A few years ago, lacking a publisher, I posted on Facebook, an 8 part series that stands as the definitive guide to gift giving.
In keeping with the spirit of the holiday, in a blatant act of goodwill toward my fellow man, I am re-printing the entire run here.
Ordinarily my blog is reserved for tales from the road. I am making an exception this time because, if you blow it, the road is where many of you could find yourself.
Without further ado, I save you from your own limited imaginations and present —
Tommy’s Gift-giving Guide
Xmas Edition
Part 1
As someone who, as a matter of routine, has spoiled his lovely bride rotten pretty much full-time for more years than she will let me publish, I stay broke as a result of having once again blown my paycheck on some shiny bauble or trinket just to make her smile. That’s all the pay I need.
However, the lack of ready funds does not mean the unilateral flow of presents is allowed to ebb. No. Not even close. So, over the years, survival has mandated that I explore the different categories of gifts beyond simply the “expensive”.
In fact there are seven such categories. Each with its own payoffs and pitfalls.
To help you navigate this minefield, and so that you can learn from my experience, stand on the shoulders of giants, as it were, I will break down each of these gift-giving options thus saving you countless hours of frantic and frenetic freaking out about having not found that perfect gift. This is called the gift of wisdom. Merry Xmas you filthy animals.
The 7 types of gifts are:
Thoughtful, expensive, gag, neutral, impulse, wisdom and, of course, the gift card.
There are some charlatans out there who will insist that there are more, like, say, Crappy.
But, CRAPPY is not a category. It is merely an undesired result of having improperly applied the following disciplines.
Likewise USEFUL is not a category. This is when your aunt gives you underwear for your birthday. What she really did was give your parents 6 bucks. Not a gift, therefore, not a category.
The first rule of good gift-giving is to avoid crossing categories.
If you are spending a lot of money for instance, you are wasting effort that could be better spent back home sitting in your chair drinking beer by also putting a lot of thought into it.
When you give someone a new car, and they respond, “Red? But my favorite color is PURPLE! I hate you!” Then you never had a chance of pleasing the bastard anyway. So, seriously, get the red one. Go home. Drink a beer.
The same rule applies if you are giving a gift to a friend of a friend, whom you are likely to never see again and, whom you know very little about. You are hurting yourself by employing anything but the Neutral option.
In the coming posts, we will delve deeper into each of the different categories…
It’s the thought that counts with…Michelle Long
Tommy’s Gift-giving Guide
Xmas Edition – part 2; or Tommy the Swami Saves Xmas.
Earlier, we identified the 7 categories of gifts and the first couple of rules to proper gifting when I had to cut it short and go to work.
This annoyed some of you. I understand you are counting on me to bail you out of your giver’s block. To you, I would like to say I am truly sorry for the abrupt end of this morning’s post. Now, fuck you. Be patient.
In this segment, we will cut to the chase and name the actual perfect gift. Yes, it exists or I will make it exist. I am not the gift-giving guru for nothing, after all.
We will also explore in greater detail, the 7 classifications of gifts and the perils associated with each. There is a lot to do. Let’s get to it.
It seems that every time a major holiday goes commercial, some young know-it-all thinks that just because they have failed to achieve enlightenment, then enlightenment does not exist and they try to stump me on the PERFECT GIFT.
They ask, “Swami, what is the perfect gift for my mother-in-law, Bernice?”
How should I know? I’ve never met the woman. Hell, I just made her up on the spot 15 seconds ago. In fact, I chose the name Bernice because I think that was the name of the wife of Fish from Barney Miller. So, it is impossible to answer. Right? Not right. Or, in layman’s terms, “wrong.”
Here, because of my striking resemblance to the Laughing Buddha, they expect me to get all mysterious and speak of inner journeys and the gift revealing itself to the worthy when the stars align without actually giving them an answer.
Instead I respond, mater-of-factly, “Night-vision goggles.”
To which they say, “Night-vis…what?”
You see, what they (and by extension, YOU) fail to realize is, the PERFECT GIFT is not necessarily the BEST GIFT. The definition of the PERFECT GIFT is one that the recipient would like to have, but would never, in their wildest dreams, ever actually spend their own money on.
If Bernice is the kind of person who has use of Night-Vision Goggles, then it is likely she has already bought herself Night-Vision Goggles. As it is, she most probably is not a Ninja Assassin and therefore, would love to noodle around with the device. Who wouldn’t? Boom! Perfect Gifted.
