Changing a watchband is even harder than changing a watch battery -- and why is that?

What is it about watches that makes the simplest of repairs -- changing a band or a battery -- so hard that we have to seek out people to do it for us?

We all have had to replace watch batteries, which involves, first, trying to figure out how to pry the back of the watch off. Supposedly, there's a little arrow or mark, indented into the metal, to guide us, but often we can't find it. So we take out a knife or otherwise sharp instrument and begin the laborious process of trying to find that ideal spot that the manufacturer built into this particular watch back to show us where to being prying. We usually end up defacing the surface as we search for that sweet spot.

Let's assume we find it, as we often do. The metallic back pops open, and we see where the battery is located. Again using the knife, we pry up the battery and drop it onto the kitchen counter. The dead battery.

Here comes the daunting step #2: Identifying the battery.

The battery itself is tiny, smaller than a dime. In fact a whole lot smaller. More like an aspirin tablet. Even smaller. On its surface is etched a number, which our most powerful reading glasses can't decipher. (I have a magnifying glass I keep for just this purpose.) If and when we've figured out that this is, a 360 or a 380 or whatever -- and what do these numbers mean? -- we go to the nearest store that sells batteries and buy that one (maybe two) and come back home and try to re-pry it back into the tiny space allocated to it in the back of the watch, snap the back on again until it clicks . . . and hope it works.

In most cases, it does. This isn't rocket science. Your watch takes a certain battery and, once properly inserted, you're back on time. Voila!

But suppose it's not your battery but your watchband that breaks. Uh oh. Whole set of new problems. Now, let me make clear that I'm talking here about leather watchbands, the old ones that are still much in use. I have no idea about metallic watchbands. The way leather (or simulated leather) watchbands fit into the metal part of the watch is a study in intricacy and, at the same time, idiocy.

The tiny rod that holds the watchband into the metal part of the watch is impossibly small, about the width of a piece of twine, and is -- I still can't quite get this -- imbedded at both ends with springs that let it retract on one end so that you can fit it into the almost invisible indentation inside one arm of the metal part while trying to hold down the other retractable end that has to fit into an indentation on the other metal part -- these parts being less than an inch apart. (Note that none of this makes any sense unless you've tried to do this yourself.) In other words, you have to -- being a human with normal eyesight -- try to hold apart a tiny thread of metal, fixed on both ends with springs, into, simultaneously, two almost invisible indentations, first into one and then the other, without the whole thing springing out of your fingers and then onto the floor: good luck finding them.

Who designed this system? Granted it works for most of us, after a few (dozen) tries, but it seems to me like an invention ripe for re-inventing: A new way to install watchbands. I'm sure there are many other modern inventions more important than this that need some tweaking, but I'd start with this one. Not far behind would be making all watch batteries the same -- and easier to install.

I think that most innovatons come from customer complaint with an existing system or feature. I guess if most of us are okay not being able to replace our watch batteries and watchbands by ourselves, then I'm just a crank. But I have a drawer full of watches that need both replaced, just because I can't find a band or a battery -- usually a band -- and I welcome suggestions.

We landed a man or two on the moon, but we can't easily change a watchband? What's up with that? And I'm sure there's not an astronaut among us who can do better.

Everything is worth your interest.

We humans are so different in our interests. I once knew a guy who studied bugs. Not the most interesting and well-known bugs -- ants and termites and such -- but very strange bugs who lived in South America. I asked him why he would do that, since it wasn't going to gain him much fame or recognition, and he told me that to study just that beetle, from its birth to its death, told him all he needed to know about the universe.

I dismissed it at the time -- a bug nut raving on, right? -- but the longer I thought about it, and the older I got, the more convinced I was that he was onto something.

And that something is just that any creation we study gives us clues as to the larger creation: the biosphere of existence, the universe itself. I know that's a big leap, but the point is that this bug represents the intricacies of creation, the very point of it all.

But why this bug?

Because any single thing you find growing is worth study. Not just that bug but a single leaf from any tree you can find in your yard. Why this leaf? Why this shape? Why so many? What is a leaf to a tree? Why do they grow there? What is a tree? And why?

