Grab bag

Great gifts for no one in particular

by Camille Dodero

Last December my roommate returned home from her company's holiday party with a three-foot-tall inflatable penguin. The bird was from a "holiday grab"; everyone at the party brought a gift, the presents were collected into one bag, and then each person "grabbed" a new gift.

Not only was my roommate amused by her new toy, but she insisted that the bird become a fixture of our apartment décor. For months, the air-filled penguin stood in a stolid military pose beside our front vestibule. Swayed by his docile demeanor and penchant for tuna, we began to treat the emperor penguin as a pseudo-pet. We fed him meals at the table. My roommate sicced him on unwanted visitors. One morning I awoke and found him at the foot of my bed.

Who knew these grab gifts could be so much fun? Communal gift exchanges usually feel as though they've been scripted by Martha Stewart; everyone inevitably brings a lavender-scented candle or a plastic bag of potpourri. Sure, such items are an easy out to the annual quandary of how to purchase a present for no one, or everyone. But you can do better than stinky candles. Why not buy something brushed with creativity, something that may even get a few laughs? Postpone your trip to the Christmas Tree Shop to pick up a case of oblong vanilla candles and consider some of our suggestions.

Say you're like my roommate, attending a company party and not quite sure if the sheer randomness of a plastic bird will fly in your humdrum office. How about bringing something that your coworkers can relate to, like the antihero of cubicle culture? How about bringing a Dilbert squeezie ($4.99) from Newbury Comics (332 Newbury Street, Boston, 617-236-4930)? Now that Dilbert reigns as the patron saint of the office proletariat, anyone who regularly contends with an ignorant boss will be amused by the gesture. (If a squeezie seems too much like a canine chew toy, there's plenty of other Dilbert paraphernalia for sale online at http://www.umstore.com/dilbert/.)

Then again, not every disgruntled individual feels like Dilbert's kindred spirit. Maybe you have to contribute a gift to the December meeting of your Misanthropes Anonymous group. These folks might not be keen on spreading season's greetings, so you may want to pick them up a stuffed voodoo doll ($4.99), also available at Newbury Comics. If the misanthropes are data-entry specialists, couple sadistic torture with technological sabotage by purchasing a computer voodoo doll ($7.20) from Cool Beans (36 JFK Street, Cambridge, 617-492-2244), in the Garage at Harvard Square. Don't worry, both dolls come with pins.

Have your Misanthropes Anonymous meetings become infested with bitter, insecure men who are really more like misogynists? Give them a source of empowerment they can't find within themselves by bringing a deck of Old Bachelor playing cards ($6.95), sold at the Museum Company (Shops at Prudential Center, 800 Boylston Street, Boston, 617-267-0071). Self-described as "the '90s version of Old Maid," Old Bachelor strikes back at the unmarried-older-woman-equals-lonely-frumpish-hag equation of the past by assigning an unshaven male (instead of a bonneted female) to be the object of players' disaffection.

Sure, a poster of hard-bodied men or Daisy Fuentes in the buff might force a titter from prim acquaintances. But instead of delving into such blatant bawdiness, think about giving pictures of scantily clad muscleheads with shticks. (Shticks, I said, shticks.) Maybe a Xena the Warrior Princess 16-month calendar ($12.95) or a WCW World Championship Wrestling 1999 calendar ($11.99) from Day by Day Calendar Co. (Faneuil Hall, North Market Building Entrance, second floor, 617-367-6373)? The purpose of such a present is twofold: everyone can always use a calendar, and, strangely enough, everyone can always use more sweaty schlock.

For your more intellectual circles (your writing group or your friends in For a holiday swap with jejune friends who still revel in the noises, gases, and solids of the digestive system, there's Mr. Hankey the Christmas Poo ($9.99). This seasonal character from South Park (the cable cartoon that makes Beavis and Butthead look like an animated Ernie and Bert) is available at Newbury Comics. Last time we checked, the locations in Newton (130 Needham Street, 617-965-5054) and Harvard Square (36 JFK Street, Cambridge, 617-491-0337) had plenty of plush Poo in stock.

academia), squelch potential embarrassment by avoiding lowbrow presents like stuffed excrement. Go with an inexpensive biblical allusion and bundle up a pile of frankincense and myrrh incense sticks (12 sticks for $1.50) from Mi Casa (Faneuil Hall, 617-367-6395), a tiny store nestled in the lower level of Quincy Market. Or you could offer your refined friends artistic allusions, like the horrified subject of Edvard Munch's The Scream or a piece of Michelangelo's statue of David. The Museum Company in the Prudential Center sells both: Scream Jr. ($12.95), a 19-inch inflatable figurine modeled after Munch's famous shrieker, and a David paperweight ($20) -- choose from the nose, ear, mouth, or lips option. If such objects are too déclassé for your pretentious peers, you could pretend that you brought them to spark a Warholian discussion. (Hold one up and ask: If there are thousands of subordinate copies of "one" authentic image, can so many copies remain subordinate to the model?)

Maybe you're stuck in the unenviable position of having to lug a present to a gathering of really, really annoying people. The kind of people who don't know when to quit. The kind of people who make you cringe when they approach. The kind of people who will walk over to you when you're talking with Someone Important or Someone Attractive, see that you're engaged in a Very Meaningful Conversation, and interrupt anyway, invariably to say something inane. Maybe you're the president, chairperson, or other officer of a group, and you're obligated to reward this kind of irritation. Buy the irritants something that will keep them occupied, busy, and out of your personal space: pick up a Photomosaics by Robert Silvers jigsaw puzzle ($16.99) for sale at World of Science (the Prudential Center, 800 Boylston Street, Boston, 617-247-0243). Photomosaics are those hazy pictures of one image, composed of hundreds of tinier images. Such an intricate jigsaw puzzle should keep pesky people away -- at least for a few minutes. Or find them an Aeromax 2000 toy parachute ($12.99) at the Nature Company (South Market Building, Faneuil Hall, 617-227-5005). Essentially a variation of the age-old "how to keep a fool busy," the Aeromax 2000 is simply a plastic skydiver with a mini-parachute ("real parachute fabric"). The packaging proffers no function for the plaything other than "Toss it high, watch it fly." (Who were the marketing whizzes that came up with that one?)

One last tip: even when you don't know precisely who'll be getting your gift, it's important to keep your potential recipients -- or victims -- in mind when you shop. Great Aunt Alice would be mortified by a pair of red silk panties, while the members of your intramural hockey team probably already have trophy pairs in their lockers.

Camille Dodero won't be participating in any grabs this year, thank you.