I always appreciate the big to-do the world makes of Dec. 25, my birthday. True, others are involved in the day, but I prefer to believe I am the one being feted. I never had a birthday party and yearly I waited for the inevitable pair of socks or gloves with the witty comment, “One for birthday. One for Christmas,” followed by shrieks of laughter (from others). Needless to say, the day has not always been remembered with a smile. An exception was being invited to a friend’s house in Tokyo for a birthday dinner.
On arrival I found the food cooked and him passed out on the floor, snoring and stark naked. His 350 pounds making it a memorable sight. Having such girth made his choosing to live in Japan a puzzle until one realized that to the Japanese chubby-chasers he was a mountain of sexual perfection and desire. For me, however, he was just a friend with a drinking problem, but a lot of fun. Unable to move him, I threw a blanket or two over him and proceeded to dine alone. Suddenly, the door opened and Hiroshi walked in. He was 5 feet 6 inches, 145 pounds and one of my friend’s favorite playmates. As if on cue, the sound of his voice began to rouse (arouse) the sleeping giant. Quickly sizing up the situation, I finished my meal, said goodbye to my host and with barely time to fill a doggie bag was practically shoved out. Breathing heavily and with eyes agleam, Hiroshi hastily shut the door assuring me, “Don’t worry. I’ll handle him.” Whatever he meant by that I preferred not to envision.
Wending my weary way home, I smiled at the thought that even though my evening had not gone as planned, someone was having a merry Christmas.
The elephants cometh
Look out! A herd of elephants is charging your way. White ones. It’s that season again when at least one of your groups is having a seasonal gathering with the added joy and excitement of a white elephant exchange. Be still my heart, you say. They are extremely helpful in getting rid of the hideous hand-knit scarf from Aunt Sophia, the ashtray, a blue turd made by your niece at summer camp, to say nothing of the crap you unluckily ended up with last year. And let’s not forget the nice things which you just don’t have a need or space for. All are welcome and all have the potential to add great fun, even hilarity, to a party.
Creative wrapping can give a false and confusing impression of what’s inside. It goes without saying a naughty ambience added by the wrapping style or the gift itself greatly increases the merriment. I recall the long box encased in what I later realized was suspiciously thin paper through which could be seen the smiling face of Jeff Stryker (for those of you who are not senior men, he was a huge star in the gay art films, huge). Through grueling fighting and haggling, I won the chance to grab it. All eyes were on me as I ripped the treasure open and there, stuffed into a paper bag, was a “Kiss the Cook” apron. Nice, but sorely less than anticipated.
The event is often greeted with protestations claiming childishness, but once the gifts appear accompanied by the appropriate wisecracks, it develops into a riot of revelry especially if a drink or three is involved. If you think your crowd is above all that, think again and give it a try.