Anyway, back to the categories and how they can ruin family gatherings..
EXPENSIVE is pretty straightforward. You spend a lot of money on something and give it to a loved one. It doesn’t matter what it is because all they are thinking when they get it is, “If we ever have a big fight and end up hating each other, I would be free to sell this tennis bracelet pocket the cash!”
So, if you have the means, EXPENSIVE is the easy way out.
One of the perils to the EXPENSIVE category comes from my own personal history.
Way the hell back — many years ago, I found myself on the Strip in Las Vegas. The New York New York to be precise.
Somewhere, within the mock up of NYC streets stood a quaint little shoppe named “Rolex” that specialized in ungodly over-priced jewelry. My wife, Trixie, after several drinks, informed me that she would find it to be very touching, indeed, if I were to buy her a tsotchke from that quaint little shoppe.
Endearingly, I broke into a violent, cold sweat and dutifully approached the sales clerk. Using the din of slot machines to cover the conversation, I said to the lady,
“Hi, I would like to purchase the absolute cheapest item you have for sale, please. I don’t care what it is. Just make sure it comes in a bag with your store’s name.”
Moments later, I emerged with a faux leather watchband for about $300.
Trixie looked at it. Gushed! Hugged me! Squealed with delight! And sent me back in to get her diamond earrings, because that is really what she had in mind.
I complied. And, though we are not supposed to talk about it lest, somehow I am the one who gets in trouble for it, she wore those earrings ALMOST one whole time before she lost one. We know that she had them both when she left the house, but the first person she showed them to pointed out she had only one still dangling. Cie la vie.
OK, folks. I’m posting this one but stand by, I am beginning installment three immediately. So, stand the fuck by…
I could never put a price on…Michelle Long
Tommy’s Gift-giving Guide
Xmas Edition – part 3; or, It’s the Thought that Counts
Frequently, I am approached by complete strangers who say to me,
“Word on the street is you are the world’s greatest gift-giver – in theory. Have you ever had one backfire?”
To which I always say, ‘Hoo boy! Have I ever. Sit down. You have got to hear this.”
More than a lifetime ago, I met a pretty, young, minx who I will call, “Trixie”
It was a whirlwind romance that has lasted more years than I have fingers to count them on. It was animal lust at first sight, but it would grow into love as the flesh grew spongy and bruised and I needed time to recover.
But, from day one, she was that one whom I felt like I had known forever. I couldn’t recall a time when she wasn’t there.
Fast forward 6 months of this blissful shit. Her birthday rolls around. But, this was THEN. I was as clueless about gift-giving as you, dear, gentle reader, are now. Foolishly, I thought that I would give her a THOUGHTFUL gift. I mean, that is the way to go…right?
So, I sat down and thought. I mean, Really THOUGHT. I thought my brains out. That was my first mistake.
As anyone who knows me could tell you, I do my best thinking on my feet. But, as yet unknowing, sit there I did. To a semi-young, twitterpated stallion such as myself, the answer seemed obvious. In retrospect it was far too obvious. A red flag, even. I decided to give her the GREATEST GIFT OF ALL!!! The gift of laughter. I would go with the GAG gift.
Now, the GAG gift, in and of itself is not guaranteed to be the biggest mistake you have ever made in your life. But, it walks the razor’s edge. There is a time and a place for the GAG gift. Really, the only appropriate recipients of GAG gifts are those who would feel uncomfortable by any meaningful expression of affection. Like, say, a fraternity brother with whom you were not particularly close. And, the time for a GAG gift is exclusively reserved for the occasion of saying, “Goodbye” to someone you will, in all liklihood, never, ever see again for the rest of your life, thus avoiding the awkward moment when you lock eyes with your boss in the break room and both of you are thinking about that time you gave her that 1-quart tube of Preparation H for her birthday, with a card reading, “Sorry for being a pain in the ass.” There are no exceptions.
As it turns out, yes, everyone likes to laugh, but not everyone has the same sense of humor. I found that out the hard way. So, here is what I did — pop quiz, spot the flaws:
I decided to give the love of my life, that one special somebody, a GAG gift in the form of a NEUTRAL card on the very first birthday she celebrated since we were a couple. Yes, it was attached to a real gift, but she opened the card first.
If you answered, “Triple cross-contamination of categories” go to the head of the class.