If I've lost you already, then you probably aren't ready to start thinking about all this. You're excused. Go do something else. If, on the other hand, you're still reading, consider this: nature creates and disposes of countless creatures and forms of nature for every one that survives. What's that all about? It's like nature is always experimenting, not quite sure which design or experiment will make it and which won't. Throw them all out there, and see which ones make it in the Darwinian world of survival of the fittest.

The dinosaurs, big as they were, didn't make it. Not sure why. Maybe an asteroid, maybe global cooling and warming. Maybe something else: maybe they were too big to sustain themselves. In other words, not enough to eat. Who knows? But the point is this: they didn't make it.

We, us humans, did. Why? Well, we did this or that and . . . but wait. That's really not what I'm talking about. We know what we humans have done. Enough said. (Or not: keep reading.)

It's everything else that needs our attention. From the tiniest of entities, locked within an atom, to the grandest of nuclear displays in the far regions on the cosmos, that's what we need to be thinking about. We sort of know about life, at least human life, but because it's so complicated and demands so much of our attention, we forget about all that life above and below us.

And yet it goes on and will go on long after we're gone. How about that? You and I won't live to see the end of microscopic life in the ocean or cosmic life beyond our solar system. We're dots like that period at the end of my last sentence -- and a million of us live on it. Maybe a billion.

So where does that leave us humans?

We've been given a world that, so far as we know, doesn't exist anywhere else in the universe. Mabye it does, but we have no evidence. I think our obligation is to explore it, map it, try to understand it.

But that's not all we've been given. We also have consciousness: self-awareness. And that's a lot trickier than mapping the world. It's pretty much bottomless. We can understand why we do certain things in public, among friends or strangers, but that's just manners. What about our relationships with family, friends, lovers? What about what we do when we're alone, and why?Uncharted territory. We each have to explore it on our own, at risk. Interesting, no?

The tiniest bug in a pool of stale water is interesting to some of us. The question of love among humans is interesting to others of us. The whole notion of trees -- why they exist, why they're different sizes, etc. -- is interesting to a different bunch of us. Why we believe in a god or not is of supreme importance to some; to others it's not even a question. And what about that winter snowflake that's not supposed to look like any other? Is that true? Some of us care; some don't.

There is so much in our lives on this planet that demand attention that we all/each have to decide, at some point, where to focus our attention, our passion. It may be art, it may be science, it may be the intricacies of business or engineering, or it may just be figuring out how to survive when our mental faculties are failing us and we're trucking our belongings around in a stolen cart from WalMart but still stopping, from time to time, to admire a new daffodil sprung up along the sidewalk or -- Glory! -- finding a dollar bill dropped from someone's pocket that will buy us a corn dog and a Coke at the 7-11.

And when we sit beneath some bridge eating that corn dog and drinking that Coke, we may admire a columbine sprung up from nothing, in the shade, destined to die in a few days. We may look on it and give thanks that we'll be up tomorrow morning, scrounging again. Or we may fall back into despair.

No matter who we are, what we likely won't notice is the tiny things going to work on that beautiful but fragile flower, reducing it to ruins, taking it back down to compost. All those bees and insects and, further down, worms and even lesser creatures, reducing that beautiful flower to its essence. It's all invisible to us, but it happens. And it's worth studying.

So who designed all this intricacy? God? Random nature? No one knows. But that's the way it is, and we're presented with it, every day if we choose to look. If we choose not to, it still goes on.

Everything, from the microscopic to the astronomic, is worth a look, worth study, worth your interest. And that includes the human mind. What a wondrous, maddening construct! Capable of profound thought and thoughtless violence. Easily warped but also often maintained intact. A bundle, a network, of nerve endings in the space of a cantaloupe: you, me, everyone.

And you know the best part? Nobody has fathomed any of it. The smartest person doesn't get any of it. Not the least the meaning of it. Why did you fall in love with that girl? Why black holes? Why anything?

Not a clue.

And don't you love it? Doesn't it speak of mysteries beyond our understanding? Even Einstein's understanding: after all, he was always searching for a unifying theory to explain the forces of the universe, and he had to admit defeat. But he had a glimpse: there probably is such a theory. It just may be way out of our reach. Is that a problem? I don't think so.

