Trying to be John Wayne in a Brad Pitt world
Lead Summary
By
Rory Ryan-hcpress@cinci.rr.com
Ratchethead Ledbottom needed a ride home the other day and I had the misfortune of letting him find me, while in pursuit of not the perfect Christmas gift, but of a reasonably acceptable one.
I've long since given up on searching for the perfect gift for anyone – spouse, child, parent, sibling, friend or distant acquaintance twice removed. Well, that's not quite right. I still search for the perfect gift; but long ago surrendered any hope of finding it.
Last week, I listened to a radio program on WLW in which the host asked listeners to call in with the worst Christmas gifts since His (Jesus', not the radio guy's) birth more than 2,000 years ago.
One man called in to share that a few Christmases after losing one of his legs in a self-inflicted shooting accident, he received a box of shotgun shells. At least he hadn't shot off his sense of humor.
Another fellow, who was attending AA classes, received a nice bottle of bourbon. Then, there's always the gift of a box of cigars to the uncle who's just been diagnosed with lung cancer.
With my luck, I could easily have been the unwitting bearer of all of these inappropriate gifts and at the most inappropriate of times.
When I got home that day, I said "thank you" to my wife, Pam.
"For what?" she asked.
"For not calling WLW and mentioning any of the gifts I've purchased over the years."
(Apparently, she couldn't get through.)
Buying gifts for children younger than 10 isn't too difficult, I suppose. Beyond that, if I walk into a department store looking for clothes, jewelry, perfume or anything else for someone I genuinely care for, I get the sudden feeling that I've got no business pretending to know what someone else would like to wear (outside of the house, presumably).
After sharing this annual shopping dilemma with Ratchethead, as we made our way toward Fairfax, he responded: "That's because you're a John Wayne type who lives in a Brad Pitt world."
"What's that got to do with Christmas shopping?" I asked.
"Everything," RH said. "You don't pay any attention to the little things, those subtle suggestions from the TeeVee commercials, do you?"
"No," I admitted, feeling the first wave of guilt.
"Neither did John Wayne. But a Brad Pitt kinda guy, he'd know where to shop, what to buy, what color to pick, what size and how to wrap it. I'll bet you can't even wrap a present, can you?"
"No," I admitted, feeling a second wave of guilt.
"Why don't you pay attention to those TeeVee ads, anyway? You might learn something," Ratchet suggested.
"That's the problem, pal," I answered. "After too many years of annoying television commercials, I simply cannot force myself to listen to any of them. From feminine hygiene products to those drugs whose side effects include both diarrhea AND constipation, I just can't take it. Heck, just the other night, my son and I were watching a 'Monty Python' movie and we suffered through a series of pharmaceutical commercials about men who:
• Couldn't go to the bathroom;
• Couldn't stop going to the bathroom; or,
• Couldn't become intimate with their significant other.
"We came to the belief, if not realization, that not one of these men had any idea they were being presented in such personal predicaments in a drug commercial. Some poor sonofagun was just trying to get his fishing boat docked, all alone, when he was being filmed about his alleged intimate dysfunction. The drug could fix the problem; but if it fixed it for more than four hours, the poor guy had to go to the local ER. Another guy was just riding his bicycle in the park and they filimed him coming out of the men's room, and suggested he had to pee every three minutes."
As we crested Belfast hill and passed Howard Willis' old service station, Ratchethead was still considering my dilemma.
"So, you don't watch any TeeVee ads?" he asked.
"No," I admitted, feeling a third wave of guilt.
"You know what your problem is?"
"Obviously, no," I said.
"You don't know how to watch TeeVee when it comes to buying Christmas gifts. They've got channels what don't do anything else but show you what to buy. They've got cooking shows where you can buy a Miracle Blender, a Miracle Slicer, a Miracle Juicer or a Miracle Meat Cutter. No, wait, it's a Ninja Meat Cutter. Then, they've got those jewelry shows, where you can buy a pearl necklace for less than twenty bucks. You got the exercise channel. The music channel, where you can get a Conway Twitty Christmas album for $19.95 or a Porter Wagoner sport coat for 75 bucks."
"Good Lord," I said. "I do not know a single person who'd appreciate any of those gifts."
"Well, me and Brad Pitt do," Ratchethead replied.
I've read where Winston Churchill said that "Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference."
Maybe that's similar to "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," "One man's trash is another man's treasure," and "It's the thought that counts."
All I know is this: If there's anyone in the country who does a poorer job of selecting Christmas presents than I do, I'll shake his hand. And give him one of my DVDs of "Rio Bravo."
That might be the greatest gift I'll ever give my family, aside from dropping off my friend before coming home.