In my mind, she would open this innocuous card, read it, bark, “Yeah right!” then tear my clothes off while laughing hysterically. That is not quite what happened,
It seems she had built up in her mind that this was going to be the moment that I would let my true feelings be known. Hallmark would be my Christian de Neuvillette to my Cyrano de Bergerac. Trixie, Roxanne. (Read a goddamn book once in a while, will ya?) Hands trembling, she tore the envelope and saw…well, pic related.
Her eyes welled with the biggest globes of tears. Her chin quivered in time with a hummingbird’s wings and she said softly, “Thank you.”
I realized then, women are never so vulnerable as when they try to appear brave. And, I died a little bit.
If you are feeling blue, know that there is a happy ending. Of the several hundred holidays, events and occasions in the intervening years, for which I have been expected to present her with a greeting card (I’m batting about .275 on that) this is the only one she has saved. Hence the picture. And, know that when she breaks this bitch out, it is my ass. She wouldn’t trade it for anything. Unintentionally, I gave her the gift that keeps on giving.
More to come…
when you care enough to love the very best, like…Michelle Long
Tommy’s Gift-giving Guide
Xmas Edition, part 4; or The Neutral Zone
It all starts with the neutral gift. The genius grows from there like a garden slug grows from slime mold.
Did you know that? Slime mold just lays around absorbing nutrients as a vegetable type life form, like in a compost pile. Then, as the food source becomes scarce, the slime pools together, sprouts antennae, and becomes an animal type life form and moves, albeit slowly, towards a new food source. If that is not the most fascinating FACT in all of science, then it is certainly the most fascinating FACT that I have ever made up and then got confused and thought it was true. Somebody should look that up.
What the hell am I talking about? Anyway…
The first person I ever knew that had mastered the art of the NEUTRAL gift was my grandmother Hazel (bless her soul). Much of what I have learned can be credited to her.
Way back, well before we were old enough to drive, my brother, Steve and I hitchhiked 10 miles through waist-deep snow to my grandmother’s house, which we would be using as a jumping off point for a birthday/kegger that we would be attending that evening in her neighborhood.
Cold, exhausted (from having traveled over the river and through the woods to get there), and, way under the legal drinking age, we arrived at Grandma’s house only to realize that we had completely neglected to even consider remembering to buy the birthday girl a present. We were going to show up, drink beer, eat food, listen to music, dance as the mood struck us, and be remembered as the crass, uncouth freeloaders that, as it turns out, we, in reality were.
Grandma to the rescue. “You knuckleheads didn’t get Sally a birthday present did you?” She said.
The best we could do by way of witty rejoinder was stunned silence.
Good ol’ Grandma smiled smugly and strode off to a spare room. Presently, she emerged with two items, mint in package. A lady’s compact that had a built-in light that came on when the clamshell-like device was opened (very feng shui for the early 80s) and a similar item that I do not recall.
As we stood there amazed, searching our minds for the words, “You go Grandma!” she explained. “I raised 11. E! LEV! EN! Do you think a week ever went by that one of them didn’t say to me at breakfast, ‘Oh yeah, today is the gift exchange in first period. I was supposed to tell you a couple of weeks ago’. Or, ‘this afternoon is so-and-so’s birthday party. I need a gift. I forgot.’ I keep a box of ready-to-go gifts in the spare room.”
I was floored! Amazed! Thinking ahead was a brand new concept to me. I vowed to try it someday. I still mean to.
You know who will make a good Grandma someday?..Michelle Long
Tommy’s Gift-giving Guide
Xmas Edition, part 5; or, The Rule of Unintended Consequences.
It’s a known fact that a complex algorithm is used to encrypt several dimensions, then condense them into a single number called a “dress size” to prevent men from ever knowing the approximate size or shape of any one physical aspect of an individual female’s anatomy. We don’t understand it. We never will. We don’t even WANT to.
Many years ago, working under the theory that a man’s worth is determined by the challenges he will shy away from, I decided to buy my wife, Trixie, an article of clothing as a gift.
There I stood in the women’s department of an anchor store, completely lost.
“Your wits have gotten you this far, ol’ boy. You can do this.” I muttered to myself and strode to the section that I guessed was correct.
My reasoning went like this. — women, for good or for bad, are willing suckers for marketing ploys. So, the descriptive modifiers in orange neon lights on each wall should be dismissed as meaningless. I calculated that a woman of Trixie’s proportions would shop in the area emblazoned…hmm… “Petite Junior Teen Miss” or something like that.
Hell, even if I was wrong, she would be touched that I thought to assume that is what she was, right? There is NO WAY this one could backfire!
