Valentines Shmalentines

In Essays, The Daily Drool on February 12, 2009 at 10:18 pm

V-day.  Was ever a more irritating and insidious holiday created?  

Sure the ancient celebration of L-O-V-E may have been born of good intentions, but one look at the cavalcade of Valentine swag decorating the shelves of every grocery store, underwear-mart, and local gas station and it’s not hard to see what a mess we’ve managed to make of the whole damn thing.  Love is commerce, commerce is pressure, and pressure makes people crazy.

Take for instance the loads of men running around in a sweat over how to impress their lady-loves this weekend?  Or the scores of singles loading up on booze to help them while away their un-partnered hours while the afore-mentioned sweaty beasts flash their wallets and hand out expensive baubles to prove just how much they “Love”.  What are we doing?  Whether your coupled or not, the holiday is ridiculous.

And perhaps you, gentle, idealistic reader, might be clucking to yourself “This sounds like the rant of the bitter”  and to that I say… you might be right.  Although I’d say “Jaded” and I’d make immediate mention of the fact that I happen to live in Los Angeles, land of the lost, selfish, and insane, so a little jading was always going to be inevitable.

I mean, there you are, smack dab in the middle of the beautiful people – where a size six is a scandal and it’s only cool to eat meat if it’s organic and locally raised – and it’s no wonder that meeting people interested in longevity is going to be a challenge.  LA is temporary.  It’s a flash in the pan sort of town. People come here to find fame and fortune, not love and fidelity.  

I’m thirty, and my friends are just now starting to settle down, yet I head back home and almost everyone I know is rooted, mortgaged, and popping out offspring.  These are totally different worlds, and while I love the freedom I have in LA, I have to admit I’m missing the roots. 

So, it’s no wonder that all the red, white, and pink haunting my favorite, er, haunts… is irritating me and my grumpy heart.  

And perhaps I’m wrong to assume that Hallmark did us all a number…  I mean, maybe somewhere two young lovers are happily staying in, making dinner together, and truly honoring the warmth they feel for one another without worry, without fear of rejection, without having to buy, buy, buy their way into love.  

Maybe we haven’t abandoned love, but simply misplaced it amongst the chocolates and red cellophane… and maybe, just maybe, when we’ve got less in our pockets, and more in our hearts, we’ll see past the hubub to that real, glowing thing beside it.

But one thing’s for sure… all that candy gets marked down on Sunday, and chocolate is still chocolate no matter the wrapper.

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