My new boyfriend

My friend Lynn and I refer to guys as our new boyfriends, usually with a specific sub-heading, as in my TV boyfriend, my RADIO boyfriend, my MOVIE boyfriend, etc. I have a new BOOK boyfriend. He is married but no matter. His name is Tyler Cowen and he is the author of "Discover Your Inner Economist: Use Incentives to Fall in Love, Survive Your Next Meeting, and Motivate Your Dentist"
He plays a version of my Sears Wish book game, selecting art for yourself and asking why. Tyler claims, when visiting a museum or art gallery, "that dealing with the scarcity of our attention is more important" than being so sophisticated that we think the Sears Wish book game to be crass or materialistic.
PLUS, my new book boyfriend wrote that putting the toilet seat down is a symbolic recognition of his honey's value. Awww, who couldn't love a romantic guy like that?

The Sears Wish Book Game

As a child of the 1970's, there was nothing I enjoyed more than the hours and hours I spent poring over each page of the Sears Wish Book. It was like toy porn for children. Even the boy stuff was interesting. Plus you could find your favorite Christmas dresses and pajamas.

The Sears Wish Book eventually led to my own little game. Starting in the children's toy section, I would study each page and select one, and only one item from each page. Even if I wanted everything on the page, only one item was allowed. If nothing on the page was of interest, still one item must be selected.

I coerce my friends to play a version of the game while in art galleries or visiting museums. With the ground rule set of either picking from each room or each wall, we begin. If you select art based on value, well then, you suck. A whole room of nothing but crap? You GOTTA pick ONE. It is perfectly acceptable if you say that you would give the ashen Picasso guitar people to your mother-in-law as a Christmas gift because it reminds you of her cigarette puffing self. You have to select but you do not have to keep.

This little game has developed my "eye". I can stand at the entry of an antique store, separate the wheat from the chaffe and sense whether it is worth my time to enter. While my taste is disparate and my decor is eclectic, rarely does anything "grow" on me. I either like it or I don't and I know it immediately.

And for God's sake, don't ask me if I like something if you aren't prepared for the answer.