My Husband Loves TED.

It all started a long time ago. With Tupperware. 

Even wearing poodle skirts, women somehow managed to gather into a pre-fab house's living room or kitchen. They oohed over the trendy plastic and plunked down their old man's cigarette cash for this exciting new invention.

Then came Mary Kay and Avon ladies. They travelled door to door, often alone. So right away they looked new and different to us. But then! They promised to return every month, handing us a scented, pocket-book beauty manual as a gift. Make-up and jewelry. A no-brainer, really.

Similar sales techniques and parties followed. I personally enjoyed the Pampered Chef parties. Because even you never buy something, you get to eat great food and chat with friends. 

And now it seems, that men have their very own Tupperware Party: The TED Talks. My husband is gaga over this phenomenon. He also contests that my comparison is not a fair one, because the men don't  gather to any one place.

But they do! They gather online, of course. And, of course, I know women participate, too. But it looks to me like men make up the majority of presenters. Am I wrong? 

No doubt that TED entertains and informs equally well. They certainly deliver on the content. One must poke fun at them just a teensy, though, for some things they do. And do again. And again. Mix it up, will ya!

Almost everyone that gets on stage wants to channel Steve Jobs. First of all, they wear his clothes, with the nice jeans and either the pressed T-shirt or golf shirt--the universally recognized uniform of the computer programmer dude. Then, they've got the clip-on microphone. This allows the presenter to walk about the stage as they discuss their idea. (I'm convinced they really walk around because cue-card people, concealed just off stage, keep them on topic.)  So after they walk and talk and walk and talk, waving their hands, pausing for effect to stare poignantly at the crowd, and then get back into the walking, there comes what I call the "Full House Moment."

You remember the TV sit-com, Full House? I used to love watching that. Every episode had a tangible pattern to it. Very predictable. They would start with comedy and laughs, then somebody messes up and makes a bad decision. More laughs, the person gets caught or confesses. Then:  Music! The sappy music came on and you just knew that an important moment was coming wherein a character would actually verbalize the lesson of that show. One more laugh. Then curtain call. 

TED has a "Full House Moment." Just like Mr. Jobs kept saying, "There's more! Wait, there's more! One more thing!" TED presenters all build up to this climax where their idea changes the world. That's when the sappy music fills the speakers in the form of applause, and often with a standing ovation. Mr. Presenter wipes either sweat or a sneaky tear off his face and we as the audience are no longer apes, but members of the enlightened upper class. At least, until we watch Comedy Central again.

I hope you don't mind me ribbing TED too much. I do like some of them myself. In particular, the one about the Kahn Academy. If you have a favorite, please post the link below. 

Happy TED, everyone.

Lamentation on the Color Pink

I have a small list of things that need researching. Maybe by me. But more likely by someone on a quest for a Master's thesis topic. One of the items on the above-mentioned list is how the color pink became the call-sign for almost every US-born baby girl. I'm sure it started out as a way to avoid embarrassment, as babies do tend to look pretty androgynous. ("You're baby boy is so darling!" "Yes, ma'am. She is." Oops!)

A century ago, discerning girl infant from boy infant must have seemed like an impossible feat. Those old Victorian photos show even the male of the species adorned in frilly white layettes with a lacy matching bonnet. If I try dressing my boys like that these days, I would hear about it for sure.

About pink, though. Try finding an outfit for a girl (age 0-5 years) that is NOT pink, purple, or a combination of the two. They are rare. Having birthed a couple girls, it didn't take a long time to get pretty sick of the color.

But it's not JUST the pigment of the color pink that has come to represent a problem in my mind. What does pink represent? I think of it kind of like a newborn's corset, nibbling away at her future range of motion. Why you might ask? Okay, I'll get into it:

After my first son came along, I noticed a huge diversity of shades, styles, and patterns in his wardrobe.  My excitement for his dressing routine contrasted greatly with that of my daughter, whose clothes all looked like they'd fallen out of a bottle of Tums. It's true, the boy got a whole rainbow with an abundance of styles:  stripes, tie-dyes, plains, and a huge array of prints. But my daughter's outfits proved equally limited in color and style. Frills, flowers, sparkles, and princesses. Yep. That's about it.

