-most-ethanol-intoxicated-I've-ever-been BIN Zinsser shellac-base primer I used on the kitchen cabinets. That stuff seems to penetrate well, and for this room it would have to get through not only the two coats of Valspar primer and two coats of Valspar paint put on during my ownership of the house but also the blue paint I was covering up, and however many layers are between the blue and the pink layer that shows up after the peeling.
The next wave of painting was for the third bedroom. Since I wasn't under the time-crunch of having to move in, this time I wanted to make sure I chose the right color. I wanted a warm, ocean blue to cover up the horror of the icy toothpaste green the walls and trim (the musty, unpleasant upholstery in this photo was ripped out far before I got around to painting):
Third bedroom:
Endless pouring over blue and teal and green paint chips. No fewer than six samples. Maybe more. Maybe I didn't photograph all the samples. Maybe I don't want to go to the shed and count the sample containers. In any case, I settled on Behr Aqua Spray, adjusted to 75%.
Verdict: I like it, but it's not what I intended. I wanted it to be slightly greener. It's also darker than it should be. But this room is big enough that it's not too dark. So it's good, it works. And this room taught me that if you're trying to paint something white that wasn't previously white, like that trim, use primer! Three coats of paint, all done with an artist's brush by hand, shaping out that inexplicably wave-shaped trim. I thought that green wasn't very dark but it was. It was.
Kitchen:
Benjamin Moore doesn't sell samples. I had decided to use their Advance paint, so I would have would be chips. So I taped some paint chips on the cabinets, liked Marscapone, bought it. Choosing the wall color was a cycle of taping paint chips next to the tile, choosing three samples, mulling over it, choosing the one I had liked first on the chips, Benjamin Moore's Everlasting (which I remember as "Perdurable" which was the Spanish name on the chip).
Verdict: These were just the right colors. The white is not too white, the tan is warm and is bold enough to offset the amount of white cabinets, and to draw away from the bold tile. I'm very pleased with how these turned out.
The next painting job was the bathroom. Choosing a bathroom color was difficult because the tile and linoleum are black and white, and I couldn't decide what color went with them. Yes, they're neutrals but still certain colors "go" better. I can't explain it, color is something I'm weird about. I've read that women who are carriers for color-blindness, like I am, might actually see an expanded palette of colors, which might explain it. The bathroom was also difficult because I had to see past the dolphins:
That wallpaper border is dolphins, the shower curtain was a double-layer thick of dolphins, the robe hooks were shaped like dolphins, and the light fixtures were Baroque gold.
The color decision for the bathroom went something along the lines of "I like green. I'll do green." Choosing the paint color went like this:
Bathroom:
Looked for green/black/white bathrooms online. Couldn't find many. Looked at color suggestions on Young House Love, liked their previous nursery color. Poured over paint chips. Got two samples: one the Celery Sticks Young House Love used, one a similar Benjamin Moore color. Liked Celery Sticks but after the third bedroom experience thought it might be too dark so I went to Home Depot and asked for a 50% lighter sample. It was twice as dark as the original. Argued with the guy behind the counter. He re-made it three times and it kept turning out darker. I refused to pay for any of the samples and left, never to return to the San Carlos Home Depot again. Went to the San Mateo Home Depot, they made a sample that at least was lighter but now looked like a different color (much more yellow). Made my own 75% sample by mixing the two previous samples, it was okay but I was indecisive and just went, "To heck with it. I like Celery Sticks, just do Celery Sticks". So the bathroom is Celery Sticks.
Verdict: Freaking love it. This is my favorite paint color in the house. A lot of the other colors I chose because they're nice or sophisticated or they coordinate with what they need to coordinate with. But this green is for me. I love green and this is the right green.
What I've learned from all this is to go with my gut. If I like it, I'll like it. If I think too hard I might not make the right choice. Since I'm the person who has to live with it, it's my opinion that matters.
I've also learned that contrary to what you would think, any color will look better once it's over a giant wall. Not sure how that works.
The first rash of painting in my house was done before I moved in, and the colors were selected as follows.
Living room:
Looked at gray paint chips, two samples, chose the lighter one. Boom - living room is painted Bay Waves by Valspar.
Dining room:
Endless pouring over blue paint chips, two samples, chose the darker one. Boom - dining room is painted Tinsel Beam by Valspar.
Verdict: Love it. This is a great light blue on the edge of slate blue which blends seamlessly with the living room gray.
Bedroom:
Sorted through green paint chips, one sample of sage green, it looked like puke. Scrambled to choose a second paint chip, got a sample, thought it was okay. Bedroom is Desert Seedling by Valspar.