Think about it this way (as a friend put it to me): Would you believe in a God you understood?

Revel in the mystery. Live well, do good, and hope for the best.

And, in the meantime, study anything you want: it's all important. Even gnats. Even . . .

Choose your clothes carefully.

I saw a woman at the mall yesterday who had squeezed herself into some pants that were meant for a woman half her size. She bulged like an over-stuffed sausage in places I'm sure she didn't realize she was bulging. But she had on high heels, which she thought accentuated her legs, which I have to admit looked good -- but the overall effect was that all the attention was shifted to her stomach and chest, which were way too big for her outfit and made her legs look they belonged to someone else.

Why didn't she choose, instead of what she had on, a loose top that would draw attention away from her ample bosom and to her legs? Why the tight top which showed her bulges and drew attention AWAY from her best attribute, her legs?

I'm sure you've seen men who do pretty much the same. They may have good calves, but they wear tank-tops, those T-shirts with no sleeves, which, in too many cases, show off their lack of muscle tone in their chests. They make us wince, right? What was he thinking, we think? Or they wear big Hawaiian shirts over shorts that actually accentuate their bellies instead of hiding them. And, of course, the worst male faux pas: the dark socks with sandals or loafers.

We just have to look away, don't we?

We humans are not all runway models, gifted with perfect bodies that look good in anything. Most of us need to choose our wardrobes based on what we look like, and that changes with age (and weight gain or loss). Vanity isn't trying to look like a model or a movie star: it's trying to look the best you can, given what you have to work with. And part of that is knowing what clothes look best on you at whatever stage of life you are.

Suppose you're female and short and somewhat overweight. What should you wear that makes you look your best? I don't know. But there are people who do. Consult them. Don't just go out and buy something you like and jam yourself into it. That person in the store may actually be able to steer you to something that accentuates your looks, that brings out your best features while down-playing what you don't want displayed.

Imagine you're a guy who's never really shopped for clothes before -- and, believe me, there are lots of guys, of all ages, who fall into this category. Maybe your mom always bought your clothes, or, if you're married, your wife. You always thought guys all dressed the same, right? Wrong.

You are you, and you don't look like other guys. Some clothes look better on you than others, and you really have to trust someone to tell you. It might be your friends -- if they know how to dress -- or it might be your girlfriend (if you're lucky enough to have one) -- or, again, it might be the sales person in the clothing store.

You need someone to look at you and size you up and be honest about what looks best on you. Think of it this way: You don't see yourself; others do. So you likely aren't the best judge of what you should wear. Trust the taste of others and bite the bullet. (And, by the way, always try to buy what's on sale, as long as it's in your size.) You're probably going to end up looking better than if you'd gone shopping by yourself, ending up with the same underwear and socks and not much else.

Back to the women: You are the main buyers of clothes, hands down. You not only have to keep up with what the latest season color might be but what new style is "in": tight legs, wide legs; tight tops, loose tops; florals or solids; short dresses or mid-length; padded shoulders or not; high heels or something less; etc. You have so many more options than men, any time of any year, that I shouldn't presume to offer advice.

But I will.

Consider your size. Buy what makes you look good. If you've had kids or have eaten more than you wanted and haven't lost it all yet (despite your endless diets), buy clothes that don't show everyone -- via your bulges -- how much you have left to lose. Choose something that flows over your body, leading down to your legs and then to your feet because they're the last to go! Your calves and your feet will look good long after your stomach has surrendered. Also, and this is important, don't draw attention to your breasts. If you're twenty years old, sure. If you're in your forties (or older) and starting to sag, divert attention to some other part of you that you think still attracts. If, like most women, you're gaining weight below the belt, so to speak, wear skirts or dresses that accentuate that feminine flow but that don't call attraction to it. A loose light print, ala the Hippies, is always good. Hey, we Hippie men knew sexuality when we saw it! Lots of us still can't get out of our minds those dancing girls in their long light floral dresses!

