Hang on, let’s everyone look at our watches for a second. It looks like the big hand is on the “Two Thousand” and the little hand is on the “Thirteen.”
Send him to the stars with Carter’s pajamas. Featuring dogs in space suits, planets, stars and other space graphics, these boys’ footed pajamas are perfect for your little astronaut.
Oh look, we first sent a woman to space FIFTY years ago. What else can’t little girls dream of being? Firefighters.* I’m sorry, firemen. Because, clearly.
He’ll be ready to fight fires in his dreams with Carter’s sleepwear. Featuring a smiling fire truck applique and striped design, these boys’ footed pajamas make the perfect bedtime outfit for your hero. In blue.
Eyeroll. Yeah, they’re just dumb old footie pajamas, the kid isn’t even awake most of the time they’re in them, but really that’s kind of the point. We have to gender even jammies? Still? In case you’re keeping score, puppies, robots, rockets, monsters, dinosaurs, and all zippy vehicles with exciting jobs are for boys, and girls get…butterflies. Oh, and castles!
Fairy princess! Silly me. They get a job to dream about after all.
*Frankie has some firetruck duds she’s waiting to grow into, so she can be awesome like Uncle The Bro. And maybe it seems dumb to get worked up about, little girls also get pink stuff and dresses and boys don’t — but that’s not a job. It’s not part of imagination or play or figuring out who to be. What am I going to say if she figures out the clothes are split — ballerinas on the left, cowboys on the right? Why shouldn’t she like dinosaurs? They’re pretty cool. Of course I say she can be and like ANY of those things, but… what if she asks why?
Trying to simultaneously decide if neon has gone back into hibernation and find a new pair of runners, I found that it seems like shoe designers have been mining the color palettes of yore. “Yore,” as it were, began in approximately 1988. That’s the only reason I can think to explain why you can’t walk two steps without running into a shoe that looks like it had another life in a decade far, far away…
(Victoria does a swankier (much better) version of this, the inspiration for the following pairs.)
New Balance/Speak & Spell
Nike/Peaches and Cream Barbie
And after all that looking? I got some new Sauconys — in much more muted tones, all ready for their long-run debut this weekend.
Hey, they can’t be too loud, I won’t be able to hear my tunes.
“Hey, isn’t that my sweater?”
“Well, ‘My’ as in you unwrapped it, yes.”
I took Quantitative Analysis as my research method in grad school. Not because I’m particularly adept at figuring out a standard deviation, but because it seemed like a more trustworthy method than its swirly-skirt sister, Qualitative. (I know. I’m a horrible affront to research. Keep in mind this was San Francisco, so… Swirly.)
In such data-collecting method, there’s a phenomenon: survey fatigue.
Non-sampling errors are other errors which can impact the final survey estimates, caused by problems in data collection, processing, or sample design. They include…improperly designed surveys, over-surveying (or survey fatigue).
When you ask too many questions, and the respondent just starts answering, “Somewhat agree. Somewhat agree. Somewhat agree. Zzzzzzzzz.”
Now, if you want to give the impression that you care about someone’s opinion, but you know..you don’t really, this would be an excellent design for a survey. Make it seven pages long, with 193 questions per page. Then people bail out, you “did your part” and you can proceed as you wanted to in the first place.
Never underestimate, however, people with incredibly strong opinions and nothing but time. It might not be a statistically-accurate data sample, but you’ll end up knowing precisely what I think, in a Hawthorne Effect-free kind of fashion.
(If there WAS a qualitative portion of this survey — and you CAN mix methods if you want to — and the question was like, “Please upload a sketch and fabric swatches for a useful design…” I could help you out with that one, too.)
[Self] Promotion Present: All new boot socks.
(Alternate Title: I know how to do Friday night riiiight.)
All the same color green, all guaranteed to stay up, farewell One Mutant Long Sock. The fanciest upgrade no one will ever see.
People always say, “Wait ‘til you get to the REAL Army,” though most of the same admit they don’t know what that really means. Here’s my working definition: I will be in the REAL Army when I no longer find uniform pieces that have the Basic Training laundry numbers stapled to them. Socks, down. Tan tees — you’re next.
Call it The Great Memorial ‘Lil Tykes Coupe list. No matter how fortunate your childhood (and mine was) there are those things you PINED for and never got. The unrequited wants.
For whatever silly reason, they were the toys your friends had that you coveted, the things you schemed your allowance toward and never saved enough, or they were just too fleeting, too trendy to be deemed a real need. I NEVER GOT A COUPE. This kid is so lucky.
Clearly, you survived.
That doesn’t mean that looking back on them doesn’t paint a real clear picture of how awesome it coulda been…
Call me! The Swatch twin phone — not only do you have your own phone jack in your ROOM, but two of you can talk at the same time attached by a cord! Think of the important business you could conduct. On your landline. (Related: Europe must be single-handedly keeping Swatch ticking. It’s everywhere.)
Guess who? My rear end never had a triangle on it, but not for lack of trying, every Back-to-School shopping trip from 89-92. My rear end just never fit in the things. Acid-washed sighs.
Freeze Frame! It was the 80s. It wasn’t enough to have a phone or a camera — they had to contain the pink-teal-lavender-yellow-PEACH palette. And some faux-Esprit french, right Le Clic?
I’ll Be in My Office… A loft bed with a desk under it? COME ON. It’s second only to a secret passage. Hi, Webster. This childhood deprivation will get taken out on nieces and nephews, mark my words and sign for the delivery.
Put Your Foot Down and Drive… You can’t have a Coupe list without showing the progression (psychological damage?) of what such disappointment can do to your taste in cars forever. This is the only vehicle I’ve ever wanted. It’s a 1990 Geo Metro. It is the closest thing to a toy the DMV will allow on the road.
In retrospect, it’s not so much a list, as an autobiography…
(What did you always want that you never got? Pics or it didn’t happen…)