2004-09-28 - 10:06 a.m.
DAMN THE DVD
I wish DVDs were never invented. It�s the perfect cop out for men who don�t want to put any thought into gifts for their girlfriend. My birthday�s coming up and I sincerely hope that when I got nostalgic for 30 seconds and flipped out over the Punky Brewster boxed set, The Honey didn�t think to himself,� A-ha, the perfect gift.� Because it�s not. I repeat: It. Is. Not. Yes, I like the two seasons of Strangers With Candy you bought me last year. But here�s the thing: I only started watching them last week, and that was because I�d smoked a joint and needed to laugh. They�ve been in my DVD case for a year and I never once picked them up. They sat there for so long because, while you got points for listening when I said I used to love that show, the slogan isn�t �Strangers With Candy DVDs are forever.� The same applies to The Lion King special edition boxed set. (I won�t add the My So-Called Life or Sex and the City boxed sets to this list because those are actually good ideas.) The slogan goes, �DIAMONDS are forever,� fool!
A DVD is a part of a gift, a supplementary gift, if you will. Like for your birthday I got you [omitted for personal reasons], and [omitted] AND season one of Reno 911. You see how I�m outlining the DVD�s supplementary nature? Right. When you present a DVD as the be all and end all of gifts, it�s insulting because it seems like you ran your ass over to Best Buy, grabbed the first thing you saw me looking at last time we were there, and bought it so you didn�t have to bother worrying about it anymore. And if you tell me you agonized over what DVD to buy, you�re either completely full of shit or completely misguided. Agonize over what BOOK to buy me. I mean, DVDs are your thing, not mine. Do I easily spend three hours in Best Buy, lovingly fondling anime DVDs? No, honey, that�s you. But I do spend three hours in Barnes and Noble fondling book spines. I even get a little moist, to tell you the truth. So hit that G-spot and get me what I want, not what you�d want.
Then last year you bought me all that shit for my car. And after a while, I really dug it. My driving lights are amazing and allow me to blind assholes who�re driving to slowly in front of me. But again, the phrase isn�t, �A new trunk mat is forever.� Say it with me now, diamonds. It�s not that I�m unappreciative. I love you for you, not your gifts, and after about a month, I come to love those too. But it�s just that those gifts all felt like something you�d like, not something I�d like. I like books, museums, plays, the symphony, yoga, music, and more: Any of these interests call to mind a host of gift ideas if you�d only think about it for a fucking minute.
After all this ranting, I remember, most women complain about this type of shit. I guess 9 out of 10 penis-bearing humans are bad at choosing gifts. So I try to take the guesswork out of it for you. But even that didn�t work. And it�s not like I�m asking for diamonds. I didn�t say, buy me a bracelet (which I�d like), or a necklace (which I wouldn�t mind), or a ring (which I�d love). I�m not asking for expensive trips or purses (which I�d also like) or shoes (which would be nice). I�m asking for something very simple.
Three weeks ago I said, �When my birthday comes up, I�d like my cello re-pegged, or I�d like a few cello lessons.� It�s simple, inexpensive, and it would really mean a lot to me. So when we were on the phone last night, why did you say, �I really don�t know what you get you for your birthday.� Yes, you do! Because I made sure of it. This selective listening thing is a royal fucking pain in my ass. People say it's the thought that counts. But if you didn't put any fucking thought into it, then I guess it doesn't count, does it?
Let�s see how you like it. I�ll buy you what I�m interested in, not what you�re interested in. No more top-of-the-line drawing tools, no more money for carparts to refurbish your vintage car. Next year for your birthday you�re getting every book ever written by Joyce Carol Oates. And a membership to the Philadelphia Museum of Art. And a subscription to the Walnut Theatre. And maybe, if you�re good, a really nice dress.
