Well, since no one’s mentioned it…
February 18, 2008 | Contributed by Kelly Vincent
Yep, Valentine’s Day was last week, and no one’s posted that cynical/probing piece on it yet, so I thought I’d give you folks a look at my thoughts on Feb. 14.
I walk into the HUB and spot the mail line snaking half-way into Lied Square, some students holding those portentous orange slips, a few clutching red or violet envelopes waiting to buy postage. Better late than never. It’s clearly once again that day when girls go giddy at the sight of hearts or flowers or pink or chocolate or hand-holding or solid sugar candy printed with something fetching like be mine or fax me. The day when guys go sweaty wondering, “Should or I shouldn’t I?” or stand there in the bookstore thinking, “Why on earth would I buy a heart-shaped box of chocolates which she really doesn’t need on this day in particular? Corporate America sure has us all by the throats.” (Ahem, peace studies major.) Of course, he buys the chocolates anyway. She eats a bite out of each and lets the rest go stale.
I move to my mail-box, not really thinking about what might or might not be inside. I have no love interest in my life right now (or, I should say, interest is all I have), and I could take or leave the pink card from Grandma. It’s nice of course, but she’s no Johnny Depp.
I turn the dial on my mail-box and pull open the little metal door: nothing. Can you feel the love tonight? Well, usually my box is chock-full of nothing, so this is no big deal. We’ve all had occasion to refer to our mailbox as a B.O.D.: Box o’ Disappointment. The name is not too far off the mark, although maybe today I have more of a reason to be disappointed than usual, what with all the roses and baby’s breath around. Or do I?
As for me, the day has never meant all that much, one way or the other. Certainly not enough to embitter me, usually. There was, I suppose, that one year when February 14 was the (officially, undeniably) worst day ever. I didn’t have plans, so I was babysitting (which you can bet made my little fifteen-year-old self feel great), and that night my parents got in a car accident, and at school I saw the guy I liked walking the hallways with a girl who I knew liked him. How was babysitting?, you might ask. Well, I got shot at. Who knew if it was the neighbor kids who did it or the forty-year old man who lives in the shack out back with his pet iguana and his self-loathing? And did I mention that my cat died? A slow, visible, audible death, probably from feline leukemia. Worst. Day. Ever. Made even worse by the fact that it was “the day of love” (or, you know, of collision and bullet-dodging and kitty death and unrequited feelings).
At least, I figured, this Valentine’s Day will not be that bad. And I was right: it wasn’t, even if I did feel the social pressure to feel especially pathetic about my singleness. A few friends casually asked me my plans for the evening throughout the day. It’s a Thursday. Best case scenario: I do my homework and get some writing time and slip into bed before 12:30. My plans were not exactly the moon-lit walk through Riverfront Park which people wanted to hear about. But neither was that the rant that people were looking for either. It’s just… what I do most Thursdays, regardless of which saint’s day it is.
I didn’t want to write a cynical essay about Valentine’s Day. You don’t need to hear from one more single young adult that the day is just manufactured to make lovers spend lots of money on postage and flowers and dinner and jewelry and candy and note cards, and to make the rest of us spend a little money on Ben & Jerry’s and a rental of “You’ve Got Mail.” Maybe V. Day was fabricated to get us to spike the economy every February 14, or boost the anti-depressant pharmaceutical sector on the 15.
But seeing all the fuss and floral arrangements does make me wonder what this day is all about, or what it should be about. It is difficult to navigate the hallways of our feelings even when we are not forced into a room which is all pink and where everyone around us expects us to be thinking of romance, either sweetly or with bitterness. What do you do when on this particular day there is nothing in the mailbox, which might happen any day of the week, and you have to walk with your empty hands past the hopefuls in the postage queue, and all you can think is No matter what I think, they’re going to think I’m disappointed? Should you try to conjure up in yourself a little anti-love hostility to color the evening, a green stone of envy or jade to wear on your finger? Is this indifference sacrilege? Or worse: a façade?
