It’s almost Halloween, which in the United States means that Christmas is essentially like next weekend, so all the retailers and stores are already putting up their decorations and sales and whatnot. What comes as an offshoot of that are the annual Christmas food gift sellers sending out their catalogs, which provide me with endless entertainment. One in particular is called Pittman Davis, and it is the J. Peterman of Christmas foodstuff mercantilism.

It is my favorite, and that is my confession.

This booklet hasn’t changed much over the last five or so years that I’ve been eagerly perusing it, and I’m going to go ahead and assume that I’m correct in thinking that it hasn’t changed in the last twenty or even thirty years. The pictures are always the same, the item description is always breathless and earnest, unironic as it wholesomely describes fruit trays and amaryllis potting kits with opening lines like Fascinating! andPure Joy!.

The over-the-top enthusiasm for grapefruit and paperwhites is delightful, but for me is followed by a dumbstruck feeling that this actually exists. This company is serious. To get the full effect, I give you chocolate dipped apricots a la Pittman Davis. This is accompanied by pictures of bright orange dried apricots, wrinkled and soft, halfmooned in brown and white chocolate. Let that image seep into your mind for a moment: Spoil yourself, and everyone you care about this Holiday season with the perfect match of tender Australian Glace’ Apricots, dipped in either world class dark chocolate, or smooth as satin white chocolate. An enticing, elegant gift.

Who comes up with this? Is there some lapsed English major sitting in a cubicle at Pittman Davis Headquarters shuffling through a rolodex of acceptable phrases and adjectives to describe cheese straws and Medjool dates to old ladies? The target demographic for this company has to be little old ladies, right? I can’t entertain the idea that any other age group would be receptive in a genuine spirit to these words.

Looking at the selection of Holiday Tamales, I find this: This is “El Autentico” (The Real McCoy). Premium tender Beef, Pork, or Chicken surrounded by a thin, moist layer of savory corn meal with fresh Mexican spices wrapped in a natural corn husk. Arrives fully cooked with instructions and recipes included. Feliz Navidad!

So honest and with the best of intentions, but there’s just a hint of perhaps demographically-aware xenophobia poking out there–the need to “translate” the obvious word “authentic” into a Texan/Southern US idiomatic phrase, the missing inverted exclamation mark. With these kinds of flags, what is it that holds my fascination? What makes me honestly want to order that log of Havarti cheese with the Danish soldier on the packaging, apart from my love of Havarti?

Part of me, I think, is jealous that I don’t get to sit around heaping lavish, fulsome praise on fruit cakes and summer sausage assortments that were photographed in 1987. I want to spend time coming up with the most ridiculous turns of phrases and get paid for it.

But alas, the copy is the same, year after year, unless the Powers that Be decide that some new item like Rugulach needs to be thrown into the mix. My all-time favorite Pittman Davis copy is one that has appeared in every single catalog I’ve ever received from them, and describes a nut-covered lump of cheese as follows, punctuation errors and a total absence of sarcasm included, and surely, surely I cannot be alone in thinking that it is absolutely glorious.

“Did you see and taste that beautiful layered Cheese?”, someone will ask. “Isn’t she a wonderful hostess?”, exclaims another. Three irresistible layers of Sharp Cheddar, Swiss and Port Wine covered with crisp slivered almonds. Fresh, spreadable cold pack cheeses so delicious they won’t stop digging in. Your gift will make a generous, tasty impression.

How to avoid drawing attention to yourself in such a way that you wind up being called on, how to avoid doing the monumental readings, how to avoid saying anything with an opinion attached to it that will have the professor constantly coming back to you, the special kid with all the answers, for this Man on the Street remark. How to avoid staying at the school too long, how to avoid paying for groceries (noon meetings are guaranteed to have food), how to avoid having a life altogether because you’re in law school, and there’s nothing else to do.

But now I’m not in law school, and I’m trying to figure out how to regain some normalcy. I used to devour novels, and for a long time all I did was devour cases, footnotes, and articles–with a healthy mix of everything on Tumblr and reddit. My attention span has shrunk, which scares me; I have little tolerance for anything other than skimming. What would be appropriate and helpful is to start with a small novel, something easy to get my confidence back.

Instead, I’m going to start with War and Peace, the Vintage Classics annotated edition. We ride.