How did red and blue become such polarizing colors?
Since the 2004 election results were famously color-coded by state, red or blue can now serve as answers for questions like "What is your stance on abortion?" or "How do you feel about warrantless wire taps?"
Regardless of how slim the margin of victory was, each state became a Red State or a Blue State overnight. If you were a Democrat in Alabama or a Republican in Vermont, you suddenly didn't exist, as if there is no middle ground.
As many have realized now, the Red State/Blue State scheme has turned into a divisive mechanism, leading people to exaggerated beliefs and sweeping judgments that lump entire regions of our country into one political party.
In reality, our country is extremely purple, sometimes with two precincts within a district within a state at voting odds with one another.
Of course, this isn't the first polarizing war between Red and Blue. Coke and Pepsi have been trying to get people to choose one over the other for almost a century.
Is this a war that needs to be fought? Is this a war that can actually be won (War on Terror, anyone. . .)?
Can we just stop it already, lay down our arms and admit that Pepsi and Coke are both delicious, similar-tasting beverages, each with their own distinctive subtleties to which some people may or may not favor over the other if they so choose?
Like Miami Herald sports designer Kevin Scott says, Coke and Pepsi are always going to each have 48 percent of the cola market regardless, but they spend hundreds of millions a year in advertising, scrapping away at the remaining 4 percent. Wouldn't those hundreds of millions be better spent hooking a more impoverished country's youth on sweet, fattening drinks for life?
The truth is I'm tired of being told that Coke Is It or that it is Always Coca-Cola. I don't need Pepsi informing me that it just so happens to be America's Choice and that Nothing Else Is A Pepsi.
Don't tell me that I have to prefer one over the other and that if I like Coke I must not like Pepsi and if I dislike Coke that must mean that I love Pepsi.
You, paid-off researchers, stop your studies where you unsuspectingly direct me to drink from two cups, one marked Pepsi, the other marked Coke and when I say I prefer one over the other you rip off my blindfold and mockingly inform me that they were both Coke.
I have better things to do and so should you.
I guarantee the next time I walk into a restaurant this is what will happen:
I'll have a Coke.
We have Pepsi, is that OK?
Yes it is OK. You know why? Because they're both equally refreshing.
Here's how simple this Pepsi vs. Coke thing is for me, and for you too, I would imagine. If Pepsi was magically $1 cheaper per 12-pack than Coke, I would probably become a Pepsi drinker. And vice versa, of course.
Now, if you're the type to say that you find Pepsi horribly rancid but adore every sweet droplet of Coca-Cola, perhaps it's because you've been led to believe that it is not an option to think they're both pretty OK.
I guess the Pepsi vs. Coke war is a lot like the political landscape in our country. On the far right (Coke) and the far left (Pepsi), you have people saying the other side are nothing but vile deceptors who want to destroy America. No middle ground. No gray areas. No I-can-see-your-points. Just ideology to the death.
Meanwhile there are millions of people stuck in the middle realizing that in the end, they both pretty much taste the same.
p.s. It is my goal to have a new post every Monday so make sure to check back then.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Monday, October 23, 2006
I put the gal in egalitarian
The way a job gets done around our house is usually decided by one thing: Whatever needed to get done the longest ago is what gets done first. But not always.
How we divide these tasks is a mystery to me. I might do laundry and fix breakfast one day and Erin might mow the lawn or wash the car the next. And then the next time those duties come up, we switch. Basically, carry your weight or there will be trouble. Luckily there’s never been too much trouble.
Whether a job is traditionally done by a man or a woman has never factored in. The only job Erin won’t do, for some reason, is order pizza over the phone.
What started as a straight egalitarian approach to marriage has evolved. One moment I was barbecuing – the only cooking deemed acceptable by the manliest of men – the next I am looking up recipes for stuffed flounder. One moment Erin is painting the bathroom, the next she is snaking a clogged bathtub drain.
