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Why is everything so big all of a sudden?
By Dale Bryant
Recent news stories on so-called monster homes were about a trend in the housing market. Today's families need space for home offices and enough bedrooms and bathrooms to give everyone privacy, the experts told us. I'm trying to understand, but for the life of me, I still can't figure out what people do with so much house. Not too many people who buy these homes, after all, have 10 or 12 children.
A few years ago, monster houses began to appear on the crest of the hill near my neighborhood. One Mediterranean-style house is really quite lovely from the front where it appears to be two stories. Unfortunately, what all of us see from the lowlands is the back--all four stories of it.
One afternoon while I sat with neighbors in the shadow of this modern-day castle, one of them insisted that a family of three lives in the house and that they stay in half of it for six months every year and in the other half for the other six months. All of us in the three-bedroom, two-bath generation nodded. It made sense to us. How else could a family of three make adequate use of so many rooms?
Monster houses aren't the only trend toward the grandiose that perplexes me. Take sport utility vehicles--please.
Isn't anyone concerned that when a car parked in a lot between two of these monsters tries to pull out, the back half of the car needs to be directly in the path of oncoming cars before the driver can see behind these behemoths?
And what's the deal with 16-ounce soft drinks and the trendy fruit drinks that are so popular at sandwich shops? I remember when 12 ounces was sufficient. I suspect it still is, but somehow, the marketing folks got the idea that customers wanted more. Not necessarily more soda or fruit juice, but the perception that they were getting a lot.
We're told that children and teens are increasingly obese. I can't help thinking, maybe, just maybe, they're drinking a lot more sugar water than they realize. Today, three sodas add up to 48 ounces; previously, they added up to 36 ounces.
At the movies, you can order a small Coke, but what you get is what used to be large. If you were to order a large, you'd probably spend half the movie climbing over people to get to the bathroom. Not to mention the cost. It used to cost more to get into a movie than to buy popcorn and a soda; these days, the price of admission is incidental to the cost of a little popcorn. On the other hand, there's no such thing as a little popcorn any more.
Recently at a movie theater, my husband went out to get popcorn and brought back the medium I asked for. Now, I have to tell you, I'm a really big fan of popcorn. I can eat a huge amount in one sitting. But a family of four couldn't have put a dent in this "medium" popcorn. I ended up throwing half of it away. I wonder, is it possible that some marketing whiz decided it just might be profitable for the theaters to charge a couple of extra dollars for "medium" popcorn even if the patron throws a couple of cents worth into the trash?
We used to go to a movie theater and there was only one screen, and there was always a movie we wanted to see; now, there are 20 screens. So why is it so hard to find a movie worth seeing?
If you go to Starbucks looking for a small cup of coffee, you'll get a tall. They don't carry small--it's almost as though there's a stigma attached to the word. You can also get a grande and vente, which is 20 ounces. Does anyone really need 20 ounces of coffee at one time?
We used to have three or four TV channels. Now, there are hundreds. So how come today isn't the golden era of TV?
Remember California cuisine with its tasteful little portions? A baby string bean here, a radish rosette there and a smidgen of meat artfully set off with swirls of béarnaise sauce? Could we please return to those days?
Today, everyone seems to be pushing "the kind of food mom used to put on the kitchen table." I've got news for those marketers hustling huge portions. "Mom" never heard of a 12-inch baked potato overflowing with gooey cheese and sour cream and bacon bits and broccoli. If we ate steak, we ate portions that allowed us to walk, not waddle, away from the dinner table.
I remember with fondness Jerry Brown's "less is more" era. I'm downright nostalgic for it, in fact. Getting by with less and enjoying it more is actually something that was ingrained in me, probably by parents who lived through World War II and grandparents who survived the Depression.
If a tiny package would appear under the Christmas tree when I was a child, my grandmother would offer these encouraging words: "Remember, great things come in small packages."
Now it seems everything comes in a huge package. And from my experience, I'd have to say that we are now in the era of "more is less."
Dale Bryant is managing editor of the Silicon Valley Community Newspaper group.
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Campbell, California
