Wednesday, July 23, 2008

The World is a Box of Crayons

For years, I have had the sneaking suspicion that girls grow up with a larger, more comprehensive box of crayons than boys. Why make such an outrageous statement, you ask. Well, tell me this: Why is it when most women see a sweater, they can jabber on all day long about its varying shades of "plum" or "eggplant," while most men are content to call it "purple," and keep it to themselves?


Honestly, why is it that women can rattle off a myriad of colors so sickening, it would make even the Teletubbies throw up a little bit in their mouths, while men, for the most part, seem content to use ROY G. BIV (that's Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, etc. for those of you who were sick that day of school, or were perhaps more invested in eating their crayons than writing with them)?

Some are quick to argue that this is just more evidence that women triumph over men in sophistication, depth and intellectual prowess. But I'm afraid that assumption is fraught with error. In fact, simplicity can not only be a virtue, but in some cases, it can even be a sign of remarkable intelligence.

Far too often, I'll be getting ready for a night out with friends, when I hear a sudden utterance that causes pangs of terror to reverberate throughout my body.

"You should wear your Raw Sienna shirt, tonight," the voice of my better half bellows from an adjacent room.

"Raw Sienna?," I say softly to myself, struggling to force the images of Boss Ross and his "happy little tree" from my mind. "Which shirt is that?!"

"You know…," says my sweet, stomping over to my chair and holding a decidedly brown Polo shirt between her thumb and forefinger. "This one!"

But I do not know. Nor had I ever known Raw Sienna intimately until that very moment.

Or there are occasions when I'm shopping at a mall of some sort. During these occasions, I usually have a mission. "I need pants," I say to myself and then begin to execute my plan of selecting, acquiring and purchasing the aforementioned item. In my experience, this is not how my lovely shops.

At some point, on my way to said pants, I usually run head long into a horrific inquiry, the answer to which will invariably decide my fate, and sleeping arrangement for the evening.

"Which one do you like? The Magenta or the Cadet Blue skirt??"

"Uh…which one do you like?"

But this only buys her enough time to pick up something she calls "Mother of Teal."

If you're anxious to know how that inquisition ends, let's just say I never choose the right one.

This kind of nonsense even applies to my car, the same sleek Tercel I have mentioned in previous posts.

"Well what color do you think it is?" I ask.

"Pink."

Of course I have no idea what she means by this, so give her a piece of my mind. "I don't know what the hell p—p-ink or whatever you said is, but it's clearly red!"

By far, the worst is when my better half and her friends get together and have a few glasses of wine. They're all like…

"So I went to the GAP today and lavender, lavender, orchid."

"Really, because I just saw a cute little marigold, fuchsia, marigold."

"You totally should have bought it! My friend from college tried on an aquamarine Robin's egg blue!"

*******


Now that I have demonstrated this rainbow of nonsense, let me get back to my point about simplicity. To women's credit, their world has depth. It is a multi-faceted, dappled tapestry of variance and heterogeneity. But with this complexity comes confusion and indecision. I believe that an exposure to gross numbers of colors at a young age can have harmful consequences, even inducing altered perceptions of reality.

The ability to read more depth into a given situation than the particular situation merits can ultimately lead to serious developmental and social problems. On the other hand, it is the ability of men, in the absence of colossal boxes of crayons at a young age, to infer from multiple variables and seemingly contradictory meanings, a more simplistic, clear and logical conclusion.

To reduce the wildly complex world of plums and eggplants down to the more logical purple in the white-hot heat of a mental crucible, demonstrates a tremendous feat of intellectual prowess. This is not to say men are more intelligent than women—

But then again, using the deductive skills that come from years of wielding a tiny box of crayons, it actually does.

Sorry.

And so, I will once again use my powers of deduction to infer that having placed all of these variables down in writing, and having derived the above conclusion -- that women are somehow damaged by a larger box of crayons -- I will logically be sleeping on the sidewalk tonight...

...with my tiny box of crayons.


(Photo courtesy of Laffy4K)

Monday, July 7, 2008

Deep Thoughts: The Bono vs. Edge Debate

Hope everyone had a pleasant 4th of July celebration! I know I've been a bit delinquent with my blogging, but I promise more is on the way.

In the meantime, here is a question my friend and I were debating on our way to see a Sox vs. Yankees game at Yankee Stadium (it's a long drive from Western Mass).

Who would you rather be: Bono or the Edge?

















Discuss.


(Photo courtesy of Phil Romans)