Verdict: Like it. It's a good girly mint green, but I had intended more of a sage green. I also find this green hard to accessorize or match with anything because I don't shop a lot and I'm an engineer.
Craft room:
Endless pouring over yellow paint chips, two samples of butter yellow, chose the darker one, Maple Cream by Valspar.
Verdict: It's too dark. This room is very small (that desk is the actual width of the room) and it's also dark - that window is under a porch. I also used satin paint, which was too shiny for a small room too. If I repaint this room (and I might) it would be two to three shades light, in eggshell finish at the shiniest. This room's walls also have an issue where the paint will stick to anything that leans against it. If I repaint I would investigate super-duper primer like the VOC-heavy, this-might-be-the-most-ethanol-intoxicated-I've-ever-been BIN Zinsser shellac-base primer I used on the kitchen cabinets. That stuff seems to penetrate well, and for this room it would have to get through not only the two coats of Valspar primer and two coats of Valspar paint put on during my ownership of the house but also the blue paint I was covering up, and however many layers are between the blue and the pink layer that shows up after the peeling.
The next wave of painting was for the third bedroom. Since I wasn't under the time-crunch of having to move in, this time I wanted to make sure I chose the right color. I wanted a warm, ocean blue to cover up the horror of the icy toothpaste green the walls and trim (the musty, unpleasant upholstery in this photo was ripped out far before I got around to painting):
Third bedroom:
Endless pouring over blue and teal and green paint chips. No fewer than six samples. Maybe more. Maybe I didn't photograph all the samples. Maybe I don't want to go to the shed and count the sample containers. In any case, I settled on Behr Aqua Spray, adjusted to 75%.
Verdict: I like it, but it's not what I intended. I wanted it to be slightly greener. It's also darker than it should be. But this room is big enough that it's not too dark. So it's good, it works. And this room taught me that if you're trying to paint something white that wasn't previously white, like that trim, use primer! Three coats of paint, all done with an artist's brush by hand, shaping out that inexplicably wave-shaped trim. I thought that green wasn't very dark but it was. It was.
Kitchen:
Benjamin Moore doesn't sell samples. I had decided to use their Advance paint, so I would have would be chips. So I taped some paint chips on the cabinets, liked Marscapone, bought it. Choosing the wall color was a cycle of taping paint chips next to the tile, choosing three samples, mulling over it, choosing the one I had liked first on the chips, Benjamin Moore's Everlasting (which I remember as "Perdurable" which was the Spanish name on the chip).
Verdict: These were just the right colors. The white is not too white, the tan is warm and is bold enough to offset the amount of white cabinets, and to draw away from the bold tile. I'm very pleased with how these turned out.
The next painting job was the bathroom. Choosing a bathroom color was difficult because the tile and linoleum are black and white, and I couldn't decide what color went with them. Yes, they're neutrals but still certain colors "go" better. I can't explain it, color is something I'm weird about. I've read that women who are carriers for color-blindness, like I am, might actually see an expanded palette of colors, which might explain it. The bathroom was also difficult because I had to see past the dolphins:
That wallpaper border is dolphins, the shower curtain was a double-layer thick of dolphins, the robe hooks were shaped like dolphins, and the light fixtures were Baroque gold.
The color decision for the bathroom went something along the lines of "I like green. I'll do green." Choosing the paint color went like this:
Bathroom:
Looked for green/black/white bathrooms online. Couldn't find many. Looked at color suggestions on Young House Love, liked their previous nursery color. Poured over paint chips. Got two samples: one the Celery Sticks Young House Love used, one a similar Benjamin Moore color. Liked Celery Sticks but after the third bedroom experience thought it might be too dark so I went to Home Depot and asked for a 50% lighter sample. It was twice as dark as the original. Argued with the guy behind the counter. He re-made it three times and it kept turning out darker. I refused to pay for any of the samples and left, never to return to the San Carlos Home Depot again. Went to the San Mateo Home Depot, they made a sample that at least was lighter but now looked like a different color (much more yellow). Made my own 75% sample by mixing the two previous samples, it was okay but I was indecisive and just went, "To heck with it. I like Celery Sticks, just do Celery Sticks". So the bathroom is Celery Sticks.
Verdict: Freaking love it. This is my favorite paint color in the house. A lot of the other colors I chose because they're nice or sophisticated or they coordinate with what they need to coordinate with. But this green is for me. I love green and this is the right green.