This philosophy of ours reached a level of absurdity over the weekend. Not thinking anything out of the ordinary was taking place, Erin and I went about separate activities. But then it suddenly donned on me: I was in the kitchen finely chopping an onion for a homemade tartar sauce while Erin was busy working with plumbing fixtures and hanging cement board in a shower renovation project she had embarked upon.
For a moment I had to set the mincing knife aside, take off my apron, sit down and think. OK I wasn't really wearing an apron, but I tried to understand how I was in the kitchen preparing sauces and batters while my wife swung a hammer in a gutted bathroom.
How did it get to this point? We had somehow gone as far as embracing a complete male/female role reversal. Being married for 8 years, it's not something that has happened over night. But it got a major boost this summer, when we moved to Connecticut and bought a house.
Generally our house is in great condition for being built in 1927. It's not a fixer-upper, as some in the renovation community might say, but has a few areas here and there that could be improved upon if a person either had the money to pay to have it done or had the desire to do it themselves.
Erin falls into the latter category. Always one with a hankering for DIY, this was her chance to take on some projects. Her first big project was the guest bathroom. This involved in part, ripping out the old sink, counter and shower and then rebuilding everything from scratch, newer, bigger, better. I pledged my support from the start, embracing her new hobby.
But I was clear on one thing: If she was going to become a home improver, it was her deal, not mine. If she wanted to spend her weekends ripping up tile, grouting, painting, soldering and making countless trips to Lowe's, then she was certainly entitled. But just because it's normally men who improve homes, I shouldn't be forced to contribute. Sure I would jump in for the heavy lifting or be around for the occasional task that required two people. She is fine with this.
My shunning of home improvement came down to one issue: I don't enjoy it. I would much rather spend my free time hiking, reading, watching movies or writing. Being roped into episodes of "Flip That House" before embarking on a grueling plumbing project sounds like the kind of activity I would take up if I were sent to prison. I shutter just hearing Erin use DIY slang like "rip" for cutting wood with a power saw, or "demo" instead of the cumbersome "demolition" or "hit" to describe anything that can be done quickly (you can hit a wall with paint, a board with screws or a tub with caulk, among other things.)
While this provides reason for Erin's non-traditional behavior, when it comes to my actions I can only offer the excuse that it's not unheard of for men to be into serious cooking. I mean, look at all those male celebrity chefs (OK, this is not good for my case as a Google search for "Flamboyant chef" returned 397,000 hits).
Looking ahead, I see our non-traditional roles become more non-traditional. Because if Erin insists on rewiring outlets, unclogging drains and installing new sinks, the least I can do is serve her cold lemonade and whip up a decent meal for when she takes a break. And once she is done with her bathroom renovation, it will be my job to clean the new shower, mop the new floor and every once in a while throw down some Comet on the new sink
How we divide these tasks is a mystery to me. I might do laundry and fix breakfast one day and Erin might mow the lawn or wash the car the next. And then the next time those duties come up, we switch. Basically, carry your weight or there will be trouble. Luckily there’s never been too much trouble.
Whether a job is traditionally done by a man or a woman has never factored in. The only job Erin won’t do, for some reason, is order pizza over the phone.
What started as a straight egalitarian approach to marriage has evolved. One moment I was barbecuing – the only cooking deemed acceptable by the manliest of men – the next I am looking up recipes for stuffed flounder. One moment Erin is painting the bathroom, the next she is snaking a clogged bathtub drain.
This philosophy of ours reached a level of absurdity over the weekend. Not thinking anything out of the ordinary was taking place, Erin and I went about separate activities. But then it suddenly donned on me: I was in the kitchen finely chopping an onion for a homemade tartar sauce while Erin was busy working with plumbing fixtures and hanging cement board in a shower renovation project she had embarked upon.
For a moment I had to set the mincing knife aside, take off my apron, sit down and think. OK I wasn't really wearing an apron, but I tried to understand how I was in the kitchen preparing sauces and batters while my wife swung a hammer in a gutted bathroom.
