You can have your tinsel and ribbon, your sugarplums, fruitcakes, and hot toddies. The holiday season is for me about
giving, plain and simple. There is nothing quite like that genuine warmth inside — the spark of good cheer — that comes from providing a benefit to another. Giving a gift is a natural high unlike anything your Schnapps or egg nog or even your uncut Afghan opiates can deliver.
For my part, the purest drug is the anonymous gift: wholly unanticipated and freely given, with no thought of compensation or exchange. In fact, I make it a point, during the season, to send a little something to all of you through the mails, and have done for years now. I can't say what divine inspiration gave me the idea, but it all started in 1994, when I collaborated with the folks at Visa to make sure that the entire Eastern Seaboard and four Midwestern States received a Special Gold Card Offer (pending credit check and income verification, of course — those card companies can be Scrooges). You may remember the mailing — "No Annual Fee" — I hope you took advantage of it. '99 was another banner year; in the heart of the dotcom boom I saw to it that all of you received a CD-ROM from a preeminent internet service provider, promising 1000 hours of free surfing! The perfect gift for an Internet Christmas.
Do you remember the weekly grocery store coupons, the trial issue of
TV Guide, the holly-sprigged address labels from the
American Cancer Society? All of them came to you, unsolicited, in December 1998. That year's bull market brought your Phutatorius unprecedented investment gains:
why not share the wealth? I thought. Last year I tried something different: complimentary catalogs from Restoration Hardware, Pottery Barn, and Smith & Hawken to help you last-minute types along with your Christmas shopping.
To be fair, I experimented with email in 2001 (anthrax and everything put me off the U.S. Mails) — and from what I hear the penile implant coupons sort of fizzled. But the Spirit of Giving does not yield to minor setbacks. Not mine, anyway.
Now the wheels are turning for 2003 —
what to do? what to do? — oh, I'll think of something. You can count on it. One day soon you will find unexpected treasure in your mailbox. Tucking the goods under your arm, you will key into your apartment asking yourself,
How could I be so lucky? Somewhere, just outside your field of vision, I'll be smiling.
