gifts, danger
21 December 2006
As a 27 year-old pervert, drunk and egomaniac, the holidays don’t really mean much to me anymore. Long gone are the days when I spent hours laying on my bedroom floor listening to New Edition, pouring over catalogs and writing down the serial numbers of the toys I wanted. It seems like ages ago when I’d open the card from my Grandmom and clench that crisp $50 bill in my hand, which, to a high school student, is the equivalent to around $874 to me now. Gone but still fresh are the times when I’d wrap up finals and head home for a month break from college, a time I’d take advantage of by playing eight hours of video games a day and making out with my girlfriend in my little brother’s bedroom (what wonderful times).
Ever since I graduated college, Christmas has been more of a chore than anything else. I have to take off work, commute home on trains packed with people, and try to convince my family that I’m doing more with my life than taking naps at work and getting drunk in dark bars four nights a week. I mean, does that sound like fun?
(I mean, the taking naps at work and drinking in dark bars is fun, but explaining it…not so much.)
But the real reason that Christmas has sucked since graduation is that because for the first time in my life I was expected – nay, required – to buy gifts for others.
I don’t mean that I didn’t buy gifts for my family members before. Of course, I did – I’m not an ungrateful child. But before the gifts would be crappy, usually a box of chocolates for my mom and a pack of smokes of my dad. So basically I spent the first 22 years of my life trying to fatten up my mom and kill my dad.
I don’t enjoy buying gifts because there is a lot of pressure in gift-giving. Now that I’m working and expected to buy decent gifts, I want to buy my family (and in the past, previous lovers) gifts that are awesome and incredible. I concede that this is more true in the case of previous girlfriends, as my mom would have the same reaction if I bought her a Lexus or flowers ("Oh – how nice! This wasn’t expensive, was it?") and my dad would give the same response whether I gave him a new wrench or the Philadelphia Eagles ("…") (then, "Thanks, Ron.").
But in a way, gift-giving is a kind of competition, and I want to win. I’m sure this is an unhealthy way to approach giving someone a present, but I usually don’t do things with either my physical or mental health in mind. Besides, my desire to be the better gift-giving results in someone else getting a really sweet present, so it’s not all bad.
Gifts are dangerous because giving one is also a form of evaluating the recipient. When you give a friend or a lover a gift, you’re saying, "This is what you’re worth to me." Maybe an example will help. Say you’re dating a girl long distance. On her birthday, you take two days off work and fly out to spend a very long weekend with her, even staying in a swanky hotel. One day while you’re at the hotel and she’s at work, you fill the room with flowers and get a birthday cake and wine to surprise her when she gets home. Then you give her a digital camera (that you spent weeks researching and cost you more than a month’s rent in most major American cities) and take her out to dinner a few nights, all to celebrate her birthday weekend. All this means that you probably like that girl, that you value her highly.
Then, for example, say two months later as your birthday approaches, she keeps saying that she can’t fly out to see you but you think she’s setting you up for a surprise. But when the day of your birthday rolls around, you get a FedEx tube in the mail that contains a 1) t-shirt and 2) a beer poster, two gifts that are perfectly acceptable to receive if you are dating a homeless person or high school junior. But since you are dating a girl of means equal to yours, these gifts probably mean that the girl likes…your digital camera.
(And it doesn’t make you petty to complain about this, because you know it’s not about the cost but the effort. It makes you bitter, immature, pathetic, and ultimately impotent, but not petty. And at least your friends get a kick out of reminding you about the $2000 beer poster rolled up in your closet, as they are dickheads.)
The point is that gifts matter more than most people will let on and should be considered very carefully. While there is no objective standard to what makes a great gift, the perfect gift is the right combination of thought, effort, and to an extent, cost (what – don’t people like nice things?).
Now the good news: this does not apply to me at all this Christmas, because I’m single (surprisingly, right?) and my family has told me exactly what they want.
My Dad: Sneakers
It’s always difficult to buy for my dad. He has several likes, but I’m unfamiliar with many of them. For example, we’ve already touched upon his devotion to cigarettes, which I partake of only in strip clubs. He loves his truck and all things auto-related, whereas I know so little about cars that typically at gas stations I pop the hood of the car and spray the shit everywhere. He also loves sports, but doesn’t like to go to games and isn’t into memorabilia. So there’s not much to work with.
This year, my brother and sister and I asked my dad what he wanted. His response? Sneakers (me), socks and t-shirts (my brother), and a membership at the local firing range (my sister). I’m not sure if it’s a good idea for a man who takes 15 pills a day to be firing a gun on a regular basis, but I guess we’ll see about this. And my sister drew that one because, really, what better present can daddy’s little girl get her dad than a membership to a gun club?