I wish DVDs were never invented. It�s the perfect cop out for men who don�t want to put any thought into gifts for their girlfriend. My birthday�s coming up and I sincerely hope that when I got nostalgic for 30 seconds and flipped out over the Punky Brewster boxed set, The Honey didn�t think to himself,� A-ha, the perfect gift.� Because it�s not. I repeat: It. Is. Not. Yes, I like the two seasons of Strangers With Candy you bought me last year. But here�s the thing: I only started watching them last week, and that was because I�d smoked a joint and needed to laugh. They�ve been in my DVD case for a year and I never once picked them up. They sat there for so long because, while you got points for listening when I said I used to love that show, the slogan isn�t �Strangers With Candy DVDs are forever.� The same applies to The Lion King special edition boxed set. (I won�t add the My So-Called Life or Sex and the City boxed sets to this list because those are actually good ideas.) The slogan goes, �DIAMONDS are forever,� fool!
A DVD is a part of a gift, a supplementary gift, if you will. Like for your birthday I got you [omitted for personal reasons], and [omitted] AND season one of Reno 911. You see how I�m outlining the DVD�s supplementary nature? Right. When you present a DVD as the be all and end all of gifts, it�s insulting because it seems like you ran your ass over to Best Buy, grabbed the first thing you saw me looking at last time we were there, and bought it so you didn�t have to bother worrying about it anymore. And if you tell me you agonized over what DVD to buy, you�re either completely full of shit or completely misguided. Agonize over what BOOK to buy me. I mean, DVDs are your thing, not mine. Do I easily spend three hours in Best Buy, lovingly fondling anime DVDs? No, honey, that�s you. But I do spend three hours in Barnes and Noble fondling book spines. I even get a little moist, to tell you the truth. So hit that G-spot and get me what I want, not what you�d want.
Then last year you bought me all that shit for my car. And after a while, I really dug it. My driving lights are amazing and allow me to blind assholes who�re driving to slowly in front of me. But again, the phrase isn�t, �A new trunk mat is forever.� Say it with me now, diamonds. It�s not that I�m unappreciative. I love you for you, not your gifts, and after about a month, I come to love those too. But it�s just that those gifts all felt like something you�d like, not something I�d like. I like books, museums, plays, the symphony, yoga, music, and more: Any of these interests call to mind a host of gift ideas if you�d only think about it for a fucking minute.
After all this ranting, I remember, most women complain about this type of shit. I guess 9 out of 10 penis-bearing humans are bad at choosing gifts. So I try to take the guesswork out of it for you. But even that didn�t work. And it�s not like I�m asking for diamonds. I didn�t say, buy me a bracelet (which I�d like), or a necklace (which I wouldn�t mind), or a ring (which I�d love). I�m not asking for expensive trips or purses (which I�d also like) or shoes (which would be nice). I�m asking for something very simple.
Three weeks ago I said, �When my birthday comes up, I�d like my cello re-pegged, or I�d like a few cello lessons.� It�s simple, inexpensive, and it would really mean a lot to me. So when we were on the phone last night, why did you say, �I really don�t know what you get you for your birthday.� Yes, you do! Because I made sure of it. This selective listening thing is a royal fucking pain in my ass. People say it's the thought that counts. But if you didn't put any fucking thought into it, then I guess it doesn't count, does it?
Let�s see how you like it. I�ll buy you what I�m interested in, not what you�re interested in. No more top-of-the-line drawing tools, no more money for carparts to refurbish your vintage car. Next year for your birthday you�re getting every book ever written by Joyce Carol Oates. And a membership to the Philadelphia Museum of Art. And a subscription to the Walnut Theatre. And maybe, if you�re good, a really nice dress.
p.s. I'd never hurt The Honey's feelings by actually saying all this to him. Of course, in the end, I will smile and say I love whatever I end up getting.
p.p.s. So I take back everything I said here. Due to a gentle (?) reminder to The Honey, I will soon be the proud owner of four new pegs, a new C string, and a lesson or two, come October 6. I know what you're thinking: what an impatient, spoiled bitch. To that I say: Your thinking on the matter is completely right.