How did it get to this point? We had somehow gone as far as embracing a complete male/female role reversal. Being married for 8 years, it's not something that has happened over night. But it got a major boost this summer, when we moved to Connecticut and bought a house.
Generally our house is in great condition for being built in 1927. It's not a fixer-upper, as some in the renovation community might say, but has a few areas here and there that could be improved upon if a person either had the money to pay to have it done or had the desire to do it themselves.
Erin falls into the latter category. Always one with a hankering for DIY, this was her chance to take on some projects. Her first big project was the guest bathroom. This involved in part, ripping out the old sink, counter and shower and then rebuilding everything from scratch, newer, bigger, better. I pledged my support from the start, embracing her new hobby.
But I was clear on one thing: If she was going to become a home improver, it was her deal, not mine. If she wanted to spend her weekends ripping up tile, grouting, painting, soldering and making countless trips to Lowe's, then she was certainly entitled. But just because it's normally men who improve homes, I shouldn't be forced to contribute. Sure I would jump in for the heavy lifting or be around for the occasional task that required two people. She is fine with this.
My shunning of home improvement came down to one issue: I don't enjoy it. I would much rather spend my free time hiking, reading, watching movies or writing. Being roped into episodes of "Flip That House" before embarking on a grueling plumbing project sounds like the kind of activity I would take up if I were sent to prison. I shutter just hearing Erin use DIY slang like "rip" for cutting wood with a power saw, or "demo" instead of the cumbersome "demolition" or "hit" to describe anything that can be done quickly (you can hit a wall with paint, a board with screws or a tub with caulk, among other things.)
While this provides reason for Erin's non-traditional behavior, when it comes to my actions I can only offer the excuse that it's not unheard of for men to be into serious cooking. I mean, look at all those male celebrity chefs (OK, this is not good for my case as a Google search for "Flamboyant chef" returned 397,000 hits).
Looking ahead, I see our non-traditional roles become more non-traditional. Because if Erin insists on rewiring outlets, unclogging drains and installing new sinks, the least I can do is serve her cold lemonade and whip up a decent meal for when she takes a break. And once she is done with her bathroom renovation, it will be my job to clean the new shower, mop the new floor and every once in a while throw down some Comet on the new sink
Friday, October 13, 2006
Thoughts on eye patches
I recently discovered why pirates and sailors are always shown wearing eye patches. You're probably thinking it has something to do with those bowed machetes pirates enjoy brandishing or perhaps just some hard living on the open seas. But you'd be wrong.
Turns out it has nothing to do with injured or defective eyes. Ah, maybe it's something with the eye patch helping them look through a telescope. Again, incorrect.
Here's the deal: Often times on a boat, a captain would have to go from the bright light of day above deck to the dank darkness below deck and quickly performing critical maneuvers. When going below deck, he removes the eye patch and has one eye that is instantly accustomed to darkness.
They may have been barbaric and slovenly, but when it comes to quickly acclimating one eye to darkness, pirates were a brilliant group of seamen.
This raised some further issues regarding eye patches.
Have eye patches ever been portrayed in a non-maritime-related movie for reasons other than a) an easy way to identify a villain; b) an easy way to identify a lunatic; or c) used as some sort of metaphor for shortsightedness?
The answer, simply, is no. This is certainly unfair as I'm sure there are some standout citizens out there who wear eye patches. However, when encountering someone with an eye patch in real life, the initial reaction is to think they are somewhat sinister.
I remember in high school there was one teacher who was known as "the crazy Vietnam vet" and then there was another teacher known as "the teacher with the eye patch." For most of my high school years, I assumed these two teachers were one and the same. In hindsight, I have to admit it makes such perfect sense. Now that I think of it, there was also a teacher with an artificial arm that had a hook on the end. He might've have been the crazy Vietnam vet. Or he might have been the teacher with the eye patch. Or maybe it's all the same guy, I'm not quite sure.
