Parker: So long, incandescent lightbulbs

I had been using them for years, ever since the prettiest woman I have ever known told me about them. Pink light is flattering to women, she said — men, too, presumably, but who cares? When I told others about the pink bulbs, they’d race to hardware stores to stock up.

In later years, after I surrendered to online shopping, I ordered pink bulbs by the case. This was already considered heretical by hardcore environmentalists pushing the industry (and unassuming Americans) toward the hideously harsh bulbs known as “snow cones,” “swirls” or, more accurately, CFLs (compact fluorescent lightbulbs). We’re all familiar with the CFLs’ ghastly, greenish hue, especially in motels and hotels where, with the flick of a switch, an alien being can stare back at you from the bathroom mirror. (I travel with my own lightbulbs.)

I suspect that CFLs were invented by communists who believe that incandescent bulbs contribute to vanity and, thus, to the pursuit of individual desires. By ridding America of incandescence, they could undermine its citizens’ positive self-image and condition them to accept the moral imperatives of harshness and inconvenience. First, they take the lightbulbs; next, the gas stove. Eventually, capitalism surrenders to state enforcement mechanisms. Of course, I’ve made all this up, but it seems plausible.

What is true is that the CFLs are more efficient and last longer.

Then an even better bulb — the LED (light emitting diode) — became popular in hotels and hospitals, where lighting efficiency often exceeds performance efficiency. I dislike these bulbs even more for all the same reasons. Efficiency has no place in art.

Admittedly, CFLs and LEDs have improved greatly in the past 20 years or so. But I’m more interested in compromise. A détente with the communist impulse, if you will.

Because I go to bed early, my light usage is relatively minor compared with that of superusers who burn the midnight oil. Perhaps we could implement “incandescent offsets,” sort of like carbon credits. I get to use pink lightbulbs in exchange for going to bed by, say, 9 p.m. at least five nights a week. Obviously, this would work on the honor system.

By now, you’re surely wondering where I found my 200 lightbulbs. I learned about them through a discreet network of fellow light connoisseurs — and I never reveal my sources. I could tell you, but … you know how the rest goes. When I last checked, only 300 remained.

Even these aren’t the pinks I know and love, alas; I could find only a few of those, and I’m still praying for a black market. The ones I ordered allegedly mimic my old pale pinks. I’ll let you know. But if bulb-makers are smart, they’ll quickly duplicate the GE pale pink bulb that projects the desired illumination. Good luck — and hurry!

P.S.: That prettiest woman I mentioned? Turns out, it was the pink lightbulbs.