Something So Very Y

It's that little something we girls don't have.

For such a small chromosome, it carries a lot of information. There's the usual stuff like testosterone and all the equipment that is required for maleness, and then there's the hardwiring that makes guys feel uncomfortable with pastel colors, arty films and light dinners that are salad and soup. These unspoken extras that come with the transfer of a Y chromosome from Man to conceived man, are part of a world that we as women, lacking that essential "Y"ness, can't quite grasp.

This otherness is best explained by example. The Y ensures that men eschew the mall, buy things in bulk like three 20 quart bottles of Ragu packaged together and can listen to sports other than baseball on the radio without the assistance of chemical stimulants.

Y also carries with it, the secrets of the humor of the three stooges, successful war strategies for games online, and how to watch movies about people on submarines with enthusiasm. People with Y chromosomes bought Iron Man comic books before the movie was even considered.

Lest anyone think I'm stereotyping, I have been told, by those in the Y club, that I'd make a pretty good candidate if I weren't a girl. I'm more comfortable at a football stadium than an art museum and have been apparently, though I'm not admitting anything, witnessed to accidentally nod off at a symphony but never a ball game.

Still, the Y chromosome carries with it unknown elements. Free radical personality traits that latch onto perfectly reasonable males and thus render individuals incomprehensible to those lacking this essential bit of DNA sequencing with Yness before maturation, perhaps the most confusing of all.

A young Y owning human can wear the same shirt to bed he wore for the day and then come down saying "I'm dressed." still wearing the same wardrobe. A young Y can come home with a bad grade and five minutes after snack ask, "Can I go see a movie tonight? It's the opening for the latest...insert summer blockbuster Y movie here of your choice" A young Y is puzzled that bacon is not served daily, or that women folk get irritated when the carton of orange juice is put back in the refrigerator with a measurable two teaspoons left. "I put the juice away Mom." they volunteer helpfully.

Still, we love these genetically different creatures of the same genotype. They remove mice and mow the lawns and even hall screaming toddlers off to bed. They offer to grill food and have been known to organize games of Capture the flag and sometimes the sub movies are watchable. I go upstairs to turn off the stereo of my oldest Y offspring. It is blaring James Bond instrumentals for the Trombone. Walking in, I see his sleeping form and smile. Turning off the stereo, I spot a large three gallon bottle of Deer Park in the middle of the floor.

I shouldn't be surprised. This has happened before. We have had discussions about leaving large vats of H20 in the middle of the room when he has his own private bathroom with a working sink just five feet away.

"Y son? Y?" is all I can think.

I AM A GPS...

Now a days, every rental car has one of these Tom Toms or Guardians that is designed to eliminate the age eternal battle that goes on between the driver and the designated draftee navigator. With one of these babies on board, you can Tom Tom Cruise to your destination, and no wacky side trips to Oprah's couch are necessary.

Thanks to GPS's, these conversations are a thing of the past.

"Where are we going?"
"To your brother's house."

"Where do I turn?"
"You go North."

"No. Where do I turn."
"You don't turn for another forty minutes. Just go north."

"Where do I TURN?"
Sigh. "You turn right."

"Which exit?"

Getting out the map, the subbordinate counts the exits. "I think it's sixteen."

"You THINK? or you KNOW?" Takes map, in two seconds, "It's here." Points at map, is dead on, "Number 18. I thought so."


"If you knew..."

The conversation reads more like a defendant's interrogation in a bad law show than a dialogue between two people who would willingly consent to be in the same vehicle.


GPS's have helped lower the collective blood pressure of couples everywhere. Bliss is just a button push away. The disembodied voice supplies the information, no one gets mad and the machine never says, "I told you to turn left at the Exxon station exit but you..." A whole venue for passive aggression has been nearly universally eliminated from the emotional landscape of America. Dr. Phil has taken to trolling area hospitals for Brittany Spears melt downs, as the number of couples in marital trouble have dropped procipitously.

People listen to GPS's. The GPS's tell them where to go. The GPS's tell them what to do. The people do what the GPS says.


...I want to be a GPS.

Then I realized, for my family. I am the GPS or rather, the MPS. (Maternal Property Seeker).

Currently, I am the chief finder of all objects big and small, important and profound, paper and plastic. Mom is the great refuge for those unwilling to search or unable to find their important papers, toys, uniform pieces and necessary accessories.

Tom Tom, meet Mom Mom.

"Mom! Mom! I can't find my knitting!" Daughter is learning to sew in art class, currently making a hat or maybe a yellow tribble, she hasn't made up her mind.