Merry Christmas, Everyone. Be thankful if you're not on my Christmas gift list.
Rory Ryan is publisher of The Highland County Press.[[In-content Ad]]
I've long since given up on searching for the perfect gift for anyone – spouse, child, parent, sibling, friend or distant acquaintance twice removed. Well, that's not quite right. I still search for the perfect gift; but long ago surrendered any hope of finding it.
Last week, I listened to a radio program on WLW in which the host asked listeners to call in with the worst Christmas gifts since His (Jesus', not the radio guy's) birth more than 2,000 years ago.
One man called in to share that a few Christmases after losing one of his legs in a self-inflicted shooting accident, he received a box of shotgun shells. At least he hadn't shot off his sense of humor.
Another fellow, who was attending AA classes, received a nice bottle of bourbon. Then, there's always the gift of a box of cigars to the uncle who's just been diagnosed with lung cancer.
With my luck, I could easily have been the unwitting bearer of all of these inappropriate gifts and at the most inappropriate of times.
When I got home that day, I said "thank you" to my wife, Pam.
"For what?" she asked.
"For not calling WLW and mentioning any of the gifts I've purchased over the years."
(Apparently, she couldn't get through.)
Buying gifts for children younger than 10 isn't too difficult, I suppose. Beyond that, if I walk into a department store looking for clothes, jewelry, perfume or anything else for someone I genuinely care for, I get the sudden feeling that I've got no business pretending to know what someone else would like to wear (outside of the house, presumably).
After sharing this annual shopping dilemma with Ratchethead, as we made our way toward Fairfax, he responded: "That's because you're a John Wayne type who lives in a Brad Pitt world."
"What's that got to do with Christmas shopping?" I asked.
"Everything," RH said. "You don't pay any attention to the little things, those subtle suggestions from the TeeVee commercials, do you?"
"No," I admitted, feeling the first wave of guilt.
"Neither did John Wayne. But a Brad Pitt kinda guy, he'd know where to shop, what to buy, what color to pick, what size and how to wrap it. I'll bet you can't even wrap a present, can you?"
"No," I admitted, feeling a second wave of guilt.
"Why don't you pay attention to those TeeVee ads, anyway? You might learn something," Ratchet suggested.
"That's the problem, pal," I answered. "After too many years of annoying television commercials, I simply cannot force myself to listen to any of them. From feminine hygiene products to those drugs whose side effects include both diarrhea AND constipation, I just can't take it. Heck, just the other night, my son and I were watching a 'Monty Python' movie and we suffered through a series of pharmaceutical commercials about men who:
• Couldn't go to the bathroom;
• Couldn't stop going to the bathroom; or,
• Couldn't become intimate with their significant other.
"We came to the belief, if not realization, that not one of these men had any idea they were being presented in such personal predicaments in a drug commercial. Some poor sonofagun was just trying to get his fishing boat docked, all alone, when he was being filmed about his alleged intimate dysfunction. The drug could fix the problem; but if it fixed it for more than four hours, the poor guy had to go to the local ER. Another guy was just riding his bicycle in the park and they filimed him coming out of the men's room, and suggested he had to pee every three minutes."
As we crested Belfast hill and passed Howard Willis' old service station, Ratchethead was still considering my dilemma.
"So, you don't watch any TeeVee ads?" he asked.
"No," I admitted, feeling a third wave of guilt.
"You know what your problem is?"
"Obviously, no," I said.
"You don't know how to watch TeeVee when it comes to buying Christmas gifts. They've got channels what don't do anything else but show you what to buy. They've got cooking shows where you can buy a Miracle Blender, a Miracle Slicer, a Miracle Juicer or a Miracle Meat Cutter. No, wait, it's a Ninja Meat Cutter. Then, they've got those jewelry shows, where you can buy a pearl necklace for less than twenty bucks. You got the exercise channel. The music channel, where you can get a Conway Twitty Christmas album for $19.95 or a Porter Wagoner sport coat for 75 bucks."
"Good Lord," I said. "I do not know a single person who'd appreciate any of those gifts."
"Well, me and Brad Pitt do," Ratchethead replied.
I've read where Winston Churchill said that "Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference."
Maybe that's similar to "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," "One man's trash is another man's treasure," and "It's the thought that counts."
All I know is this: If there's anyone in the country who does a poorer job of selecting Christmas presents than I do, I'll shake his hand. And give him one of my DVDs of "Rio Bravo."
That might be the greatest gift I'll ever give my family, aside from dropping off my friend before coming home.
Merry Christmas, Everyone. Be thankful if you're not on my Christmas gift list.
Rory Ryan is publisher of The Highland County Press.[[In-content Ad]]