Saf-T Bears

Mr. Savior told me about a man who has spent the last ten years testing “bear proof” suits by having himself pummeled by large logs, run over by vehicles, and plunged under water.

One wonders why and how a log is an effective test for the ravages of bears, which tend not, when attacking, to ram people with their heads at full speed. Nor do they (bears) trample their victims. In fact, Mighty Isis is given to understand that mauling is the preferred method of bear attack, followed by “head bite with vigorous shaking,” which comes in a close second and, apparently, provides employment to the more advanced and skillful reconstructive surgeons. Of course, testing with actual bears might pose hazards…or upset the SPCA, which would not do.

What possible solution could there be to such a dilemma?

The Saf-T Bear. Unlike Saf-T pops, which Mighty Isis fears have been associated with a choking hazard in the target marketing group of children under the age of 5 years, the Saf-T Bear might be a useful addition to the project of bear proofing.

Just think of the myriad Saf-T Bears that could grace test labs across the country:

“Snuggy” a life-size motorized Black Bear look model covered in a lifelike acrylic fur substitute.

“Bumpy” A larger-than-life Grizzly model, with padded tummy and large rubber wheels instead of feet.

“Swimmy” The Polar Bear model, equipped with a robot brain programmed to drag bear proof suits under water. Default release in 3 minutes.

“Chewy” A large, furry Saf-T model with blunted, rubberized teeth and large oven mitts sewn over its claws.

“Scratchy” The Saf-T clawed bear, wearing a muzzle and soft, padded, melamine claw guards.

Screaming Bloody Murder

Many small children have incredible lung volume. Some can screech without voice fluctuation at high decibels for what seems like many minutes, or even hours (despite the fact that the average lung capacity of a child would sustain only up to 15 seconds of such behavior between breaths), over small problems, such as being unable to reach a drinking fountain, running out of ice cream, or being given a plate shaped like a panda rather than a giraffe.

Mr. Floppy has suggested that such a “bloody murder” strategy could be useful at business meetings.

Hmmm…

But is it de rigueur to shout in business settings?

After conducting extensive research, including watching the opening 10 minutes of The Incredibles, Mighty Isis finds that such behavior is common in big business. Ten years of experience in industry supports this stance. Much screaming, does, in fact go on in the business meeting. Generally, however, business types are not yelling about the giraffe plates, which makes a solution a bit more complex than with tiny tots.

Perhaps business people should each be issued a package of marshmallow peeps at each meeting. If everything is running smoothly, the marshmallows can be returned to the meeting organizer. If things get sticky, however, participants can pelt troublemakers with the peeps and let these bastions of marshmallowy goodness decide the outcome.

A savvy marketer would order peeps in the company or product colors.

Think of the possibilities.

Age appropriateness

I highly amused my friends last summer by pointing out that any type of obnoxious/troublesome/weird behavior in toddlers could be managed by deciding that it's "age appropriate." I won't get into the fact that it's truly unfortunate that squealing nonstop for 3 hours or chewing up marshmallow peeps and applying them to the bedroom wall fall into this category of behavior.

NB: My friends' daughter doesn't do anything even half so "charming" (read: "antisocial") as bedroom decor peeplication and I've only heard her squeal for about 14 seconds at a clip. She's adorable.

This week, I got to thinking about age-appropriate behavior in adults. For example, my brother gave me a dinosaur pop-up book for my birthday. It's a cool one, and I now have both an office copy and a home copy. Last Christmas, my best friend gave me a pink folder with a spinner that reads "What would a unicorn do?" And someone else has been giving me Smurfs.

Could it be that I'm age inappropriate?

Cautiously optimistic

A very wise boss introduced me to the idea of being “cautiously optimistic.” It’s a good thing, in general, because it encourages you to think positively while still maintaining a modicum of realism. This is, apparently, the best mode of attack in the field of medical publishing.

At the time, I tended to be Realistic to the point of depression, rather like Eeyore on a sedative. I got over it (thank goodness), but it wouldn’t have been possible without cautious optimism. How else could you say, “well, hopefully it will turn out fine, but I’m still preparing in case we have a crisis.”


Things I have been cautiously optimistic about in the past few weeks:

• The 54” TV will fit in my mother’s minivan
• I will be able to afford to go to Europe this year
• The cute star lights from Ikea are around here somewhere
• My weed whacker will turn up
• I can figure out how to pick strawberries
• Black Smurfs will not invade my kitchen, wreaking havoc on my domestic tranquility
• I will find my plane tickets before I have to go to Tempe.