"You left it in the TV room on the bookshelf near the top. Your library books on Copernicus were under it."

"Oh yeah."


"Mom! Mom! I can't find my silver shoes and I wanted to wear them to Christine's Princess Party this afternoon."

"I think I saw your younger sister wearing one of them in the study, so check under the blankets she left there as a tent, and the other one is in the far right pocket of the pool table, under the eight ball."

"Mom! Mom! I can't find my cell phone! I tried calling it but I put it on vibrate for Church this morning and..."

"Your phone is in our bathroom charging. You left it in my car when you brought in the doughnuts."


Mom-Mom can beat Tom-Tom most days. Most clients are satisfied with the speed and accuracy of information an MPS can provide. Testimonials include locating the Cub Scout manual and hat, the remaining box of diaper wipes, a set of car keys, two basketball uniforms, the science review sheet, socks, six shoes, a hair brush, nail clippers and a wallet all in one day.

Further investigation proves that MPS has only had one customer complaint.

Mom-Mom was completely ineffective when Sherry lost her purse.

Sauce for the Goose...

For all the pieces out there about men being similar to trees when it comes to gift giving, the unspoken super criminal of gift giving is “us.”

Seriously.

We’ve all flunked at least one Christmas where the poor husband got socks. Socks! If we got socks for Christmas, we’d stew for months. It would be the stuff of legend. There would be flaming emails and calls so prolific as to melt the entire eastern seaboard’s communication grid. All males in the family would have to go into witness protection program or engage in a self flogging reeducation camp on proper presents just to insure such an experience would never happen again...ever.

Part of the problem is Men’s stores; you go in there and see what...drab clothing. Golf clubs, the smell of wallets. Fun times. These uninspired shops continue to exist because we’ve allowed it. We've enabled them to continue. We go to the mall with the best of intentions…we know our guy. So we think, we’ve got time and ooh look, there’s a sale on capes. I need a new cloak. Okay, now to business! Look at that, I’ve been needing some new gold hoops and maybe some make up since it’s bonus time. Hey, the salon isn’t crowded. I’ll just squeeze in a haircut.

Oh geez! I haven’t shopped for my love and I’m running out of time, I’ll just duck into the department store and…What did I buy him?

That year, I was in rare form. He got a red sweater, new socks, The A team third year complete season and a gourmet Chocolate bar (and one for me). Not my finest moment as a wife.

It is testimony to his great love that I still get presents.

I wish to sever this disfunctional relationship with the Men's store, to stop being co-dependent with those indifferent purveyors of "Y" chromosone geared presents.

Having racked my brains for an appropriate way to categorize Male gifts that are Gift Worthy, that knock their not so new socks off, I decided to consult an expert.

I ASKED MY HUSBAND…

After he recovered from the shock, here are the secret top ten gift giving ideas with helpful tips on the side for Men.

10) Clothing that looks like what we already wear –We do not accessorize and we hate to shop, so if you get us a nice shirt or a jersey from our favorite team, this is cool. Note: Other than for sporting teams, we don’t wear red. Don’t buy red. Don’t expect us to wear red if you do. It will be regifted to a younger brother as soon as we reach the post office or we’ll mumble gratefully “thanks” and then said sweater will always be at the dry cleaners or in storage somewhere.

9) Electronic gadgets –oddly enough, this is not as big a hit as you might think. Unless it is compatible with what already exists or we’re proficient with technology and some of us aren’t, these gifts are a source of frustration. We don’t want things that require reading directions. We don’t like directions. We don’t ask for them and we don’t like having to use them to operate a television.

On the flip side, brainless technology is also a bad call. Robo dogs that need walking? Talk about fuzzy logic! Look, it’s not real but you still have to devote time and energy to it; no thank you. Stores pimp gadgets with batteries included for men. Real men see through this as a blatant appeal to women, buy this and you’re done! Look Honey, I bought you a laser pointer. Isn’t it neat? Um…I think the robo dog needs to go for a walk.

8) Tickets. Like you, we’re busy. We don’t want to have to plan things. Buy two for a concert or a play or a show you KNOW we’d like or a game and set up the date. It will impress us you gave so much time to our relationship. If it’s a sporting event, make sure you’re mentally psyched for going because having an indulgence for a present isn’t fun. (A fun way for YOU to get us a planner we won’t buy, is to get the tickets and put the date with the tickets in the planner. But let us know to look, because otherwise, getting a planner for us is the equivalent of getting an ironing board. Whee.)