Thinking further, at what point does someone wearing an eye patch go from creepy to intriguing? What kind of position do you have to be in where an eye patch not only doesn’t hurt you but somehow elevates your status?
Certainly anyone in a creative field. You could play classical guitar, write sestinas or illustrate comic books, it wouldn't matter. But let's say you're a sculptor and you work with metal. You've got some talent and have established a bit of a following. You appear at art fairs around the country and do reasonably well. You're one of thousands of artists making work that is slightly different but somewhat indistinguishable from the next guy. In the end, we've all seen abstract curvature, kinetics and iridescent finishes.
Take that same artist, the same work and give him an eye patch. He goes from being gifted and determined to becoming a guru, a genius, a myth. He goes from being that promising sculptor from Minneapolis to being that distinguished, visionary sculptor with the eye patch with an inspired creative spirit.
On the opposite end, say you’re a middle manager wearing a short-sleeved dress shirt and a stained tie working for a struggling communications company looking to hire a low-level accounts supervisor. You've already interviewed four people for the job, none of them terribly impressive. You have one interview left and you're really hoping that this one comes through. When that guy walks through the door with an eye patch, you have to admit you're a little disappointed. The eye patch is simply a variable you hadn't prepared for.
Now say the job comes down to two people, all things are equal except one has an eye patch. Whether you like it or not, that eye patch comes into play. If you hire the guy with the eye patch, it's because you consciously decided that the eye patch was irrelevant to the job at hand. Either that or you hire him simply because you couldn't not hire him because of the eye patch.
Who knows, despite initial reactions, perhaps an eye patch tends to help instead of hurt.
I can, however, think of one occupation where an eye patch is bad every time: Ice cream man. If you are driving an ice cream truck through a neighborhood looking for children to buy popsicles and gum and you're wearing an eye patch, fully expect your sales to fall by at least 60 percent. They'll fall by 75 percent if you have an eye patch and a fake arm with a hook. If you have an eye patch, a hook and you're a crazy Vietnam veteran, you just might be teaching high school somewhere.
Turns out it has nothing to do with injured or defective eyes. Ah, maybe it's something with the eye patch helping them look through a telescope. Again, incorrect.
Here's the deal: Often times on a boat, a captain would have to go from the bright light of day above deck to the dank darkness below deck and quickly performing critical maneuvers. When going below deck, he removes the eye patch and has one eye that is instantly accustomed to darkness.
They may have been barbaric and slovenly, but when it comes to quickly acclimating one eye to darkness, pirates were a brilliant group of seamen.
This raised some further issues regarding eye patches.
Have eye patches ever been portrayed in a non-maritime-related movie for reasons other than a) an easy way to identify a villain; b) an easy way to identify a lunatic; or c) used as some sort of metaphor for shortsightedness?
The answer, simply, is no. This is certainly unfair as I'm sure there are some standout citizens out there who wear eye patches. However, when encountering someone with an eye patch in real life, the initial reaction is to think they are somewhat sinister.
I remember in high school there was one teacher who was known as "the crazy Vietnam vet" and then there was another teacher known as "the teacher with the eye patch." For most of my high school years, I assumed these two teachers were one and the same. In hindsight, I have to admit it makes such perfect sense. Now that I think of it, there was also a teacher with an artificial arm that had a hook on the end. He might've have been the crazy Vietnam vet. Or he might have been the teacher with the eye patch. Or maybe it's all the same guy, I'm not quite sure.
Thinking further, at what point does someone wearing an eye patch go from creepy to intriguing? What kind of position do you have to be in where an eye patch not only doesn’t hurt you but somehow elevates your status?
Certainly anyone in a creative field. You could play classical guitar, write sestinas or illustrate comic books, it wouldn't matter. But let's say you're a sculptor and you work with metal. You've got some talent and have established a bit of a following. You appear at art fairs around the country and do reasonably well. You're one of thousands of artists making work that is slightly different but somewhat indistinguishable from the next guy. In the end, we've all seen abstract curvature, kinetics and iridescent finishes.