Preparations I have made in case of downturns:

• Not needing a 54” television
• Pricing creme brulee torches
• Cleaning the closet
• Making e-reservations in case I lose the paper tickets

"Blanderpants"

Kissmiley, an intelligent and accomplished woman of my acquaintance, has suggested that certain underpants could be construed as "bland." (see "what would Habermas say?" below)And, despite my understanding that boring undergarments are useful and create a clean line on outside clothing, I thought "How sad to buy bland underpants."

I personally like unbland underpants. In fact, I have some that are only good for sleeping in because they have a flowered ruffle around the waistband, which would show under most clothes.

Which brings me to Kissmiley's second point, that the eurowasher (see "euro front-load washer" in June) is a better choice for cleansing "funderpants," a term I'm now coining to describe cute but not-too-functional undergarments, because of the gentle wash cycle. Hmmm... perhaps "blanderpants" (or boring underwear) are a better choice for the US and those of us using the US washer.

Of Black Smurfs and Ikea

I found two black Smurfs in my kitchen. One was atop the microwave, comingling promiscuously with a group of plastic dinosaurs (innocent plant-eaters, no less) and looking dramatically out of scale, while the other was perched on my new razr phone--I normally find technology to be highly suspect, but for some inexplicable reason I always (read: "once before this") buy really flashy cell phones.

As is my wont in times of stress, I decided that consulting a reference book (a la Hermione Granger) would be the best course of action. I faced two problems here:

1. does a Smurf comic book count as a "reference source"?
2. why on earth did I buy the French language versions when I was at the musee de bande desinee...oh...never mind

I've only read the black Smurf episode en francais(see problem #2), so the finer plot points elude me. And, as I indicated in problem #1, I'm not sure that this is even a reliable reference source.

This situation is overall quite worrisome because I'm not sure if I should be looking for white flowers before the dinosaurs turn black and start shrieking "gnap" while rampaging across the counter top to menace my spice jars and paper towel dispenser, or I should be reassured because, after all, they are all made of plastic and would most likely just sit there being plasticky.

And even if attacked, paper towel dispensers can be pretty sturdy. Mine is a one-piece pointy plastic number from Ikea (see "comfort zone" post below) and it's much larger than the dinosaurs. It's also multilingual, if its helpful explanatory markings are to be believed, which should help it communicate with the Smurfs and the dinosaurs. Unless the Smurfs bite it and it becomes infected and I come home to a house full of hysterical plasticware shrieking "gnap" and possibly painting itself blue.

How to handle? Well, in The Transformers (2007), which I saw the other night, the army guys discover that evil burrowing scorpion-type transforming robot shooty-killing things can be melted at extremely high temperatures, even if conventional Earth weaponry only dents them.

Maybe I should buy a creme brulee torch on the way home...

New (to me) shoes

A dear friend gave me a pair of shoes that were too big for her. Cool shoes. Danskos. Orange with little swirlies. Other professors were jealous (at least discursively), and not just of the shoes, but of having a friend who would share them so generously.

Ordinarily, I would never wear someone else's shoes, but for this friend I do, and wear them gratefully.

Cheez doodle love -or- "It's not easy being cheesy" takes on a new meaning

Is true love buying Cheez Doodles (which are a registered trademark of the Wise corporation)? Or is it being willing to let your partner eat snacks without having to share them? Or even buying snacks you would ordinarily eschew because your partner likes them?

Perhaps. Or is it:

• being wiling to let your partner ____ without having to influence them?
• doing something (hopefully benign) that you would ordinarily avoid?
• expanding your comfort zone to include him/her?

Literary and ecclesiastical sources tell us many things about love being patient, kind, slow to anger, full of poesy and/or celestial light, and sublimely beautiful. They don't always say that much about love remembering to pick up toothpaste on the way home, saying that it's sorry it snapped at you while it was stressing about its flight, putting the new spool of plastic cord into your weed whacker, or buying a little present "just because." Cheez Doodles certainly don't feature in this literary milieu, possibly because of the "z" which is technically a spelling error masquerading as a trademark, or more likely because they were not mass-produced until well after Shakespeare wrote "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"

The comfort zone

We all have comfort zones. At least, I think we do.

