Column 17

Compadres and compadrettes, I’d like to take this opportunity to finish tearing down the Fourth Wall in order to have a discussion about a subject that’s ever-so-near and dear to my heart, Valentine’s Day. I would normally attack this conflated-card-company-conspiratorial-collaboration with the utmost nuance, parody, and blatantly sophomoric innuendo I could muster, but with the Christmas column still fresh in my online archives and March shaping up to be an utterly ridiculous month of sardonic mayhem, I’ll take a different approach for just one week more.

As you may or may not have gathered, bitterness is one of my favorite hobbies (second only to hobo eugenics and concussion collecting… which would probably make bitterness third, but as I am as apt at head trauma as I am counting, well… yeah). But my animosity for Valentine’s Day is more than personal. It’s downright ideological. .

I’ve heard Valentine’s Day referred to as “Singles Awareness Day” (or SAD), which just about sums it up. Not only does this day draw more attention to those of us who aren’t hopelessly enamored, it also furthers the idea that this state must-needs-be remedied. I hate to continually demonize the media, because it’s like shooting fish with the Exxon Valdez, but as I need not remind you, we’re somewhat saturated with constant images of single hood as a state incapable of happiness. That isn’t to say it’s preferable, but fulfillment is possible in more than just romance alone. Yet it’s a social construction that’s hard to shake, and even such bastions of purity, poise, and utmost pantsless propensity like myself succumb to its hegemonic pull.

And so the day is left as a reminder that, I assure you, we don’t need. Our already sour grapes become ripe for ripping, as we bash genders, romance, and every lover’s smile we wish to steal. I don’t mean to be bitter about our “state of affairs” (although I’m sure I speak for more than myself), but relationships really are ever-so-easier said than done (so to speak). There’s hope, sure. My friends love to tell me of bright outlooks and constant chances and fish and seas and birds and bees and the like. Every day is, apparently, a new day, and someday soon, without even knowing it, I’ll find someone. I cannot, of course, attest to the veracity of this statement, it’s probably worth considering, if you’re into that sort of thing.

But Valentine’s Day is also a day when gifts are showered upon loved ones in what can only be termed a “mess of maniacal materialism.” As if roses can signify your commitment. As if a stuffed animal shows you care. As if diamonds mean “I love you.” They’re only money from the bank. Why not grow the rose yourself? Why not paint? Why not write the diamond so your words sparkle and shine, saying volumes with each syllable? Love isn’t a matter of money and time. It’s a matter of your feelings. It’s a matter of you and him/her. Hell, it’s not a matter of matter at all, but substance. So give it some yourself.

But don’t wait until an anniversary or a birthday or even next Wednesday. Do it when you feel it, when he/she inspires you, needs you, or just plain loves you. Do it because you want to, not because you’re obligated to. Because it’s not about Valentine’s Day at all: it’s about love.

As for we singles, well, sooner or later, it’ll happen. I’m inclined to think somewhere in my 70s as that sweet, sweet government pension rolls in but if love ought to be an everyday thing for those who have it, why not for those who don’t? Here’s hoping.