Don't get me wrong! I'm so very grateful for all the clothes. Anyone would be. But the difference between little girl and little boy choices really interests me. Especially since a difference really does seem to exist--right from the get-go.

So, the cuteness of pink apparel on a baby girl cannot be denied. Huge cuteness factor! But when everyone wears it, do we even notice it anymore?

Something else to research, too:  What effect, if any, do these pinks and princesses have on young females--since it's practically all they've got in the closet? Are they getting a message from us adults? Do our clothing gifts whisper a certain expectation for beauty, perfection, and girl-appropriate activities? While boys sport the baby soccer jerseys and the empowered super-heroes, all the pinks and princesses really do is look lovely and maybe sing. (Too bad we don't have any prints of those maidens slamming a volleyball or solving a math equation.)

It's a small thing, for sure:  the color of baby clothes. But my kid is small, too. The clothes look bigger to her.

You want to know the saddest part of all? I really, really like to wear pink myself.

The Mommy Living Room

It's barely 8:30 a.m. and already my house is toast. The little hands that live here somehow manage to destroy nearly every square inch of turf, leaving no survivors in their midst. Books are torn. Carpet smells like ammonia. Paint peels off corners of walls in odd patterns. And the list goes on.

As I survey the bomb site that used to be a room, I brace myself for another day of . . . well, this. Somewhere in the past, my brain used to score points for complex thought. But now,  the only cerebral exercise of the day revolves around questions like, "What can I use to remove that spot?" or "Where can I stash that potted plant this time before the leaves completely disappear?"

But hey, it's good that the rooms in my house get some use. It's the maintenance factor, however, that needs attention. So let's tell those architect designer people exactly what we want. Forget the velvet sofas and fancy glass cabinets. Let's make a living room that children can't destroy. . . too easily. (I actually don't think anything exists which is quite that indestructible.) So here are my own requirements for the perfect living room for Mommy, and subsequently the children:

1. Rubber walls with optional rubber floor. Cushion everything, not just the furniture. Little ones are going to bash into your walls anyway, and sometimes while wielding weaponry. Might as well make it less dangerous. I think an inch or two of thick rubber should do the trick.
2. Sprinkler and drainage system. Clean-up is so over-rated for an already exhausted parent. Cut out the cleaning completely! No more vacuum. No more duster. No more carpet stains. With some adjustable sprinklers either on the ceiling or high up in the corners, you have automatic wash-down every night without once buying a Swiffer. Just let the mess run down a well-placed drain in the floor and enjoy an extra 30 minutes off tonight. Ahhh!
3. Faux collectibles. Let's face it. If you so much as breathe on that Lladro the wrong way, it's going to outlive its warranty. What are your choices? Pack it away until the kids are grown? Okay, but when grandkids start visiting, you'll just have to put it back in a box again. How about a better solution? It's time for knick-knacks and fancy decorations to get a makeover; a plastic one. Someone should start designing the "faux collectible." Cheaply made, but designed to look like the real deal. And you won't be heartbroken when someone uses it for baseball practice.
4. Stow-away furniture. It's a long-shot, I know. But one of my favorite features of our family van is that we can just fold the seats down and plunk them into the floorboards when we want extra car space. Why not do the same for living room furniture? Press a button and watch the couch or end-table  FLIP! under the floor before the commencement of play time. Phrases like, "Stop jumping on that!" and "Put those cushions back!" will be a thing of the past. And cleaning under the cushions might only need attention every few months. 

I'm sure you can think of more. Add to this list if you like! The Ikea catalogue might pay attention and actually offer these features someday. In the meantime, we can certainly dream about the possibilities and reactivate our long-dormant grey matter in the process.

Welcome!

Here goes:  This is my first crack at this, just to see if it works. I'll post something real probably tomorrow. But I must say, I'm proud to have come even this far. Phew!