My mom is a bit opposed to this:
Me: "So dad wants a membership to the firing range?"
Mom: "He’s crazy. He can’t be firing a gun." [Editor's Note: my dad has a very bad back, hence (most of) the pills]
Me: [making shit up] "Well, that’s not entirely true. You can get, like, a small caliber weapon or something."
Mom: "Yeah, but it’s not like he’s going to be shooting…um…shooting…"
Me: "People?"
Mom: [frustrated] "No, Jas, but it’s not like he’s going to be hunting bears or anything."
Me: [incredulous] "Dad used to hunt bears?"
Mom: [completely exasperated] "I don’t know, Jas…"
But hey – that’s my sister’s battle to fight. I already got my dad’s sneakers – size 10.5, black New Balances, per his request. One down, three to go.
My Mom: iPod
My mom actually did not say that she wanted an iPod; I convinced her. She sees that all three of her kids have one and how much we listen to them and she’s always liked gadgets, so I got her the green nano.
The problem is that I’m entering a world of pain with this gift. She’s already asked me four times if I can put music on it for her so she can listen to it right away, and each time I’ve patiently explained that you can’t just throw music on there, that it is a process. Also, she asked me if she could somehow hook my sister Megan’s iPod up to her new iPod to get music. When I told her that that was not possible, she then asked if she could hook up her new iPod to my iPod to get music.
(Quoth a brilliant man, "Parents just don’t understand.")
My brother Dennis: cash
Really, the sweetest gift of all.
My sister Megan: cash
The sweetest gift of all, part two.
[Quick aside: In college, my buddy Conor and I used to joke about getting each other a card with $1000 in twenties in it for Christmas. It'd be like something out of "Goodfellas"; we say "Merry Christmas", hand the cards to each other, and count out the stack of 20's. I'd still like to do this, but my friends are so untrustworthy that if I were in the same room as them with $1000 in my possession, I would probably never come out alive.]
——-
Right now, you’re probably thinking, "So Jason, what do you want for Christmas?" Or maybe you’re thinking, "I don’t even know why I read this website." Whatever. Since the second wasn’t a question, here’s the answer to the first:
A sweet wallet
Though this isn’t the reason why I want a wallet, I once read somewhere that women in NYC look at two things to determine a man’s worth: his watch and his shoes. I don’t wear a watch, as I think (for the most part) they are tacky. As for shoes, I am way too straight to spend more than $150 on a pair of shoes. Sorry. This is non-negotiable.
I’ve been carrying a wallet since I was 12, so that’s 15 years. In those 15 years, I’ve had maybe four wallets, which I carried until they’ve fallen into tatters. All four wallets were purchased at rest stops along the New Jersey Turnpike or Mass Pike, and cost a combined $20.
Since $20 for 15 years of wallets is not that bad, I think it’s time to splurge and get myself a nice new one. Sure, I don’t even know where they sell nice wallets (maybe a nice rest stops?), but I’ll figure that out later.
A cleaning lady
My buddy Kyle came up to stay with me this weekend and gave me a serious talking to about the cleanliness of my apartment. I personally think the apartment is pretty clean – it’s not like there are rats running around or pubes in the fridge or anything – but apparently, it’s not up to Kyle’s standards. Normally, I wouldn’t care what Kyle thinks of my apartment, but then he said something that struck a chord: "Dude, there’s no way you could bring a girl back to this apartment."
Well, that raised a few red flags.
So I’m going to get a cleaning lady. I figure, best case scenario I get a clean apartment and someone to have sex with for an extra $30 a week. Worst case scenario, I get robbed. I’m a little lonely right now (it’s tough around the holidays) and have been a gambling god lately, so that’s a risk I’m going to take.
A beard trim (possible)
Lisa from Philly, who’s totally awesome, wrote me an email when I was ranting about the steel wool-like rattiness of my beard telling me that I should go to a nice barber shop and get it trimmed, as it’s an ancient, manly art. That is a perfect gift for me.
But there’s a catch: I’m pretty sure I’m shaving the beard. I’ve threatened this before, but I was thinking of starting the New Year sans facial hair. I mean, I can always grow it back in a few weeks and sometimes it’s nice to be clean-shaven, if only to make sure I haven’t developed any major skin rashes or deformities under the beard.
So the jury’s still out on this one. If I don’t shave it, I’m getting the barber-style trim. Otherwise, no trim. Although maybe it’d be nice to go someplace other than Supercuts for a haircut. Whatever.
