The Perfect Card

Amongst the Christmas rush, of bolshy mothers wielding prams and lost boys searching frantically for a gift for Mum, I found myself staring at a wall of greeting cards, trying to find the perfect one for my brother’s Christmas Eve birthday. I stared at the phalanx of garish cartoons for quite some time, going by the script of plucking one out, reading the first line out loud, reaching the crass punch-line and replacing it quickly, as if it had burnt my fingers. It’s a ritual I witnessed several people doing with me. And as I replaced the umpteenth card depicting a poorly drawn cartoon man syphoning off a keg with a less than funny thought bubble protruding from his head, it struck me – the Rudd government is spending billions of dollars censoring what we will read online, yet turns a blind eye to a far greater problem, one that affects millions of Australians daily, as we search for the perfect way to say happy birthday, get well soon, bon voyage, to celebrate anniversaries, christenings, Christmas – the far more pressing issue of the Crass Greeting Card.

The card that got me thinking was one that, upon reflection, may not actually be that bad. From what I could see, of the top of it, poking out behind a chimpanzee wearing a party hat, leering at the camera, showed a sweet, sepia photo of a young boy circa 1950s. Pulling it out, I saw he had his hands thrust down his pants and he was laughing gleefully. The caption inside read, Happy Birthday to a Hands-on Man. At first, I recoiled, wondering if the greeting card company had gone there. Linked masturbation with the sepia tinged photo of a sweet five year old. Later, I realised it didn’t have to be that dirty, and questioned the sanity and indeed sanitisation of my mind. As they say, the pure is always pure to the pure.

But the point remains. These days, it is nearly impossible to find a card that says what you need to say cleverly and simply. A crisp quip simply isn’t an option. Instead, one is bombarded with a plethora of poor taste. Bodily ablution jokes abound. Primitive cartoons are commonplace, rivalled in their ubiquitousness only by gormless kittens staring down the camera, a bad pun floating above its head. The elderly having sex is a greeting card favourite, as are the cards that have warped dog heads on the cover and a bad joke on the inside.

The thing is, the cards you give people are a reflection of yourself, similar to the shoes you wear, or the perfume you spritz. When people get a card from you, it is a personal missive from you. You can’t get away with being flippant about greeting cards, I am telling you now, people judge you based on the card. If you give someone a card with a cartoon of menopausal women eying off a g-string clad pool boy, with unsavoury thought bubbles floating above their heads, then you are inextricably linked with that card. Associated with that cartoon and, subliminally, with cougar menopausal women.

Like junk food is cheaper than healthy food, unfunny, smutty or plain offensive cards are always far cheaper than attractive, clever or simply pretty cards, and when one is pressed for time and money (at say, Christmas) it is always so tempting to take the cheaper route. Similar to how easy it is to cram a Big Mac into one’s hungry face instead of waiting for a salad to be freshly tossed in the café next door.

But I urge you – make a stand against the crass greeting card. Something has to be done, the greeting card industry is out of control. Perhaps, if we make enough noise, Rudd will funnel a little of the internet censorship scheme money into regulating what people should and shouldn’t say to each other to mark special occasions. Hey, if we’re going to impinge on freedom of expression, we may as well go the whole hog.

Image courtesy of flashincharge on Flickr