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muckefuckFor us children, communicating what we wanted for Christmas was simple: When the Sears catalogue came, we would take turns leafing through it and writing down the names of all the coolest-looking toys. (The more academically-inclined among us would even include page numbers.) Now the only one of us four siblings who still does something like this is my older brother, who in all too many ways is like my sister's fourth child. Yes, we all keep Amazon wishlists, but those are different. ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bunj's, like mine, is littered with things that are too expensive, obscure, or both for anyone to really track down and give us; they really are wishes rather than concrete hopes. I have scattered a few cheap, available picks on mine just as a crutch for strangers or anyone else who gets stuck trying to find a gift for me--which includes even monshu on those rare occasions when his knack for finding the amazing thing I didn't know I couldn't live without inexplicably fails him.
Nowadays I don't make lists, only suggestions. I often try to have a few handy before my family starts asking come November or so, but I was still a little unprepared when my sister dropped the question this year. I guess I'd just had a frustrating experience trying to find something I wanted to wear in my closet because I told her "dress shirts". That's how I ended up coming back from St. Louis with four of them (and very possibly one or more others on the way). They are all quite nice (though none as pimpin' as the mafioso pinstripe my Mom gave me--can't wait for the occasion worthy of wearing it!) but at least one is rather inexplicable: My stepmom apparently went into a panic two days before Christmas that she hadn't bought enough and my father woke me up that morning to quiz me on my shirt size. When their gifts were dispersed on Boxing Day, I found that they'd already gotten me a quite nice (if snug) suede jacket, so I don't see why they felt the need to supplement that.
Part of the reason I was initially so confused by my father's call was that I'd recently bought a shirt for my BIL, which required memorising his size before I went shopping, and it's close enough to mine that I had to think carefully in order to separate the two. Normally, I'd leave it to my sister to buy him clothes, but I was living up to my responsibilities as The Gay Uncle. See, their oldest has recently gone off pink (formerly his favourite colour) because he's entred that instrument of fascist indoctrination known as "first grade" and now understands that pink is for girls. BIL's response to being told this--and one of the many reasons why he's keeper material--was "Maybe I should get a pink shirt." I figured he hadn't, though, and thought sis might've, but that one pink shirt was a must and two would be no crime. (Not only is it pink, but it's also a Polo™, so the preppiïsation of a working-class South Sider continues apace.)
Oh, and one more thing about those damn Amazon wishlists. Why is there no way to change the default order? Sure, if you know what you're doing, you can sort by other factors, but the initial display is always most-recently-added on top. Why do I bother assigning priorities to every single item if people are simply going to buy me the first thing they see in their price range? The last time I added a bunch of items was at the dawn of my García Márquez craze so I'm now blessed with more Crazy Jungle Spanish than I can eat. (Yet I still don't have the one title in that batch I wanted most. Ah ¡ironía!) Of course, I'd really prefer that they gave me a book that was meaningful to them whether or not it's something I've officially announced my desire to acquire or not, like the guide to prairie wildflowers my father gave me. I'll never forget where that came from whereas I've already lost track of who gave me La hojarasca and who gave me the other one. But God knows I'm lucky enough just to have something--anything--for every name on my list so I'm the last to carp about gifts not being thoughtful enough or whatever.
bunj's, like mine, is littered with things that are too expensive, obscure, or both for anyone to really track down and give us; they really are wishes rather than concrete hopes. I have scattered a few cheap, available picks on mine just as a crutch for strangers or anyone else who gets stuck trying to find a gift for me--which includes even monshu on those rare occasions when his knack for finding the amazing thing I didn't know I couldn't live without inexplicably fails him.Nowadays I don't make lists, only suggestions. I often try to have a few handy before my family starts asking come November or so, but I was still a little unprepared when my sister dropped the question this year. I guess I'd just had a frustrating experience trying to find something I wanted to wear in my closet because I told her "dress shirts". That's how I ended up coming back from St. Louis with four of them (and very possibly one or more others on the way). They are all quite nice (though none as pimpin' as the mafioso pinstripe my Mom gave me--can't wait for the occasion worthy of wearing it!) but at least one is rather inexplicable: My stepmom apparently went into a panic two days before Christmas that she hadn't bought enough and my father woke me up that morning to quiz me on my shirt size. When their gifts were dispersed on Boxing Day, I found that they'd already gotten me a quite nice (if snug) suede jacket, so I don't see why they felt the need to supplement that.
Part of the reason I was initially so confused by my father's call was that I'd recently bought a shirt for my BIL, which required memorising his size before I went shopping, and it's close enough to mine that I had to think carefully in order to separate the two. Normally, I'd leave it to my sister to buy him clothes, but I was living up to my responsibilities as The Gay Uncle. See, their oldest has recently gone off pink (formerly his favourite colour) because he's entred that instrument of fascist indoctrination known as "first grade" and now understands that pink is for girls. BIL's response to being told this--and one of the many reasons why he's keeper material--was "Maybe I should get a pink shirt." I figured he hadn't, though, and thought sis might've, but that one pink shirt was a must and two would be no crime. (Not only is it pink, but it's also a Polo™, so the preppiïsation of a working-class South Sider continues apace.)
Oh, and one more thing about those damn Amazon wishlists. Why is there no way to change the default order? Sure, if you know what you're doing, you can sort by other factors, but the initial display is always most-recently-added on top. Why do I bother assigning priorities to every single item if people are simply going to buy me the first thing they see in their price range? The last time I added a bunch of items was at the dawn of my García Márquez craze so I'm now blessed with more Crazy Jungle Spanish than I can eat. (Yet I still don't have the one title in that batch I wanted most. Ah ¡ironía!) Of course, I'd really prefer that they gave me a book that was meaningful to them whether or not it's something I've officially announced my desire to acquire or not, like the guide to prairie wildflowers my father gave me. I'll never forget where that came from whereas I've already lost track of who gave me La hojarasca and who gave me the other one. But God knows I'm lucky enough just to have something--anything--for every name on my list so I'm the last to carp about gifts not being thoughtful enough or whatever.
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