My current comfort zones include:

• Ikea
• my couch
• the Louvre
• the post office where Ted works
• Brussels
• the cute scone place

Outside of my comfort zone:

• Charles de Gaulle airport
• Toronto customs
• that weird jug handle in Conshohocken
• NJ rtes 1&9
• the deli by Chris's house
• Loews

Of course, these are geographic locations. Other comfort zone criteria can include (or not) certain activities, people, or circumstances. Like, the cute scone place may not be 100% comfortable while your friend is complaining that the soup is not bland enough and you're trying to eat a fancy scone without crumbling it to bits because the butter is a little too hard. Or, Charles de Gaulle may actually be pretty fun if you're there with the cool medical director in the good duty-free shopping area and Benetton is having a sale.

I spend a lot of time outside of my comfort zone. Most of my work days, for example, giving talks, writing essays, and even trying unsuccessfully to change the light bulb on the front porch are all "stretch" activities for me. Only recently have I come to understand that most people don't live like this.

A friend (OK, a super cool, dear, important, friend) spent yesterday morning with me well outside of his comfort zone. Then he tried on shirts in the store. Men hate this. And who can blame them? Isn't that why men's clothes are all measured in inches? He looked cute and uncomfortable. And I wondered, is that how I look when I give a talk? Or do I just look tense?

What would Habermas say?

A friend, whom I consider one of the most accomplished and intelligent people on earth, recently revealed the color of her new underwear while eating tasty guacamole at a party in Cambridge. Discussion ensued as to whether beige thongs would look too risque hanging on a clothes line in the UK after she used her new eurowasher (see "eurowasher" post, below for background).

Obviously, among adults, such garments are chiefly for personal amusement, and creating a clean line on outside clothing. Thus, I'd keep my new purchases in the house rather than hanging them outside, even if I did have to use a little euro washer.

However, children seem to have quite a different view on underpants. In fact, when dropping toddlers off at day care during the critical stages of potty training, one is often treated to a mesmerizing view of new cartoon character underpants being proudly displayed to the toddler peer group. Spiderman and Rainbow Brite: Together again. And the children cavort happily before story time...

Which reminds me of Cameron Diaz's little character underpants dance in one of the Charlie's Angels movies. It has a quality that's a bit more grown up than nursery school. Sure, it's more whimsical and less sultry than Elizabeth Taylor lounging around in her slip in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. On the surface, this suggests a childike innocence in a woman wearing cartoon panties, but Cameron Diaz is generally regarded as a beautiful and desirable woman, which leaves me wondering about the public and private implications of cartoon character underpants in Hollywood film.

The euro front-load washer

I recently attented not one, but two, fun parties inhabited by rather intimidatingly intelligent and accomplished people. Apparently, the Ivy League set is fascinated by those cute European front-load washers. I think they're cute.

These washers have many advantages. For one thing, they are much more power- and water-saving than US models. However, the more darling EU washers take forever to get your clothes clean. It's also really difficult to fit large items, like towels and pillows, into the most efficient and cutest eurowashers, which perhaps explains why the towels are so small in those charming Parisian hotels with the wrought iron balcony railings.

The other drawback to the efficient and adorable washer, at least in the EU, is that clothes driers are not de rigeur. In fact, one should hang one's clothes out to dry on the line, which means that one's underpants are exposed to view.

As a person with a relatively rigorous screeening process for who sees my underpants, I find this prospect disturbing.

Criteria for husbands

Yesterday, in Boston at a party inhabited solely by very smart people, I learned some important criteria for husbands. These criteria appear to exist in sets, such as: British, bad teeth, does the laundry; male, circumcised, and Catholic (but not a priest); Brazilian, rides a bicycle, has nice shoes; above 180 cm, uses pet names, has a "foreign" accent (American OK) but doesn't carry a dictionary; small belly (via liposuction OK), dark olive skin, not bald.... Hmmm... these criteria seem to all be in triples, which puts me in mind of "Nick at Night." But is this the best place for modelling a husband? Ozzie Nelson would perhaps be too boring. And his obsession with the Kodak Brownie and tutti fruti ice cream could be wearing....and what's with that bathrobe, anyway?

Another theme that arose was the putative need for personal space among men who grew up in rural Pennsylvania. My idea is that you don't invade their personal space without a clear invitation, particularly when you meet them at work. And especially when they wear black patent leather shoes after Labor Day. Of course, if they ask you out for Japanese food and give you plastic dinosaurs, then maybe you could risk a chaste smooch.