What I've learned from all this is to go with my gut. If I like it, I'll like it. If I think too hard I might not make the right choice. Since I'm the person who has to live with it, it's my opinion that matters.
I've also learned that contrary to what you would think, any color will look better once it's over a giant wall. Not sure how that works.
Friday, January 4, 2013
Discounted
Sometimes there's an exact moment when you realize why something ended up at the outlet store.
Today I got this jacket I like at the Gap Outlet in Milpitas.
Then I was curious about whether the zipper could go all the way up and discovered the placement of those snaps that hold down the collar wings.
Today I got this jacket I like at the Gap Outlet in Milpitas.
Then I was curious about whether the zipper could go all the way up and discovered the placement of those snaps that hold down the collar wings.
Hello, extra nipples. Hello, way in which I will never wear this jacket. It's weird to meet you.
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Statistics
My parents did a very good job of raising me to be race-blind, which has resulted in some social embarrassment ("Why are they casting an Asian actress for Cho Chang in the Harry Potter movies? Isn't she blonde?" "What do you mean the guy who plays Morpheus in The Matrix is African-American?"). But lately I've realized that I have some deeply held prejudices on male/female behavior. Well, mostly male behavior. And it's not many. Mostly it boils down to these two.
1. Single men do not own cats.
2. Men do not use Pinterest.
I don't know where the cat one came from. Maybe because it's always crazy old cat ladies. Multiple cats are the sign of female spinsterhood. Maybe it's because I went out with one guy who turned out to have cats and he was the most immature, tied-to-the-apron-strings person over 30 years old that I have ever met. And of course there are exceptions. Men, as part of a couple or a family, can of course own cats. There just has to be a woman or a child as part of the equation for it to be normal. Alternately, if a single man had inherited a cat from a relative and his ownership of the cat was keeping the cat he already knew and loved from death or stranger adoption, then sure, that's fine.
The Pinterest one I wasn't sure of. So I had to figure it out. Why did I think men don't use Pinterest? Just because everything I see on there is about crafting, cooking, decorating, cleaning, and exercising? I noticed that Pinterest knew exactly how many of my Facebook friends were on Pinterest. I know how many Facebook friends I have, so that was pretty simple math. With the data set of my Facebook friends I found that:
44% of my female friends had a Pinterest account
10% of my male friends did
Of those with Pinterest accounts,
23% of my female friends were inactive
59% of my male friends were
where inactivity was defined as accounts with fewer than 20 pins and no activity within four weeks. So in total,
34% of my female friends actively used Pinterest
4% of my male friends did
If I also eliminated accounts with no activity within five months, only 2% of my male friends were active on Pinterest. Of those four, two are artists, one uses it for his travel business, and the last one is my cousin. Three of those four are married.
So that's why I don't think men use Pinterest. Because 98% of them don't.
Good job, brain. Now work on remembering how doorknobs work.
1. Single men do not own cats.
2. Men do not use Pinterest.
I don't know where the cat one came from. Maybe because it's always crazy old cat ladies. Multiple cats are the sign of female spinsterhood. Maybe it's because I went out with one guy who turned out to have cats and he was the most immature, tied-to-the-apron-strings person over 30 years old that I have ever met. And of course there are exceptions. Men, as part of a couple or a family, can of course own cats. There just has to be a woman or a child as part of the equation for it to be normal. Alternately, if a single man had inherited a cat from a relative and his ownership of the cat was keeping the cat he already knew and loved from death or stranger adoption, then sure, that's fine.
The Pinterest one I wasn't sure of. So I had to figure it out. Why did I think men don't use Pinterest? Just because everything I see on there is about crafting, cooking, decorating, cleaning, and exercising? I noticed that Pinterest knew exactly how many of my Facebook friends were on Pinterest. I know how many Facebook friends I have, so that was pretty simple math. With the data set of my Facebook friends I found that:
44% of my female friends had a Pinterest account
10% of my male friends did
Of those with Pinterest accounts,
23% of my female friends were inactive
59% of my male friends were
where inactivity was defined as accounts with fewer than 20 pins and no activity within four weeks. So in total,
34% of my female friends actively used Pinterest
4% of my male friends did
If I also eliminated accounts with no activity within five months, only 2% of my male friends were active on Pinterest. Of those four, two are artists, one uses it for his travel business, and the last one is my cousin. Three of those four are married.
So that's why I don't think men use Pinterest. Because 98% of them don't.
Good job, brain. Now work on remembering how doorknobs work.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
"New"
I made a big commitment today.
I cut the tags off my washcloths.