7) If we need a new watch, you can buy this. Otherwise, steer clear of men’s jewelry. We don’t accessorize. Even if we’re vegetarians, we still dress and focus on life in a meat and potatoes kind of way. One watch. Works for Day. Works for Night. Works for Dress and Casual. No rings. No necklaces. Nada. We’re men for crying out loud!

6) On the subject of needs: If our brief case, jacket or wallet looks drab or worn, this is an okay place to splurge and get us an upgrade, just make sure we won’t feel silly with it. As stated above, we don’t like shopping, even for us.

5) Channel your hunter gatherer skills for shopping. Watch and learn, track your subject and then move in for the kill. For example, books: We don’t’ want to know how we communicate. We don’t like having to work at just talking. Humor books also strike a false note, even if written by guys we like, as those get dated fast, one read and they’re done. Magazines? Be careful. Most guys don’t subscribe to GQ or Men’s Day type magazines. We do subscribe to SI and Time and Newsweek and National Geographic. Want us to read more? Go to a book store and watch to see what men pick up, peek at the selections and see if you’ve got a fit, then pounce!

4) No guy says they have a hobby. We have collections and obsessions, not hobbies –stamps, baseball cards, coins, model trains, fantasy football, movies and star trek. If we like golfing, we like golfing, it’s not a hobby. Got that? Good. Now, if we like doing something, get something for us we like doing. Just don’t write “For your hobby, hubby” on the card.

3) Homemade gifts…unless you’re really good at it, and even then it’s dicey. It’s not like we collect or appreciate quilts and as good as your pumpkin bread may be…well, we’ll appreciate the time and effort…but homemade promises…those work better. For example: a scrap book works! A sappy poem does not. We begin to cringe with the opening line, “My heart’s song transcends the stars…” A coupon for a one hour foot rub from you works! From the spa…well, most guys I know aren’t signing up on Saturday for a pedicure.

2) Food. There is no love so sincere. However, chocolate is not our go to of choice, it’s yours. Besides, we KNOW if we get chocolate, we’re going to have to share. Fruit of the month, well, it’s nice and we might be surprised by how much we like it…Wine of the month –better. A smoked turkey. Excellent. Imported stuff, Prime Steaks. Now You’re talking! Dessert of the Month –okay, you got us there. (Gift cards to restaurants however, do NOT work. They feel like a prepaid nag to go out). Take us to a place you discovered you know we’d love, that’s a date!

Food related items should be 1) high quality, 2) functional 3) not require additional high quality functional items. A Barbeque Grill tool set does not work well without the Barbeque grill. It’s like an empty jewelry box.

1) Affection and Attention. We like back rubs and unexpected kisses. We like a peaceful home. We want to come home to a woman that is delighted to see us not because of what we can do as relief pitchers with the kids or the chores, but because we are simply there. Forgive us our foolishness and abandon some of your frustration, we don’t want you to swallow it because then it’s still inside. We want your enthusiastic presence for us more than anything.

Look, we brought flowers, silver and chocolate!

Merry Christmas!

Gift Giving Primer

Illuminations of the Heart A Gift Giving Primer…

A certain young man whose name is lost to the ages drove five hours to spend a day over Christmas vacation with his girlfriend. It was a very heady thing for the family. They had spent the day ensuring the home sparkled and the meal would be perfect. He arrived, red faced from the cold as it was in the upper North East, bearing a beautifully wrapped small box.

Her face was breathless with anticipation as she opened her gift.

It was an antler candle.

Literally, a candle sculpted to look like the four pronged accessory of one of Santa’s eight.

Never has the soft falling of snow outside sounded louder than in the moments that followed.

In the interest of all young and not so young men out there who need to get something special for a female they treasure or hope to impress, the following is offered as a public service to givers of gifts everywhere, to promote relationship harmony whatever the reason or the season.

Women like things that are silver, red, sparkling, soft, chocolate, elegant and indicate the shopper spent some time reflecting on her specific personality. Please note men, buying one thing that is silver, red, sparkling, soft, chocolate and elegant is not physically possible, and even if it were, this is a present not a combo meal. Bad plan.

Top Ten Gift Giving Guide for Men Needing to Shop for Women as translated into sports metaphors wherever possible.

10) Fake Kicks seldom work.
Translation: Don’t give jewelry boxes unless there is something in them.

9) Look at the lady in question or visualize her and ask yourself, when would she read/use/wear this. If the image takes more than five seconds to conjure, put…the…present BACK.

If you buy it anyway, the kick is up and it’s no good!