——-
But that’s about it. I’m a simple man with simple needs. And probably an STD. But we’ll get into that later.
Good luck with any last-minute shopping and, if I don’t write tomorrow, Merry Christmas. I love you all, but in very different ways. And you know exactly what I’m talking about.
Ever since I graduated college, Christmas has been more of a chore than anything else. I have to take off work, commute home on trains packed with people, and try to convince my family that I’m doing more with my life than taking naps at work and getting drunk in dark bars four nights a week. I mean, does that sound like fun?
(I mean, the taking naps at work and drinking in dark bars is fun, but explaining it…not so much.)
But the real reason that Christmas has sucked since graduation is that because for the first time in my life I was expected – nay, required – to buy gifts for others.
I don’t mean that I didn’t buy gifts for my family members before. Of course, I did – I’m not an ungrateful child. But before the gifts would be crappy, usually a box of chocolates for my mom and a pack of smokes of my dad. So basically I spent the first 22 years of my life trying to fatten up my mom and kill my dad.
I don’t enjoy buying gifts because there is a lot of pressure in gift-giving. Now that I’m working and expected to buy decent gifts, I want to buy my family (and in the past, previous lovers) gifts that are awesome and incredible. I concede that this is more true in the case of previous girlfriends, as my mom would have the same reaction if I bought her a Lexus or flowers ("Oh – how nice! This wasn’t expensive, was it?") and my dad would give the same response whether I gave him a new wrench or the Philadelphia Eagles ("…") (then, "Thanks, Ron.").
But in a way, gift-giving is a kind of competition, and I want to win. I’m sure this is an unhealthy way to approach giving someone a present, but I usually don’t do things with either my physical or mental health in mind. Besides, my desire to be the better gift-giving results in someone else getting a really sweet present, so it’s not all bad.
Gifts are dangerous because giving one is also a form of evaluating the recipient. When you give a friend or a lover a gift, you’re saying, "This is what you’re worth to me." Maybe an example will help. Say you’re dating a girl long distance. On her birthday, you take two days off work and fly out to spend a very long weekend with her, even staying in a swanky hotel. One day while you’re at the hotel and she’s at work, you fill the room with flowers and get a birthday cake and wine to surprise her when she gets home. Then you give her a digital camera (that you spent weeks researching and cost you more than a month’s rent in most major American cities) and take her out to dinner a few nights, all to celebrate her birthday weekend. All this means that you probably like that girl, that you value her highly.
Then, for example, say two months later as your birthday approaches, she keeps saying that she can’t fly out to see you but you think she’s setting you up for a surprise. But when the day of your birthday rolls around, you get a FedEx tube in the mail that contains a 1) t-shirt and 2) a beer poster, two gifts that are perfectly acceptable to receive if you are dating a homeless person or high school junior. But since you are dating a girl of means equal to yours, these gifts probably mean that the girl likes…your digital camera.
(And it doesn’t make you petty to complain about this, because you know it’s not about the cost but the effort. It makes you bitter, immature, pathetic, and ultimately impotent, but not petty. And at least your friends get a kick out of reminding you about the $2000 beer poster rolled up in your closet, as they are dickheads.)
The point is that gifts matter more than most people will let on and should be considered very carefully. While there is no objective standard to what makes a great gift, the perfect gift is the right combination of thought, effort, and to an extent, cost (what – don’t people like nice things?).
Now the good news: this does not apply to me at all this Christmas, because I’m single (surprisingly, right?) and my family has told me exactly what they want.
My Dad: Sneakers
It’s always difficult to buy for my dad. He has several likes, but I’m unfamiliar with many of them. For example, we’ve already touched upon his devotion to cigarettes, which I partake of only in strip clubs. He loves his truck and all things auto-related, whereas I know so little about cars that typically at gas stations I pop the hood of the car and spray the shit everywhere. He also loves sports, but doesn’t like to go to games and isn’t into memorabilia. So there’s not much to work with.
This year, my brother and sister and I asked my dad what he wanted. His response? Sneakers (me), socks and t-shirts (my brother), and a membership at the local firing range (my sister). I’m not sure if it’s a good idea for a man who takes 15 pills a day to be firing a gun on a regular basis, but I guess we’ll see about this. And my sister drew that one because, really, what better present can daddy’s little girl get her dad than a membership to a gun club?
My mom is a bit opposed to this:
Me: "So dad wants a membership to the firing range?"
