Although our current status as “empty nesters” affords us the luxury of a leisurely approach to holiday activities like decorating, shopping and entertaining, such was not the case just a few short years ago. Back then my wife and I often found our selves up to our eyeballs in grown-up holiday activities whilst simultaneously attempting to bring some basic parental guidance to a houseful of eclectic, colorful offspring.

The youthful holiday revelry commenced sometime around Christmas vacation when our kids, along with an eclectic assortment of friends, neighbors and classmates, descended upon our home en masse, generating a spontaneous, grassroots social movement, which today we’d probably refer too as “Occupy The Living Room.”

Despite being forced to navigate a gauntlet of smelly gym socks and lumpy sleeping bags in order to retrieve my morning coffee, O.T.L.R proved a fundamentally benign encampment. A list of “occupier’s demands” would have read something like this: cash for the pizza delivery guy; chauffeur service to and from the Cook’s Corner Cinema; a well stocked cookie jar; and 24/7 cable TV/Internet access.

Against this backdrop there was, as always, plenty of last minute shopping to be done.

As with many men “holiday shopping” for me means “last minute shopping” the only kind I have any experience with. As a decorated veteran of the marketing wars, I’ve logged my share of hours searching out each year’s “must have” gift item: a quest, which since the dawn of the digital age, always seems to end with me holding a smoldering credit card in one hand and some flashy new cyber gizmo in the other.

Ah yes, the dreaded “gizmo.”

I’ll admit that interfacing with any technology, be it high tech, low tech, old school or anything in between, makes me break out in hives. Ironically, I also happen to be a member of the “Some Assembly Required” generation. And having logged hundreds of hours arm-wrestling “Tab A” into “Slot B,” often with hilarious, though less than stellar results, I’ve concluded that when it comes to the art of gift giving “less” almost always turns out to be more.

As I see it, the essential challenge when shopping for a loved one involves finding that truly special gift that will spark the critical “joy” response; that “aha moment” when the package is unwrapped and you can practically hear the play-by-play announcer holler, “That one’s out of the ballpark folks!”

In my experience, that moment has rarely been associated with “high tech gadgets.” At least not right away. Oh, sure there’s definitely lots of, “magic” in those dazzling, special effects laden ad campaigns, but the gadgets themselves? Not so much. And here’s why: in this case the “joy killer” is no big mystery. It’s all about the “learning curve.”

Let’s face it. The only reason anybody wants one of these new devices in the first place is because they’re “new and different.” Our imaginations are fired by the exciting possibilities. We can’t wait to unlock a breathtaking new technology with powers and abilities far beyond those of the clunky, outdated junk we’re currently using.

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. Furthermore, those lofty claims may well be true. But, even if they are, “new and different” inevitably requires a certain amount (in my case a lot!) of getting used too. I have it on good authority (authorized biographer Walter Isaacson) that even “Mr. New and Different” himself, the late Steve Jobs, couldn’t get his iPhone to work properly the first few dozen times he tried it!

I recently watched from a safe distance while my wife swapped her obsolete iPhone for the latest product from a different manufacturer. “Aha’s” abounded as the eager, fresh-faced, young sales guys showed off the new phone’s mind boggling graphics, hands free screen prompts and a bunch of similarly awesome features. Hey, what’s not to like? What indeed.

A day or two later her “Aha’s” had turned to %+$#@*%’s as, hopelessly lost in a labyrinth of unfamiliar screen prompts and baffling new software programs, she struggled to master a few frequently used basic functions like email and text messaging. Will she sort it out eventually? Most likely she will. But let’s face it kids, the thrill is gone.

As I write this, I can’t help comparing that experience with the experience she had when I gave her a new bathrobe a few years back. Watching her unwrap it was a classic “out of the ballpark moment.” There was no learning curve in sight, no customer hotline to call, no assembly required! And best of all she’s been enjoying that bathrobe on a daily basis long enough for it to become a bit threadbare. Hmm, now there’s an idea!