Ok, I’m probably a little slow on these things, but these two studies are funny somehow. Not so much in the sense that I laugh when I hear that women are less happy than men, but just listen to some of this stuff!

Men apparently enjoy being with their parents, while women find time with their mom and dad to be slightly less pleasant than doing laundry.

Now, I won’t lie. I enjoy doing laundry. A lot. In fact, I relish the hours I spend every week, making sure that my bedsheets are soft and fluffy. I love the smell of clean laundry so much that I don’t mind waking up before noon on Saturdays to achieve that goal. But seriously, are parents really that bad?

I was just telling someone the other day that if one were to have children, one should ask the stork for a baby girl. After all, I said only half-jokingly, girls remain loving and close to their parents well into adulthood while a boy will just grow up and say that his mother is high maintenance. With this new empirical evidence, I’m going to have to entirely change my outlook on life and my long term reproductive goals!

Oh, and here’s another classic from the co-author of one of the studies, on why teenage girls are less happy than their male counterparts:

Ms. Stevenson, who’s 36, said: “When I was in high school, it was clear being a hottie was the most important thing, and it’s not that it’s any less important today. It’s that other things have become more important. And, frankly, people spent a lot of time trying to be a hottie when I was in high school. So I don’t know where they find the time today.”

Suddenly, I feel so pleased to have gone to a nerd school, where I was blissfully spared this horrible hottie-pressure. Although it was always terribly embarrassing to be so awful when it came to integration-by-parts…

I know I’ve had a million conversations with various friends about this topic, but I’ll repeat myself again. Everyone could learn a little something from watching Kate and Leopold. Ok, ok. So I just lost every last shred of street cred that I might have carried. But no matter. I’m spreading the word, and it’s a public good. So I’ll go ahead and take one for the team.

Firstly, what I’m not saying. I’m definitely not saying that you can go around acting super angry and angsty and just generally mean, and still end up with a charming, handsome man of aristocratic background. (Even though I secretly hold a soft spot in my heart for Meg Ryan, I’m not really sure why this random guy would fall in love with her upon first sight, especially since none of her first words with him were terribly kind. But this is the movies, we’ll let that one slide. PS: If this point bothers you, Bridget Jones is not for you.) I’m also not saying that you necessarily need to be that knight in shining armor, riding on a white horse in order to win a woman’s heart. Although every time I’m in Central Park and smell the lovely aroma of the horses, I think of that.

But you know what really wins you points, but so many people have forgotten? Little courtesies. Being gentlemanly and ladylike. At the risk of sounding completely Victorian, I will admit that Olga and I had a conversation about how nice it was to be walked home. Now, I personally have not had the pleasure of such occurrences often. Or perhaps, just not often enough. But when they did occur, I really felt… taken care of. You know, that warm, fuzzy feeling you get when you sense that someone doesn’t necessarily want you to die on your way home? I kind of like it. And when it happens, I don’t forget. Not to mention that it leaves a good final impression, the peak-end rule, etc.

Now, I was going to write something about how women need to remember to be ladies: gracious, kind, all that jazz. But then I realized that Kate and Leopold does a horrible job of setting the example on this one because Meg Ryan’s character is none of the above. Hmmm… I’ll have to think of a better movie for that one. I guess I’d better work on that.

To Be Continued…

Listening To:

In Blue – The Corrs
03 – Say

There’s nothing like the inevitability of autumn to depress a student. I mean, it’s not just that the chilliness of the weather reminds us of the reception we get from the professor when we smile awkwardly and admit that we are completely clueless on the topic of discussion because we had blithely forgotten everything over the summer.

As my roommate jokingly mentioned, there’s something about the crisp wind that makes her turn into a bear preparing for hibernation. (She said this as she walked into the apartment with arms full of groceries, preparing for a nice week of feasting.) I, too, have found myself feasting. On dessert. Now, this may not sound terribly depressing, but when you’re on your last 5 pounds of your summer slim-down goal, you might not find the sudden discovery of a cute little patisserie down the street so welcome either.

No matter. The more troubling matter is the longer nights and shorter days. You see, since I live in a ground-floor apartment in Manhattan, where my friendly frat-boy neighbors are a mere handshake away from my window, I already receive preciously little sunlight in my room, even on the longer summer days. Couple that with small, windowless classrooms and even smaller (and similarly windowless) PhD cubicles, and you’ve got a perfect recipe for seasonal affective disorder.

I wonder if I could send this in as a proposal for the PhD office to fund a nice little sun-room for us. Alas, I fear that Columbia isn’t as sensitive to the needs of its depressed and suicidal students as my beloved alma mater. *sigh* Until some parent sues the pants off of this institute, I guess I’ll just have to make do with the desserts.

So, I was talking to someone about stereotypes and I really wanted to mention this old joke that I had heard from Sven once. But, not surprisingly (considering how slowly my brain runs these days), I couldn’t think of it on the spot. But now, I’ve recalled the joke and the moment is gone. So to prevent another tragic incident such as this one, I’ll post the joke here. Don’t worry, kids. This isn’t the Sven joke about the bear.

What’s the Difference Between Heaven and Hell?

Heaven is living in an English house, on an American salary, with a Chinese cook, and a Japanese wife.

Hell is living in a Japanese house, on a Chinese salary, with an English cook, and an American wife.

And speaking of jokes, here’s that YouTube video of Novak “The Djoker” Djokovic doing tennis player impressions in the locker room. That Andy Roddick impression is really uncanny, I think.