Mom: "He’s crazy. He can’t be firing a gun." [Editor's Note: my dad has a very bad back, hence (most of) the pills]
Me: [making shit up] "Well, that’s not entirely true. You can get, like, a small caliber weapon or something."
Mom: "Yeah, but it’s not like he’s going to be shooting…um…shooting…"
Me: "People?"
Mom: [frustrated] "No, Jas, but it’s not like he’s going to be hunting bears or anything."
Me: [incredulous] "Dad used to hunt bears?"
Mom: [completely exasperated] "I don’t know, Jas…"
But hey – that’s my sister’s battle to fight. I already got my dad’s sneakers – size 10.5, black New Balances, per his request. One down, three to go.
My Mom: iPod
My mom actually did not say that she wanted an iPod; I convinced her. She sees that all three of her kids have one and how much we listen to them and she’s always liked gadgets, so I got her the green nano.
The problem is that I’m entering a world of pain with this gift. She’s already asked me four times if I can put music on it for her so she can listen to it right away, and each time I’ve patiently explained that you can’t just throw music on there, that it is a process. Also, she asked me if she could somehow hook my sister Megan’s iPod up to her new iPod to get music. When I told her that that was not possible, she then asked if she could hook up her new iPod to my iPod to get music.
(Quoth a brilliant man, "Parents just don’t understand.")
My brother Dennis: cash
Really, the sweetest gift of all.
My sister Megan: cash
The sweetest gift of all, part two.
[Quick aside: In college, my buddy Conor and I used to joke about getting each other a card with $1000 in twenties in it for Christmas. It'd be like something out of "Goodfellas"; we say "Merry Christmas", hand the cards to each other, and count out the stack of 20's. I'd still like to do this, but my friends are so untrustworthy that if I were in the same room as them with $1000 in my possession, I would probably never come out alive.]
——-
Right now, you’re probably thinking, "So Jason, what do you want for Christmas?" Or maybe you’re thinking, "I don’t even know why I read this website." Whatever. Since the second wasn’t a question, here’s the answer to the first:
A sweet wallet
Though this isn’t the reason why I want a wallet, I once read somewhere that women in NYC look at two things to determine a man’s worth: his watch and his shoes. I don’t wear a watch, as I think (for the most part) they are tacky. As for shoes, I am way too straight to spend more than $150 on a pair of shoes. Sorry. This is non-negotiable.
I’ve been carrying a wallet since I was 12, so that’s 15 years. In those 15 years, I’ve had maybe four wallets, which I carried until they’ve fallen into tatters. All four wallets were purchased at rest stops along the New Jersey Turnpike or Mass Pike, and cost a combined $20.
Since $20 for 15 years of wallets is not that bad, I think it’s time to splurge and get myself a nice new one. Sure, I don’t even know where they sell nice wallets (maybe a nice rest stops?), but I’ll figure that out later.
A cleaning lady
My buddy Kyle came up to stay with me this weekend and gave me a serious talking to about the cleanliness of my apartment. I personally think the apartment is pretty clean – it’s not like there are rats running around or pubes in the fridge or anything – but apparently, it’s not up to Kyle’s standards. Normally, I wouldn’t care what Kyle thinks of my apartment, but then he said something that struck a chord: "Dude, there’s no way you could bring a girl back to this apartment."
Well, that raised a few red flags.
So I’m going to get a cleaning lady. I figure, best case scenario I get a clean apartment and someone to have sex with for an extra $30 a week. Worst case scenario, I get robbed. I’m a little lonely right now (it’s tough around the holidays) and have been a gambling god lately, so that’s a risk I’m going to take.
A beard trim (possible)
Lisa from Philly, who’s totally awesome, wrote me an email when I was ranting about the steel wool-like rattiness of my beard telling me that I should go to a nice barber shop and get it trimmed, as it’s an ancient, manly art. That is a perfect gift for me.
But there’s a catch: I’m pretty sure I’m shaving the beard. I’ve threatened this before, but I was thinking of starting the New Year sans facial hair. I mean, I can always grow it back in a few weeks and sometimes it’s nice to be clean-shaven, if only to make sure I haven’t developed any major skin rashes or deformities under the beard.
So the jury’s still out on this one. If I don’t shave it, I’m getting the barber-style trim. Otherwise, no trim. Although maybe it’d be nice to go someplace other than Supercuts for a haircut. Whatever.
——-
But that’s about it. I’m a simple man with simple needs. And probably an STD. But we’ll get into that later.
Good luck with any last-minute shopping and, if I don’t write tomorrow, Merry Christmas. I love you all, but in very different ways. And you know exactly what I’m talking about.