So, women and men alike: If you're lucky enough to be skinny, or at least at the weight you want to be, choose clothes that show that off: not accentuating any particular body part, just showing that everything about you is in proportion. Any dress or pant suit that looks good on you in the mirror in the dressing room is probably going to look good on you at a party. If you need confirmation, ask the person who is monitoring the dressing room. She's probably bored enough that she'll welcome being asked and, since she's not on commission to sell you this outfit or that, will give you an honest opinion.

But if you're getting older and putting on a few more pounds, be honest about how you look and adjust your wardobe accordingly. And don't think you can do it all by yourself. Ask the clerk. He or she would be pleased to be consulted and more than happy to help you.

The point is that we should all, male or female, any age, take a good look at ourselves and decide what looks good on us, what we should or shouldn't be wearing. As I said before, vanity isn't about trying to look like a movie star: it's about trying to look our best, given what we have.

If you're a guy with a big pot gut, don't wear a shirt that's so tight that you have to fasten your belt UNDER your stomach: that just makes your belly stick out even further. Buy some pants that are a little bigger in the waist and shirts that won't ride up and out as the day goes on. And get some really good shoes that will draw attention away from your overhang.

If you're a woman who just can't fit into those clothes you used to wear when all the guys were after you, DON'T try squeezing yourself into them again. Those days are gone, darling. You're a more substantial woman now, with more to offer than that little body you've grown out of. Pick bolder prints and more sensible pants, but invest in accessories: scarves and jewelry, drawing attention away from where you're bigger and toward where you're sexier. Do your eyes up: that's what men look at first. And pay attention to lipstick: the mouth is where men look next.

And shoes. Women know about shoes. Enough said.

I would give more tips for men, but I'm pretty sure they've already turned on a football game.

My main point is that we should all take an honest look at ourselves and, using the best advice we can find -- from friends or professionals -- deck ourselves out to look the best we can. It's not that hard, but it does take into consideration that all-important, and much despised, fixture: the mirror.

Don't be afraid to look at yourself, naked if necessary, and then start from scratch. Ask advice. Be honest. And be ready to spend a few bucks. Hey, you're worth it, right?

There's only one you that the world sees. Why not make it the best you?

You probably need your dog or cat more than he or she needs you.

I once had a babysitter who couldn't go anywhere because she couldn't find anyone who would look after her dog the way she could. I've also known people who dressed their cats and dogs up and paraded them in "pet parades" with little flags inscribed with their owner's name.

In both cases, I think the owners were thinking that their particular pets were more loyal to them, and/or more representational of them, than the animals thought.

In the first case, I think the babysitter's dog would have been fine with some food left behind. In the second case, I think the cat owners needed to get a grip on reality: cats don't dress up.

I've read studies recently that dogs forget their owners as soon as the new owners put out food for them. I suspect cats are the same, although maybe a little more picky. They're all looking for a reliable food source, which keeps them coming back for more.

I know we all like to think that Fido will defend us against intruders, but that's just a dog's basic instinct: protecting his property. (A cat won't protect you from anybody.) Not protecting you and me and the kids but his territory. All that barking isn't for us -- it's for him.

And I know we love to think that the cat purring in our lap means that Muffy loves us and wants to be with us, but it may just be a need to be warm and protected.

We want to think that our tamed animals -- dogs and cats -- need us and want us and, if we're away, miss us, but we may be fooling ourselves. The sad truth is that all our domesticated animals would probably be fine if sent off to other families who would be just as loving.

But that's okay, if you think about it the right way. We need those animals, and they need us, but just not in the same way. Your pretty kitty needs you for sustenance -- food and shelter -- and is perfectly willing to jump up into your lap and let you pet her. But she might be just as willing to jump onto another lap if it offered her the same. Hey, a hand petting or stroking is just that, right?

You, on the other hand, may need that soft fur -- and yes, that purr -- to help you feel okay again after a boyfriend or girlfriend dumped you. Just as you may need that knobby dog head to pet and those big eyes looking up at you, tongue hung out. Man's best friend, and maybe woman's, too. Animals can make us feel better, without dought, when human life goes wrong. A boss jumps on you for no good reason? Where's my cat? You fail some test? Hey, where's that dog who loves me? In such cases, what you need is reassurance that you're still a good person. And who better to give it to you than your pet? Nothing wrong with that.

