Things I learned this holiday season.

My family is very, very funny.

My father wanted a garment steamer for Christmas. He just wanted to steam his shirts. My mother, always aiming to please, bought the largest, most industrial strength steamer she could find—the kind they use on parachutes and the theater curtain at Radio City Music Hall. As my father struggled to extricate the mammoth Jiffy J4000 from its box on Christmas morning (it was really a three-person job; he nearly herniated a disc), my brother-in-law commented, “That thing should come with its own Chinese couple.” I laughed my way straight to hell.

Later, during a rousing game of Quip It, my mother invented a 60s-era superhero, clad in short-shorts and knee socks, sporting gold chains and a white man fro, named Psychedelic Man: “faster than an STD at a commune, more powerful than Maui Wowie, able to leap small sit-ins in a single bound.”

---

I am a material girl.

I’ve never actually wanted to marry an inanimate object before. But this new video iPod I got for Christmas? We’re already picking out china patterns.

(Mom: “I don’t care what you marry as long as it’s cheaper than your sister’s wedding.”)

The thing is shiny, sleek, and spreads joy wherever it goes. Its surprisingly sharp LCD screen glows warmly at me in a reassuring manner, as if to say, “Come. Let the troubles of your day slip away, and curl up with me for awhile. You know you want to watch that Fat Boy Slim video again.”

I’ve spent two days filling it non-stop with music and video files, slowly turning it into a little portrait of my pop-cultural self. I get unaccountably giddy when I see the playlists filled with every episode of my favorite old British sketch show, archives of SNL Jeopardy clips, and enough music to keep me entertained for the next 2,837 straight hours. By my calculations, I don’t really need to speak to another human being ever again.

---

Apple, bless them, needs to reevaluate its marketing department.

Dear Apple,

I *heart* my new toy, and I am wary of rousing the wrath of the Mac gods, so I don’t want it to seem like I’m being ungrateful here, but if I may be so bold as to make a small suggestion regarding the packaging and distribution of iPod accessories: try to make it not suck so much. Distributing vastly different products in IDENTICAL packaging, with one word in 5-point type being the only discriminating feature between the two, is not helpful.

Thanks! Kisses.
Meldraw

---

My neighbors will never have particularly good taste.

The family that lives in the apartment next to me decorates everything. I don’t care what holiday it is, they'll have a lawn ornament for it. They'll also have four door hangings, three statues, and forty five window clings. Their adornments take over the hallway. At Halloween, it was the creepy witch that watched me with shifty eyes. This season, it was a wreath, two stuffed snowmen, a couple of hand painted wooden signs (“Welcome to the Ginger Bread House!” and “Santaland Blvd.”), three nearly life-sized cardboard cut-outs of what I think are supposed to be wise men (though they kind of look like shady arms dealers), and a reindeer doorknob hanger that completely negates the function of the doorknob. And that’s just the hallway. You should see their back porch. On a particularly windy day, I saw an uprooted plastic Santa Claus and no less than four wayward reindeer go flying past my window. I think they were trying to escape.

I wonder what they’ll do for Arbor Day.

---

Good deeds are fun.

A man walked into my store a couple of days before Christmas to buy a bag for his wife. It was almost closing time, and he deliberated as I explained all of the important features of each bag. After inspecting the bags for a few minutes, he left the store, saying he would be back when he made a decision. As I walked to the front door to lock up and close the store, I noticed an envelope on the ground near the bags he had been looking at. Picking it up, I saw that it contained $150, and it had obviously belonged to the man who just left. I tried to catch him in the parking lot, but he was long gone. I was so disappointed—he probably didn’t realize it was gone; would he even know where he dropped it? And at this time of year, of all times… I really hoped he would come back.

I thought about him all the next day, wondering if there was any way to contact him. I didn’t know his name, and I didn’t know if his wife was a member of our store’s club. He hadn’t bought anything, so there was no charge card to look up. All I could do was hope he returned.

That evening, the man came back to the store. He walked in, looking stricken and defeated. He approached me. “Hi, I was here last night—”

“Yes, I remember. I have something of yours.”

“What?”

“Your envelope.”

“You’re kidding.”

I laughed. “No. I’m so glad you came back!” I went to the register and retrieved the envelope from the drawer where I’d placed it the night before.

The man looked stunned. He couldn’t seem to believe that anyone would not just pocket the money. He opened the envelope, surveyed the contents, and shook his head, incredulous. He immediately bought our most expensive bag for his wife ($129.99) and told me to keep the change. I protested, but he insisted. “It’s not much, but I just…thank you.”

He was nearly out the door when I called to him, “Merry Christmas!” When he turned to me, his smile was huge, and a little shaky. It made my day.