I have no sense of taste or style whatsoever and, frankly, I prefer it that way. All I know is, blue for boys, pink for girls.
Rather than fretting over such details, I snatched a frock at random and headed for the check out. I envisioned Trixie smiling warmly, as she returned the item. I know! I know! What a sweet gesture on my part that I would even try!
When she opened the gift she asked, “Are you saying I’m fat? Is this the size you think I should wear?”
Then burst into tears and ran from the room.
Simultaneously thinking on my feet and leaping into action I raced back to the store to beat her at her own game. I swapped the garment that was two sizes too small for an identical one that was, what I guessed to be, two sizes too large.
“Haha!”, I thought, “if getting one that is too small made her feel bad, then getting one too large will undo the effects! She will slip it on and be positively SWIMMING in all that extra fabric…Criss Cross! Then she will feel like the dainty little angel feather I know her to be! Fucking… … …BRILLIANT!!”
Presently, I returned home and presented her with the present (Heh.)
With the flair of a natural showman, I swept the item from the bag and bowed as I handed it to her.
She took it with all the suspicion of a terrier sniffing at a rathole, checked the tag and said, “Are you saying I’m fat? Is this the size you think I should be?” Then burst into tears and ran from the room.
I stood there alone nodding and said, “Oh yeah…right. I forgot women are crazy. So close.”
The lesson turned rule here is – all gifts carry with them some unintended message. Be mindful of what your gift is saying.
Total NONOs, that should be obvious are – never give personal hygiene products. Nose hair trimmers, organic “green” toothpaste that is sure to save the planet, hypoallergenic soap, odor eaters…whatevs…they are an ass whipping waiting to happen.
Brace yourselves…we tackle gift cards in the upcoming episode.
Feeling like a perfect fit for…Michelle Long
Tommy’s Gift-giving Guide
Xmas Edition, part, I dunno, what, 6?; or, It’s the “no thought whatsoever” That Counts
We have gone, as a species, from exchanging gifts, to saying, “fuck it” and just giving each other sweaters each year, to the penultimate expression of lazy affection — the giving of GIFT CARDS. Before we go full monty and just give each other dirty looks via Skype and call it a holiday, we have me to step in and say, “Fucking, WHOA, everybody!”
Let’s face it, gift cards are a johnny-come-lately game of “let’s pretend”.
And, what are we pretending? We are pretending we went shopping for a thoughtful gift instead of crassly giving someone (shudder!)…Cash!…(shudder again).
Gift cards straddle the line between IMPULSE gifts and the, heretofore unmentioned double-secret-probation 8th category of gift, the SACRIFICIAL gift, or, as I have come to know it, “The Last Act of a Desperate Motherfucker”
Unless you are giving it to a kid, you come across as sanctimonious and judgmental when you give someone a gift card. It says, “Clearly, I can’t trust you with real money because you will waste it on hookers and blow, so here is an exact dollar amount of how much I value your friendship but you have to spend it at THIS store, dig? — you pay the sales tax”
Gift cards should be avoided unless you really don’t give a shit and are only begrudgingly meeting an obligation.
While preparing for this advisory, I went into the field to do research . In my travels I interviewed, figuratively THOUSANDS of disappointed assholes. One who stands out was a young, thirty-something, whiz-kid, upstart, jack-off named Brent or Bart or Brad…whatever. He was a senior network architect or something. He actually programmed communication satellites, if that is even a real job. Like, Jeff Goldblum in “Independence Day”. Way too smart and talented to be around for very long. I said to him, What is the most awkward gift you have ever received?”
He appeared embarrassed and said, “The first Xmas that my wife and I were together, her parents said to me, ‘We know you are really into computers, so we got you this’ and they gave me a $25 Facebook gift card. I don’t even know what you can buy on Facebook.”
Here was yet another clear case of cross-contamination between the categories of Thoughtful and Gift Card. Disaster. Do not be THAT person.
Hanging on a Friday night with God’s gift card to men..Michelle Long
Tommy’s Gift-giving Guide
Xmas Edition, part 7; or, Let’s Wrap This Up, I Want to Get Back to Complaining About Other Stuff.
To recap, we have:
Expensive. Great if you have the means, Literally cannot be fucked up.
Thoughtful. Even Better! Until you run out of ideas. Easily fucked up.
Gag. Awful. Avoid at all costs. You will fuck this up.
