Because I can't seem to fit it in the narrative of the post, I hope everyone had, is having and/or will continue to have a merry and fruitful holiday season

There is a hierarchy of gifts.

The best gifts make one blush at the sheer heft of the expense(of time or money)/consideration/effort/personal significance (usually multiple items from said menu) involved. Some highlight the extent to which the giver knows you. Either they've crafted something that vibrates at a similar pitch to your soul, or they've managed to find something that you'd never thought about owning but find no end of use or enjoyment. Or maybe they've given you something that speaks to the bond shared by the two of you.  In any case, even if you've taken to e-mail or the phone for your thank-yous these days, these ones will have you digging for the stationary and a nice pen.

On a slightly lower level are gifts that are evidence that the other person cares enough about you to pay attention. At some point since the last customary occasion for gift-giving, you mentioned something you needed or lusted after, and they held onto this bit of knowledge until it was time to use it. Bonus points if they went to special effort to keep tabs on whether or not you'd managed to aquire it on your own while simultaneously deflecting any anticipation you may have of what it is.

Then there are those humble tokens that are, at their best, merely neat.  You didn't need them or particularly want them, but all the same it's pretty cool that you have them now.

Each of those tiers has its Platonic ideal, imperfect efforts to achieve that ideal, and backfires("You spent HOW MUCH money so that you could be one of those fuckwads who buys a luxury sedan with a bow on the top as a Christmas gift with no prior consultation with the person who's supposed to be your PARTNER?"), but generally speaking, if you've given a gift that falls into one of those three categories, you've acquitted yourself.

You might say that that's an odd turn of phrase to use to describe giving a gift, but for some people, gift-giving is a part of their job description, as is gift receiving. Witness Hillary Clinton as she sits for an interview with a couple of Australian knuckleheads.



An aside:  You see that part at the very end?  Where the host marvels at the fact that our Secretary of State-- our representative on a world stage littered with the bastard children of the Cold War-- even freaking exists?

That right there was a quick hit of American Exceptionalism, for those of you who may have been jonesing.

A born diplomat can, for the purposes of a discussion, stitch their corner of the world with yours without paying mind to the seam, earnestly dissuading other parties from even noticing that it's there. We should cherish this talent wherever we find it, even if it's possessed by someone about whom we've said and thought fairly mean things in the past (whether or not we would take them back if given the choice). That here the world she's entered is one where a gorilla suit is more likely than a three-piece suit is immaterial.  Even when confronted with fairly odd questions, and there are some more, she responded honestly and in a way that offers unexpected insights.

Personally, I'd like to know how Secretary Clinton would receive a Lamborghini ballcap that doesn't fit and was most likely obtained freely from the sort of confab one goes to if they're the sort of person who might ever buy a Lamborghini-- and, for the purposes of this hypothetical, she isn't, and wouldn't be even if she could afford it-- which was clearly given as a means of keeping up appearances, by someone from whom you expected nothing and whose prior behavior lends one tho believe that they think that this minuscule window into the world of ostentatious motorfuckery, offered to someone who can't afford a used 4-banger, is of value in and of itself.

You know, hypothetically.

It's often been said that it's the thought that counts.  It is far less often noted that this too can be damning.

I've been sick, I swear

and that's why it's been six days since my last post. Not that it's out of keeping with my patterns of non-bloggingness, but that's the reason this time. Of course when you're home with your sick younger brother for three days that tends to happen. I thought I'd kicked it on Saturday. Went to see The Passion of the Scrooge in Boston. A ridiculous one-man opera-ish version of A Christmas Carol. Completely over the top and I'm not sure if the hilarity was intentional or not but damn do opera dudes overact.

It was followed by the "Not So Traditional Christmas Medley" by a string quintet. Easily the best performance of "Christmas music" I've ever been privy to. A maurading, creepy version of "Frosty the Snowman." A "Let it Snow" tango. A Soviet-esque "Jingle Bells." A cowboy "Away in a Manger."

I was with my friend Kat, who insists on eschewing any hint of femininity. Naturally I torment her about this at every turn, and when I happened upon a coupon for a free pair of panties from Victoria's Secret a week ago, a store that happened to be across the street from the church where the show went up. I managed to get her in the store and she was, well, horrified. She selected a pair, holding it as if holding a dead rat by the tail as she approached the counter. Exiting the store, she insisted that I hold the bag.

"You know, if anyone sees it they'll just assume I bought it for you"
"No, they'll think you get off on wearing women's underwear"
"Even if they do they'll just think that I'm wearing it because you think it's hot"
"grr"

Sensing that she intended to get me to keep the panties even after we parted ways for the evening, I got to scheming. As we passed a trash barrel, I pocketed the panties and ditched the bag behind my back. Then, while at the Papyrus in the Prudential Center mall, I slipped them in her pocket. This went undiscovered until half an hour later, walking down Newbury Street. Since then, two more had joined our group. She made repeated attempts to stick them to the others, which I deftly thwarted. At some point she threw them at me and ran. I caught them, slipped them back into my pockets, and didn't raise the issue again until we were at J.P. Licks and she was leaning up against the rail, her coat hanging off her in a way that provided slack. Once again, the panties were slipped into her pocket without notice. Halfway to the train station she gave up and wore them on her face the rest of the way.

Victorious, I hopped the Orange line and met my buddy Matt to accompany him on his all-night campout in front of the Best Buy to secure one of the 24 Nintendo Wiis that were to be delivered. Long story short, we got there in time, and I would have been able to get one too had I the cash. Though I also could have gotten the ticket and sold it afterwards, but Matt insisted on cockblocking there. "You'd be scamming some kid out of his Christmas Present." he said. "I'm your ride home, you're not doing it." And then later, "I'm proud of you; you did the right thing." After I found out that I could have made a cool 500 bucks.

grrr.

And to top it off, my cold made a reemergence, and as of this writing I have about half a voice and what was once a headache that somehow migrated to my neck. The Wii is a seriously cool piece of electronics though. And I know that not many people here play games. But there's something extremely satisfying about this one. My favorite part is when your opponent shouts "bullshit" when you put a 94 mph fastball past him and he can't even bring it up past 70. And then you patiently explain that you're just so much better. And then you dance

Anyways, I'ma go suck down on some lozenges and watch some House on dvd. Oh shit that reminds me I need to download Boston Legal. Fucking Barbra Walters last week made me forget it tonight.

Fuck. no one's uploaded the torrent yet. Ok, sticking to the original plan

Wombat out