Here’s some advice on surviving V. Day, to myself and the rest, just in case the world doesn’t end before next February. Do not be frustrated by love or lack of love or by indifference or by difference. Slip your complaints and self-pity into your junk drawer with all the other things you think you might need later. Then, carpe that diem. Buy yourself a pink cookie and take a walk and think about all the people you have to love in your life. And buy another pink cookie for the Ukranian kid who shovels your snow sometimes, because he needs reminding too; and for the attendant at the car wash, whose mother isn’t doing too well; and for the teenage girl next door whose punk friends always park in front of your mailbox. Her cat just died. She could use something with sprinkles.
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As if Valentine’s Day, wasn’t sad enough, you had to associate Dead Kittens with it.
Actually, maybe because of my inherent Contrarianism, I like Valentine’s Day. Oh, not the actual *day*, it’s a bit depressing.
But I like the *idea* of the day. The concept. The theory that somebody might be happy in love, and that’s a day to celebrate their success, their happiness.
That said, a lot people misunderstand that. Here’s my commentary on Valentine’s day from the sophomore year Stall Street. It doesn’t necessarily reflect my opinion. Enjoy.
What is Love?
Such is the question that philosophers have wrestled with since time immortal, often while bobbing their heads side to side to a driving techno beat.
Love is what causes me to have a 6th scoop of Cookie Dough Ice Cream, even though I’m full and have high cholesterol.
Love is what drove that crazy crop duster guy in Independence Day to fly his F-16 into the core of the Alien Spacecraft, thus overloading the ship’s fusion reactor and saving his family’s life.
Love is what caused John Hinckley to shoot Ronald Reagan, because if there’s one thing that impresses Jodie Foster, it’s Presidential Assassination!
Love is that crushing sensation in the pit of your stomach, that feels as if your very insides are being rended apart by a force too great for you to-
Oh wait! That’s dysentery! I always get the two confused.
The word “Love” is also copyrighted by the Hallmark Corporation and can only be used with their expressed written consent.
So what does love have to do with Valentine’s day? I have no idea. From what I can gather, there’s no group that actually likes Valentine’s Day. For singles, it’s a gentle reminder that they suck.
For couples, its yet another time where they have to spend money and spend time together, which, from what I gather, is pretty annoying. In fact, most breakups occur right before Valentine’s day. (Source: My Butt.)
That saves a lot of money and stress. (“I’m sorry, honey, Chocolates and a Fancy Card just ain’t in the budget right now. At least not if we want to buy that X-Box we’ve been saving up for.”)
In fact, Valentine’s day is named after St. Valentine, the Christian hero, who committed his life to love and then one day decided to take a chance and say how he truly felt… AND WAS PROMPTLY EATEN BY LIONS!
Sound familiar?
Speaking of which, Valentines Day is not the time to tell the Girl in your 10:30 Remedial Math class that you’re madly smitten (smote?) with her. For if you are rejected, forever Valentines Day will be shadowed by the dark gloomy stormcloud of failure looming over it. (This is known as a Valentine’s Day Massacre.)
Yes, some people have a Love-Hate relationship with Love. (They’re Just Friends™ with Hate)
Instead of declaring your infatuation situation on Valentine’s day choose a day like December 7th, September 11, April 1st, or March 11th that already has a bad reputation.
“Well, my soul may have been asphyxiated with a metaphorical plastic bag, but at least this time Japanese Forces didn’t launch a sneak attack on American Naval forces stationed in Hawaii, thus insuring Americas entry into one of the worlds most deadly wars! So I got that going for me. Which is nice.”
So nobody’s feelings are hurt, Warren Hall has a couple rules for Valentine’s day. First, if you’re going to give a Valentine, you must give a Valentine to everybody, so nobody feels left out.
Secondly, that Valentine must have a licensed character and an atrocious pseudo-pun, like “You’re Barbie-Tastic!” or “You’re Aqua Teen Hunger Force-a-rific!”
You are, you know. I’m not just saying that.
The Pearl Harbor pick-me-up is a good one. I’d wager that it’s probably just as effective as the at-least-Pinkerton-didn’t-die-and-no-one-shot-at-me-today approach. Good thing we have these character-building times in our lives/national history to remind us that the past was kind of a bummer.