8) You know how you’ve spent hours pouring over a fantasy football magazine to determine the best picks for the draft? We deserve as much time as the Tom Brady wantabes that come in the third and fourth round. This is not a fifteen minute stop off at the mall. Put together a sustained drive, spend the time on the clock and come up with a surefire winner.

7) Chocolates always work but not excessively or exclusively. A three pound jar of rasinettes does not qualify as a thoughtful present. Quoting Madden out of context: “The coach has to do a better job of mixing up the plays, otherwise the defense can just sit there and pounce pounce pounce and they’ won’t get anywhere.”

6) Don’t buy jackets for women –it’s the same principle that works for men –they have to fit and no two women are the same, so not every jacket hangs correctly. Think football. Shoulder pads have to fit. Ditto for hats, dresses and shoes. Getting the wrong size because it’s too big means you think we’re fat. Getting the wrong size because it’s too small means we are fat. Either way you lose. This is Sudden Death…Good luck.

5) Coupons for facials, hair cuts and manicures/pedicures are great. Gift certificates for electrolysis or waxings are dangerous even for seasoned veterans. Quote the Madden once more, “Hail Mary Passes work some of the times, but you’re always better off being able to put together a sustained drive, rather than hoping you can pull it out in the end. It’s a dangerous way to try to win the game.”

4) Guys, gift giving isn’t hard if you think of it as being like running the option play! Go to a Department store –and think inversely. The sections that one feels the least comfortable in are the sections probably most likely to elicit a favorable response from the female in question. (Crystal, Silver, Jewelry –good), (Sports goods, Bedding, Towels -not so much).

3) Appliances. Flag on the play! Even if you splurge and get them in red. Buying a spouse an iron for a gift is legal grounds for divorce in at least four states. You’ll be lucky if you get to repeat the down. Severe Holding penalties are more likely. Remember, they can almost always be called on every play.

2) Avoid stores that try to cater to pampering women with overly smelly salts and soaps. They also might signal to the thin skinned female, “You smell bad.” Consider this an offensive pass interference.

1) If all else fails, bring a related female, ask the related female. “Would you be excited if you received this as a gift?” Count the seconds to the response. If a lightning bolt would be more than five miles away… Penalty, too much time on the play, loss of down.

Next Episode, Shopping for Men, a translation for Women...

My Consuming Passion

Being something of a foodie, I get catalogues for all the high brow uber expensive special gourmet treats. Some of the offers available transcend even American standards for wretchedly indulgent excess. These glossy brochures wax rhapsodic about the food with such transparent joy as to promise a pre “the fall” experience of eating. Catching my beef eater son drooling over a Wagyu Kobe beef offer heartened me about his spiritual innocence, but also stiffened my resolve to recycle the catalogs as quickly as they came in the door. I didn’t want to hear the cacophony of “I want this…” that would come with allowing Wireless, William Somoma, Lillian Vernon, Brookstone, L.L. Bean and Leaps and Bounds Toys catalogues into my home on a perpetual basis.

This policy was strictly enforced until there came one devoted purely to chocolate. I had seen beauty before, but here was the brochure detailing a myriad of choices evoking my deepest passions. There were no sojourns by the purveyors of this most sacred of foods into the disappointing venue of baked goods or ice creams. This catalogue knew its audience and was singled minded in its pursuit of chocolate perfection. There were no cute shaped dinosaurs or Christmas trees; there were fillings of hazelnut, cherry cordial and fondant. Appreciating the priority of substance over form, I spirited the contraband brochure to my room for further study.

That night, I began to educate myself on the varieties of pure indulgence available. I even gave my husband a good back rub to lull him to sleep before sneaking a peak at my beloved. The buyers had scoured the globe for the best chocolate truffles (Teuschers), nibby bars (Scharffen Berger), fudge sauce(Elmer’s Fudge Sauce), hot chocolate shavings (Shokinag), not to mention standby’s like Lindt semi-sweet bars, Hershey’s syrup, and Recchiuti hand rolled truffles and hand cut chocolate. I could feel my mouth watering. I would say I was like a kid in a candy store, but that seems rather obvious.

I had a lap top. I had a catalog. I had a credit card.

But wait, maybe these words were just words. After all, being a writer myself, I understood the glory and the emotional power of good descriptions. Was this pure marketing? To be on the safe side, I googled each item individually to ascertain the truth. I didn’t want to fall for any expensive pretenders. Alas for me, each of them proved to have many a glowing testimony to their positions as certifiable wonders of the chocolate world.

