There are certain stereotypes inherent in the male/female relationship. C and I defy those on many different levels. I plan to explore this in a series of semi-regular posts called 'Gender Stereotype Debunking.' Welcome to installment one: The Remote Control.

Typically the male is known to be the primary channel-flipper in the 'married couple TV watching ritual.' I feel it is an unfair stereotype, but I suppose I understand where it comes from. Ultimately it boils down to the fact that the male is thought to be the restless one, the one who changes channels (insert 'lovers') as soon as there is a commercial break (insert 'no sex') and often forgets to flip the channel back before the show they had been watching starts again (insert 'gets caught in bed with secretary, mid-thrust, bare bottom mooning the ceiling as wife enters bedroom'). Of course, males see it as a competition to conquer the greatest number of channels, which will have them watching multiple shows at the same time, pretending to be faithful to all, and yet never really committing to any, dumping one, then another, as soon as something better comes along.

I'm here to tell you this is all b.s. - an unfair truism handed down from mother to daughter. The same channel-flipping behavior we're accused of can be found in the fairer sex, as well, and when it is, it is often compounded by a Lance Armstrong-like stamina that leads to a marathon of channel surfing, lasting hours, days, and if the necessities of work, sleep, and food didn't come into play, weeks.

Yes, contrary to the conventional wisdom, I am one guy that is usually satisfied to watch one show at a time. Now don't mistake my meaning here; I'm not saying this makes me noble or venerable in any way. Rest assured, my habit of watching one show at a time stems primarily from a laziness and a sincere belief that most stuff on TV is crap (the sexual analogy from above has ended, by the way), and since there are at least 75 other channels at my disposal with different but equally bad crap on them, I often have little curiosity in regard to finding said crap. Basically, once I've found one piece of crap I can tolerate, I am resolved to continue watching it until the end. When a commercial comes, breaking up the 2 or 4 individual segments of crap that make up the entire episode, I will do one of four things: 1) read a magazine, 2) go to the kitchen and search aimlessly for something to consume, 3) visit the restroom, or 4) pass bodily gases. Sometimes I manage to do at least three of these things at the same time. The bottom line is this: I commit to a show and I watch it. I'm loyal.

My wife lacks this faithfulness, this dedication to any one show. She will often watch two, three, sometimes four shows at the same time.

No way! you say.

Impossible! It can't be done! you say.

Oh, I assure you, it can be done. If channel surfing were abstract art, my wife would be Jackson Pollock. If channel surfing were jazz music, my wife would be Miles Davis. The remote is her instrument, and she improvises with it at will, and with alarming virtuosity. She will concoct new channel combinations, each press of the button like the decisive splatter of a painter's brush. Expressionistic, heroic, the ultimate extension, elaboration and refinement of the channel surfing ritual. She understands remote control functions I have never heard of. Her fingers blur across the remote with astonishing speed and precision. All the while, she's able to take in several plots, innumerable subplots, and complex character developments, all with a kind of concentration on a par with champion chess players who juggle multiple boards at the same time.

Watching her work can be mesmerizing, but because I don't understand it, I'm mostly left feeling baffled and vaguely nauseous. I stare at the ceiling in an effort to ground myself in the here and now and keep the room from spinning. Eventually I give up and resort to reading or some other activity.

There is no fighting for the remote in our home. I recognize C's superiority and I do not interfere.

Gender stereotype, the remote control. Debunked.

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