Yes, this is stupid, but somehow I didn't consider the washcloths I bought, that I use to wash my face, to be mine. Mine enough to have the right to cut off the tags, at least. But today as I was folding the laundry, the little tags sticking out of every single washcloth in the pile seemed to taunt me. I have scissors. I have power. So I cut them off.
All of them.
This might be a symptom of a larger issue I have of sensing the age of soft goods. I've had these washcloths for months, ever since I started doing the oil cleansing method and found it disturbing to scrub my face with Pixar characters (Wall-E, get deeper into my pores!). And recently I've realized that clothes I consider "new" are three to four years old. I looked at my Facebook photos and saw that I'm wearing the same three jackets in all of them.
Part of my problem with clothes is that I've been following the advice to periodically go through your clothes and get rid of everything you haven't worn in a year - but I haven't been shopping to make up for it. So I have one drawer of public-eligible shirts ("top drawer" shirts) and one drawer of jeans, a foot of closet space of work shirts, around a foot and a half of skirts I can't wear to work because I'd splash chemicals on my legs, and those three jackets. Three other drawers are yardwork and gym t-shirts ("lower drawer" shirts), pajamas, underwear, and socks. The rest of my minimal closet space is slacks I only wear at conferences and sweatshirts.
I've tried. In the past few weeks I've gone to my normal stores (Target, JC Penney, Sears, Kohls) both here and in the East Bay, and I've found a few things. An embellished t-shirt (for the top drawer), a sweatshirt jacket (simply because it was fuzzy). Ah dang it, is that it? Didn't I buy anything else? No no, I bought two blouses at Target. But I did figure out I purchase around 3% of what I try on. Or, I have to try on around 33 items to find one I want to buy. And that doesn't even account for everything I look at in the store before even selecting those 33 things to go into the dressing room with.
I made that one clerk at Target really sad.
I should get a button that says "I'm sorry I'm doing this but it wouldn't be necessary if your store used consistent sizing."
I cut the tags off my washcloths.
Yes, this is stupid, but somehow I didn't consider the washcloths I bought, that I use to wash my face, to be mine. Mine enough to have the right to cut off the tags, at least. But today as I was folding the laundry, the little tags sticking out of every single washcloth in the pile seemed to taunt me. I have scissors. I have power. So I cut them off.
All of them.
This might be a symptom of a larger issue I have of sensing the age of soft goods. I've had these washcloths for months, ever since I started doing the oil cleansing method and found it disturbing to scrub my face with Pixar characters (Wall-E, get deeper into my pores!). And recently I've realized that clothes I consider "new" are three to four years old. I looked at my Facebook photos and saw that I'm wearing the same three jackets in all of them.
Part of my problem with clothes is that I've been following the advice to periodically go through your clothes and get rid of everything you haven't worn in a year - but I haven't been shopping to make up for it. So I have one drawer of public-eligible shirts ("top drawer" shirts) and one drawer of jeans, a foot of closet space of work shirts, around a foot and a half of skirts I can't wear to work because I'd splash chemicals on my legs, and those three jackets. Three other drawers are yardwork and gym t-shirts ("lower drawer" shirts), pajamas, underwear, and socks. The rest of my minimal closet space is slacks I only wear at conferences and sweatshirts.
I've tried. In the past few weeks I've gone to my normal stores (Target, JC Penney, Sears, Kohls) both here and in the East Bay, and I've found a few things. An embellished t-shirt (for the top drawer), a sweatshirt jacket (simply because it was fuzzy). Ah dang it, is that it? Didn't I buy anything else? No no, I bought two blouses at Target. But I did figure out I purchase around 3% of what I try on. Or, I have to try on around 33 items to find one I want to buy. And that doesn't even account for everything I look at in the store before even selecting those 33 things to go into the dressing room with.
I made that one clerk at Target really sad.
I should get a button that says "I'm sorry I'm doing this but it wouldn't be necessary if your store used consistent sizing."
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Unromantic
The older I get, the less I believe romantic movies.
That isn't that much of a revelation. Romantic movies tend to be pretty ridiculous. He travels through time for her! They had been married the whole time and didn't know it! Jennifer Lopez is Italian! I've read articles warning women against romances because they set "unrealistic expectations". But we're not idiots. We're not stupid enough to expect any of the normal romance movie tropes:
It's not the obvious ridiculousness like that that's bothering me more as time goes on. It's other, subtler aspects of the movies that's getting to me.