Neutral. You don’t care about the giftee. It doesn’t matter if you fuck it up.
Impulse. Awful. Didn’t even cover. By definition, is pre-fucked up.
Wisdom. Unappreciated. The snot-eating bastards who even take the time to read the words of wisdom you have gifted them will unfairly equate it with a charitable donation that you pretend to have made in their name yet you yourself get to claim the deduction. So, don’t even bother. They’re fucked up.
Gift Card. Unimaginative. Use sparingly, Tough to fuck up, but don’t expect too much credit.
OK, so now, you’ve hung on my every word. You went out and bought a cartload of NVG’s (night vision goggles, keep up people, the abbreviations are needed. The clock is ticking) or maybe some of those quad-copter drones with a video camera mounted that, anyone would want — and you don’t know what to do next. Well, fear not! I am here to not only tell you what to do next, but I am also going to tell exactly what NOT to do next. Because if you are anything like me (and, by now you should be) then your natural impulse will be to show up at the recipients house 20 minutes before the gathering is scheduled to begin, clutching your unwrapped gift in the very Walgreen’s bag that the clerk put it in not 15 minutes ago, and mutter something insincere like, “Here you go. I didn’t have a chance to wrap it.”
I have been told, more than once and right to my face, mind you, that this is considered bad form in most social circles.It sends several messages.
One, you waited until the absolute last second to buy a gift in the hopes that one of you two would die, thus sparing you the effort of shopping.
And, two, you are a Neanderthal who makes no attempt to engage in normal social conventions.
As with most of life’s obligations and bathroom activities, the job is not over until the paperwork is done.
We have already established that you are at least somewhat like me, and therefore, physically and emotionally incapable of even putting a ham sandwich into a ziplock baggie without smearing mustard everywhere. You would sooner hang up your running shoes and quit the human race rather than even ATTEMPT a complex operation such as wrapping a present.
Fortunately, nature has provided a Life Hack in the form of women and gay males. They are good at this shit. Chances are you know at least one member of either of these two groups. They even have a way of running the scissors down a strip of ribbon to make it curl up into this amazingly fancy formation.
Tommy’s Gift-giving Guide
Xmas Edition, final chapter; or, Shit Comes to Shove.
In the chess game that is marriage, my wife, Trixie, has managed over the years to position her pieces so that my king has painted himself into a corner on thin ice. She has done this by extracting and exhausting every resource at my disposal.
Five of the seven gift categories have been rendered, “presento non grata ” leaving me with only Expensive and Thoughtful to choose from.
The problem here is, we have been together long enough that I have already exploited every meaningful moment of her life for its full value at some gift-giving occasion in our lives together. And, unlike my lovely wife, I’m flat-busted. (Boob joke..heh).
With only 10 shopping days left until Xmas, I had only two new options left. In order of occurrence – Desperation and Full-blown Panic. Both would need the assistance of blind luck if I was going to pull this off.
Desperation level 1 – the Direct Approach.
Me: So, what do you want for Xmas this year, Sugarballoons?
Trixie: Ooh, you don’t have to get me anything. Xmas is for the kids. We have everything we want already.
Me: This is that test for dementia you give me every year. Isn’t it? The year I fall for it, you start having two beefy guys in white uniforms come to the house twice a week to bathe me. Don’t you?
Trixie (kissing my forehead): Even if it is, you’re safe this year.
Desperation Level 2, plagiarize some of the greatest gifts in history and hope she doesn’t notice.
Me: (Rooting through the mounds of cookware beneath the kitchen sink): Sugarbumpers, where is the lobster pot and big wooden spoon?
Trixie (from the next room): I hid them so you couldn’t do your awful “Little Drummer Boy’ gift thing again this year, dear!”
Me: Drat.
Clearly if I was going to win Xmas this year it was going to take every ounce of cunning, and chicanery I could muster. I would simply play her like a fiddle. Get her to tip her hand so I could look down her shirt and take credit for whatever I found. The trick was to make her think I was a step ahead of her.
Sitting in our chairs watching “Elf” last night I said, so casual I was fit to bust, mind you, “Yep. Got all my shopping done. You’ll never gue…”
“You’ve decided to let me get another cat!” She ejaculated prematurely. (Heh)
The funny thing about panic is, it grips you with no warning and makes you blurt out shit you will regret even as you are saying it.
“How did you know?!” I replied in hysterics.
Looking forward to a Merry Xmas with…Michelle Long…and her filthy animals.