the gift of gab

okay, here's what I like about winter: 1. cold weather foods and 2. attempts at hibernation.
my list of don't likes, are, I fear, longer: 1. dry, itchy skin that makes me not want to shower for days, 2. snow that a) has to be shoveled b) makes parking downtown that much more difficult c) gets dirty and gross and all over the bottoms of your pants, so much so that sometimes you get a salt line somewhere around your calf, 3. being cold 4. the commercial madness that ensues after Halloween and bids you to buy lots and lots of stuff that the receiver probably doesn't really want or need.

I'm really bad at buying gifts for people. I always procrastinate about it, to the point when mail-order is usually not a possibility any more. Some people--probably you who are reading this--are incredibly prescient, thoughtful souls who know just what someone else would love, but it's hard for me to escape the mindset that gift-giving is usually some kind of projection of what one would want for one's self or what you think someone ought to have. Other times, people give you a list and then it doesn't even feel like that much of a gift anymore; more like a charity-case.

The gifts I want to give are often irreverent. Take JD's friends who just announced that they're expecting a baby. As camping enthusiasts, JD wants to give them this cute baby backpack so that in several months, they can take the tyke on nature expeditions. I, however, (in the interest of infant literacy, of course) want to give them this book: (wait, there are more!)

They are not the sort of people that would probably appreciate the initiation of their firstborn into a world of boozy impiety. For some reason, that makes me think they need the "Baby, be of use" series even more.

As for me, all I want for Christmas is a ghostwriter.