Take that same artist, the same work and give him an eye patch. He goes from being gifted and determined to becoming a guru, a genius, a myth. He goes from being that promising sculptor from Minneapolis to being that distinguished, visionary sculptor with the eye patch with an inspired creative spirit.
On the opposite end, say you’re a middle manager wearing a short-sleeved dress shirt and a stained tie working for a struggling communications company looking to hire a low-level accounts supervisor. You've already interviewed four people for the job, none of them terribly impressive. You have one interview left and you're really hoping that this one comes through. When that guy walks through the door with an eye patch, you have to admit you're a little disappointed. The eye patch is simply a variable you hadn't prepared for.
Now say the job comes down to two people, all things are equal except one has an eye patch. Whether you like it or not, that eye patch comes into play. If you hire the guy with the eye patch, it's because you consciously decided that the eye patch was irrelevant to the job at hand. Either that or you hire him simply because you couldn't not hire him because of the eye patch.
Who knows, despite initial reactions, perhaps an eye patch tends to help instead of hurt.
I can, however, think of one occupation where an eye patch is bad every time: Ice cream man. If you are driving an ice cream truck through a neighborhood looking for children to buy popsicles and gum and you're wearing an eye patch, fully expect your sales to fall by at least 60 percent. They'll fall by 75 percent if you have an eye patch and a fake arm with a hook. If you have an eye patch, a hook and you're a crazy Vietnam veteran, you just might be teaching high school somewhere.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Tall for a woman
The other day I was doing some thinking about Erin's height. This came after I had described her to someone as being "tall for a woman." With the average height for women being 5 feet 3 ½ inches, she is tall for a woman standing at 5 feet 10 inches. However, I realized that the part about "for a woman" was key. Because, compared to men, she is not tall. If she were, say, 6-foot-3, she would be tall not only for a woman, but for a man as well. And she would probably wear 36x36 jeans, which is quite frightening.
This led me to another thought. Since men are taller on average than women – the national average for a man is 5-foot-9 – what if I figured out how tall Erin would be if she were a guy? And please, quell your instincts to associate my thoughts with some suppressed desire wishing Erin were not female.
Here's what I did: Using some basic ratios, I compared Erin's height to the height of the average American female, which Erin is roughly 7 inches taller than, then compared that height to the height of the average American man.
I have discovered that, when controlling for the height disparities innate to the human species in regard to gender, Erin would be a gangly 6-foot-4 ½ if she were not born with the misfortune of being female.
That is quite tall, I would say. And having three older brothers who range somewhere between 6-foot-3 and 6-foot-5, her being 6-foot-4 ½ wouldn't be abnormal in her lofty family.
What did I do with this information? I told her to immediately call her 6-foot-3 brother to stick it to him that he was the shortest sibling in the family.
(For the record, I would be a boring 5-foot-7 if I were a woman.)
This led me to another thought. Since men are taller on average than women – the national average for a man is 5-foot-9 – what if I figured out how tall Erin would be if she were a guy? And please, quell your instincts to associate my thoughts with some suppressed desire wishing Erin were not female.
Here's what I did: Using some basic ratios, I compared Erin's height to the height of the average American female, which Erin is roughly 7 inches taller than, then compared that height to the height of the average American man.
I have discovered that, when controlling for the height disparities innate to the human species in regard to gender, Erin would be a gangly 6-foot-4 ½ if she were not born with the misfortune of being female.
That is quite tall, I would say. And having three older brothers who range somewhere between 6-foot-3 and 6-foot-5, her being 6-foot-4 ½ wouldn't be abnormal in her lofty family.
What did I do with this information? I told her to immediately call her 6-foot-3 brother to stick it to him that he was the shortest sibling in the family.
(For the record, I would be a boring 5-foot-7 if I were a woman.)
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