This knowledge brought a whole new set of questions for me. Were these various treats experiences worth not simply buying, but saving for? Were these chocolates such that they might even be worth abstaining from all other chocolate to allow for a greater taste experience? Would ordering too many at once rob me of the true nature of their individual chocolate essences, deprive me of the transcendent nature of unique fine chocolates? Would multiple experiences cheapen my appreciation of them? Worse, what if they disappointed? I felt oddly guilty as I lingered over the order form, like I was acquiring not simply one but multiple mail order brides, preparing to purchase blindly, illicit things I already wanted to love.

After wrestling with my conscious and my budget, and for brief moments, my diet, I decided it was better to play the field. I’m still young I reasoned. I’d have a blind date a month and who knows, maybe one of the gourmet chocolates and I would hit it off fabulously and I’d agree to a second or third date, perhaps be ready for a more permanent commitment. I ennie meenie miney moed my choice and put the catalogue lovingly into my night stand dresser drawer.

The next day, a Lego’s, American girl, National Geographic, Signals and Back to Basic Toys catalogue arrived in the mail. I recognized my own hypocrisy and called the children to hand them out. It can’t hurt to look I reasoned. Besides, I could artfully leave the chocolate catalogue out on the piano in case the kids or their dad needs any hints this Christmas.

Front Cover Me Girl

Stuck at the dentist, I began looking at the headlines of multiple magazines at the same time. Thousands upon thousands of us purchase them month after month and year after year and it is quite possible that the magazines in question stopped writing actual copy back in 1980 and are just continually recycling past pieces with bright new shiny titles. Each magazine obsessed over fashion, trouble with men and how to eat excessive amounts of fattening food without gaining weight. They also revealed that we the readers were obsessing over these same things even if we didn’t know it yet.

According to these respected publications, today’s woman is supposed to be polished, organized, Zen like in her understanding of the earth, superb at balancing business and family life, fashionable, slim, thrifty, not to mention a gourmet chef that ensures everyone in the family gets plenty of sunshine, exercise and anti-oxidants. She is on the go but not stressed out, organized but not rigid, impeccably dressed but not vain, and self indulgent but in a good narcissistic sort of healthy way.

The pharmaceutical ads interspersed with these articles offered guarantees that we could experience nirvana even if our current reality failed to meet magazine expectations and that we should contact our doctor if we felt the slightest hint of a spiritual, physical or emotional malaise, real or imagined.

Apparently I am suffering from a dearth of desire for external medication. I’m sure there’s a pill for that too though.

Having thumbed through a few of these sagacious tomes, I have a slight quibble about the front covers. These covers always have one of two things on them, skinny women in elegant skimpy clothing, or gorgeous food. The skinny women obviously have never been allowed to view let alone eat the food shown on the fabulous covers. Perhaps once they hit the fossilized age of 20, they become the cooks for the magazine and are allowed to consume life sustaining amounts of processed carbohydrates and protein, not to mention sugar.

The food is always either meat or dessert. The meats portrayed are almost always steaks so perfect you want to go back down the aisles at the grocery store, find the identical selection of meat, spices and herbs and take it home to cook. Around November, Turkey shows up and maybe ham. You never see London broil on a front cover or chicken thighs.

When it is dessert, it is usually piled high and chocolate, or has that tri-color catch-your-eye-type-presentation because the chef used a few ripe raspberries and some fresh mint at the end to dress it up. No matter how few easy steps the cover screams it takes to make this simple no fuss always loved dessert, the actual process remains more complicated. It will however look just like the cover when you are done, just as surely as you look like the model on the other magazine’s cover if you buy the same dress.

Lastly, there is a question of which magazines offer Truth.

These reading tomes want our loyalty in the same way political parties, religious denominations and spouses do. They want a commitment, a subscription even, and possibly proselytizing by giving out subscriptions as gifts.

Do I want to seem Cosmopolitan, like the girls from Sex in the City, or like a cultured French woman and read Elle? Do I get my advice from Rosie, Martha or Oprah? Am I Today’s Woman, or a Working Woman or Working Mother? Am I confident of my SELF or in need of Shape? What am I missing out if I choose one over another? Am I turning a blind eye to the wisdom on female financial planning and weight loss in a week if I pick Redbook over Southern Living? Will I fail as a mother if I chose Child over Parents magazine?

As the hour ticked by and I waited for kids check ups to be over, I found myself pining for just one out of date issue of Grit or National Geographic. Digging through the piles, I finally found one. The cover was “Chocolate and why we love it.”

I am ashamed to admit, I took that one home.