Unless you take it as a real and accurate assessment of yourself as a human. Something that will resonate with your fellow humans. Can you imagine saying to your boss, "But Buffy loves me!" or "But Fido forgave me!" They -- your boss, your spouse, your friends -- have different standards than your pets do. They demand some accountability, some remorse, at least an explanation. They won't settle for supper and a pat on the head.

On the other hand, seen the right way, pets are our buffers. They remind us that running and jumping and just being alive are sometimes enough. They look at us in our most down periods and ask us to go out and take a walk, maybe even run. Chase a cloud. Stop and inspect something going on at ground level that we've missed. Crouch. Watch. Be patient.

Then spring!

Our pets, our dogs and cats, remind us to be physical and spontaneous. But they're not doing it FOR us; they're doing it DESPITE us: it's who they are. Let's treasure them for who and what they are and not expect them to be our little surrogates in the world.

It's us humans who impose on them our human values: loyalty, love, etc.

I don't think animals feel any of this. Even cats and dogs, our most trusted animal friends. Or horses, who let us ride them but would rather be running wild, with no human aboard, even John Wayne. I imagine them somehow understanding that if they make friends with us, the humans, their lives will be easier. It's a primitve thought, sort of an instinctive survival kind of thing. But I don't see them developing actual bonds of emotion and attachment with us.

Here's what I think: We love animals -- again, dogs and cats, really no others -- because some of us need the companionship of non-judgmental beings. We know we have our imperfections, and we're tired of our fellow humans -- especially our spouses -- pointing them out to us. We choose these less-than-human companions because they WON'T pass judgment on us. They will accept us as who we are, flawed humans (because they don't understand those flaws that so infuriate our spouses and friends and bosses, etc.). And because we appreciate that non-judgment so much, we lavish upon them all kinds of treats and privileges that they could never have imagined in their wild state and that, in turn, make them our love-slaves.

So enjoy your pets for who/what they are, but don't expect them to be human. You know these animals don't have a clue what's going on, right? Does the dog who wins at Westchester (or whatever it's called) knows he/she's won? No way. The honor goes to the owner. The dog is still just a dog and is probably hoping to find some goose poop to eat.

I don't see anything wrong with thinking that our pets are parts of the family as long as we realize that they're still animals. They have a shorter lifespan; they'll die sooner than us, or our kids. And even though they may love being with us, they will never give back to the family like a juiced cousin might, with his degree but no prospects. No dog will ever raise the ire of that aunt who declared that you shouldn't have married that profligate boy. No champion female could ever have matched the beautiful bitch of your family who turned her back on inheritance and went off with some Cuban film-maker with nothing to show for his credits. Our real families and friends pass judgment on us but still love us. Our pets just love us. Sort of.

Human life is very complicated. The life of a dog or a cat is, admit it, pretty simple.

Enjoy your pets for who they are, but realize that they're bringing the pleasure to you, and you're providing them the comfort they need. It's a symbiotic relationship. Each of you gets something worthwhile. Just don't think of your pet as a friend. Friends are real and human and know you in and out but still love you. They may even know painful things about you, things hard to accept and/or forgive, but they do because, again, they love you for who your are.

Pets know nothing about you. They may like your touch, may even look forward to it, may lie on their backs to get it, but they're just looking for some personal pleasure and, in the end, their next meal, and they know you're the source of both. If the guy down the street sets out a steak on his doorstep, and also offers a tummy rub, do you really think your dog would opt for that same rub and your hard Doggie nuggets?

Dream on.

Does your pet love you? Well, yes and no. Would your pet be just as happy somewhere else, where its supper needs were met? Would it think of you? Miss you? I'll leave that to you to figure out.

Love our pets for who they are, but don't expect them to be human, okay? They're not.

P.S. Those of us who harbor animals that never have meaningful contact with us -- snakes, iguanas, even tarantulas -- have other issues to deal with. That really is all about us and our needs, not about the animals.