Complexity

I was desperate and had only one place to turn. There I was, home alone, with the power to choose the evening's entertainment on television and I could not make it work. All three remotes with half-remembered successes from past TV viewings were not jelling into both a picture AND sound experience on our home entertainment center. So, I made the dreaded call. "Honey? You are forgiven for leaving home with all of the turkey and stuffing leftovers after Thanksgiving. I can't work the TV. Can you help?"

"Okay, Mom. Are you looking at all three remotes? Pick up the longer black one and look for the red button on the upper right that is labeled 'source.' Press it twice."

I did, and it worked. I was amazed at the fact that my son was able to visualize the remotes in a house he doesn't even live in anymore and diagnose the problem that quickly. I do feel a need to defend myself--I am not a complete moron, but every time I master the home entertainment center, the components change. Our most recent acquisition doesn't even HAVE buttons on it and required yet another remote to be added to the array.

It made me think about that age-old question. What is complexity? For me, it is three remotes with a total of 157 buttons and a differing pattern of button-pressing needed to watch a DVD, watch TV, play a CD, turn the speakers on in the kitchen, see a picture that corresponds with the sound, etc.

So what if we were to translate 157 buttons into a different idea? A party, for example, with 157 guests, a combination of friends and family with food, drink, mingling, etc.? I don't want to single out any one gender, but just for example, let's talk about men. Would a man be able to separate those he has met from those he has not? Distinguish between work related guests and personal friends (ooh, that was an embarrassing story that may get shared at the office!)? Will he know who is a daughter/niece and who is a trophy wife? Will he know not to launch into cute baby stories with the woman who is struggling with infertility? Will he tell that hilarious anecdote with unfortunately recognizable characters--"oh my God, Sandy, I didn't recognize you--didn't your hair used to be a different color?" You catch my drift.

Stop and consider--if we admit that complexity comes in many forms, let us contemplate that the same individual who could help me operate the TV over the phone was unable to negotiate the ethics making off with most of the turkey and all of the stuffing from the family refrigerator. This was apparently more complex than visualizing and understanding 157 buttons on three different remotes. Complexity and gender: dolls and trucks are only the tip of the iceberg.