One is that sex is the ultimate expression of love. In many movies, it seems like the end of the story doesn't matter as long as the main couple got to have sex. Case in point, Cold Mountain. I hate that movie. Jude Law spends the whole time going through horrible, horrible things to get back to Nicole Kidman who I think is supposed to be portraying a young, innocent preacher's daughter which makes the whole thing less believable from the start (she's nice but she's not 18 even with soft focus). After meeting several colorful future Academy Award nominees on his way back, he finally finds Nicole Kidman, they have sex, and then he gets killed. I'm serious. That's a romantic movie? We're supposed to be impressed they finally had sex? What if it was different. What if Jude Law was the same grizzled Civil War deserter, went through all the same difficulties, then finally, finally found a prostitute who would take Confederacy money and he gets his jollies with her before continuing on his way? Would that be romantic? Or is it just because Nicole Kidman's character is clean as the wind-driven snow that it's romantic? Also, Titanic. How do we know Kate and Jack loved each other? Because they had sex. Otherwise it would have just been two people who enjoyed each other's company and one happened to die when the ship sank. Sad, but not romantic. It's romantic because they had sex before they croaked? Awesome.
Another is that it's romantic when men persist in pursuing a woman long past when she has turned him down. The woman will turn him down, turn him down, turn him down, change her mind, and him coming back the fourth time is what's romantic? What would be romantic would be if he got some self-esteem and found someone that was less of an indecisive witch. This cliche is perhaps more worrying because it encourages men to keep going after unattainable women in the hope they'll cave eventually. It's not romantic. It's stalking.
I think the real appeal of romantic movies to women is much simpler. What I like in romantic movies is a very simple formula.
1. Man pursues woman.
2. They fall in love.
3. They get married.
4. They live happily ever after.
And I'll sit through time traveling, extravagant gift-giving, and Jennifer Lopez to get it.
That isn't that much of a revelation. Romantic movies tend to be pretty ridiculous. He travels through time for her! They had been married the whole time and didn't know it! Jennifer Lopez is Italian! I've read articles warning women against romances because they set "unrealistic expectations". But we're not idiots. We're not stupid enough to expect any of the normal romance movie tropes:
- Secret millionaire! If he appears down on his luck, chances are he's really rich but is just hiding that to make sure a woman loves him "for him". Or he's outwardly rich, and needs to be brought down to earth. Sub-category, she's the rich one! Her riches may or may not be secret. Played to great effect in Overboard.
- Love overcomes death AND the space-time-continuum! Played with less effect in Lake House, among others.
- Romance is extravagant gifts, whirlwind trips, and rose petals everywhere!
It's not the obvious ridiculousness like that that's bothering me more as time goes on. It's other, subtler aspects of the movies that's getting to me.
One is that sex is the ultimate expression of love. In many movies, it seems like the end of the story doesn't matter as long as the main couple got to have sex. Case in point, Cold Mountain. I hate that movie. Jude Law spends the whole time going through horrible, horrible things to get back to Nicole Kidman who I think is supposed to be portraying a young, innocent preacher's daughter which makes the whole thing less believable from the start (she's nice but she's not 18 even with soft focus). After meeting several colorful future Academy Award nominees on his way back, he finally finds Nicole Kidman, they have sex, and then he gets killed. I'm serious. That's a romantic movie? We're supposed to be impressed they finally had sex? What if it was different. What if Jude Law was the same grizzled Civil War deserter, went through all the same difficulties, then finally, finally found a prostitute who would take Confederacy money and he gets his jollies with her before continuing on his way? Would that be romantic? Or is it just because Nicole Kidman's character is clean as the wind-driven snow that it's romantic? Also, Titanic. How do we know Kate and Jack loved each other? Because they had sex. Otherwise it would have just been two people who enjoyed each other's company and one happened to die when the ship sank. Sad, but not romantic. It's romantic because they had sex before they croaked? Awesome.
Another is that it's romantic when men persist in pursuing a woman long past when she has turned him down. The woman will turn him down, turn him down, turn him down, change her mind, and him coming back the fourth time is what's romantic? What would be romantic would be if he got some self-esteem and found someone that was less of an indecisive witch. This cliche is perhaps more worrying because it encourages men to keep going after unattainable women in the hope they'll cave eventually. It's not romantic. It's stalking.
I think the real appeal of romantic movies to women is much simpler. What I like in romantic movies is a very simple formula.
1. Man pursues woman.
2. They fall in love.
3. They get married.
4. They live happily ever after.
And I'll sit through time traveling, extravagant gift-giving, and Jennifer Lopez to get it.
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