Oh, man! Remember yesterday? Love was in the air! I could lick the soles of my shoes because of all the candied hearts that were crushed underfoot. I seriously enjoy being force-fed a holiday so I can cough up money that would be better spent elsewhere.
"Awww," you must be thinking. "This poor sap just hates Valentine's Day because he doesn't have anyone to love." You'd be right, of course. I don't enjoy Valentine's Day, but for plenty of other reasons than not having a significant other. In fact, without a significant other, the overwhelming pressure to participate in the holiday was non-existent this year, and, by golly, it felt amazing.
Once you get the idea of Valentine's Day, the holiday looks ludicrous. Just like finding out the Tooth Fairy doesn't exist, understanding the regrettable holiday that is Valentine's Day takes a lot of the giddy fun out if it. Let's start with where it came from.
The genesis of Valentine's Day is shrouded in obscurity, and while the mystique of a hidden past may work in favor of your average spaghetti western protagonist, it's lousy justification for the holiday where you have to spend money. Ol' Valentine - legend has it - could have been a priest, a medieval Harriet Tubman for early Christians, or a prisoner. In all three legends, he was martyred.
Now I'm no religious expert, but martyrdom, for any who are interested, is sometimes a free ticket to sainthood. Want to get into heaven and get a free statue somewhere in the Vatican? Usually, you have to do something good or pious, and then make sure you get murdered by a blasphemous ruler or an angry heathen mob while doing it. Saint Peter will call off the bouncers and the extra-pearly VIP gates will be open to the ultimate dance party we know as heaven.
Coincidentally, sainthood might have also been a clever way to wean the wavering European masses off of Romanized polytheism. The first part was easy: Jesus equals Jupiter (or Zeus if you're down with Greek mythology). But then you've got the rest of the Pantheon to deal with - the people want their gods. So who replaces Mars? What about Neptune?
The answer was saints - little mini saviors - who placated everyone's innate need of a patron god for every last thing on Earth. And hence, mighty Aphrodite, a paragon of exquisite beauty, was dethroned by Valentine as the patron saint of love. Martyring someone also helps you demonize your enemies (think of Jesus ? la Mel Gibson). So the Christians kill two birds with one stone. Romans: bad. Saints: good. Pantheon of gods: Jesus n' friends.
So that's the first part that I'm queasy about - might we be celebrating a day that was created mainly to provide a vehicle to ease the Christianization of Rome? And if that point is a little too esoteric, then you'll recognize my next problem: Hallmark.
When Katrina hit the Gulf Coast, there was speculation by oil companies that the damage to domestic production would have a huge impact on price. Prices spiked, and guess who posted huge profits later in the year? The oil companies.
Anyone else get suspicious when a company peddles a notion - not a
product, a notion - and then rakes in huge profits because of it? Isn't it at least somewhat unbelievable that Hallmark and all the other companies can sell Valentine paraphernalia simply by implying that we need to buy because that's the nature of the day?
People, it's an otherwise arbitrary day - except that, according to one
religion's history, we can safely say maybe one of three legends might be true and
someone might have died. That's more or less almost just about kind of ironclad.
With corporate incentives, however, everyone thinks they have to do
something. If you don't buy your
significant other something on Valentine's, if you don't make some sort of gesture, you immediately lose points in the eyes of everyone - even random bystanders.
And doesn't that sort of take the love out of it, when there's outside pressure to participate? Doesn't it kind of dull the color of that bouquet or make your stuffed animal present seem a little more sullied, knowing that you were obligated to buy it?
Look, I'm sorry; I think for all its odd aspects, Valentine's is kind of magical. A day where everyone has to love each other and buy things - the American dream in a nutshell. Keep in mind, people: There are 364 other days when you could do exactly what we all do on Valentine's, and plenty of other holidays with actual roots during which you can justify getting busy. At least then it's completely genuine, with less of a chance of regret.
An example: Anyone else out there a November baby? Do me a favor: Subtract nine months from your birth date. It leaves you smack in the middle of February. The only other certifiable holidays in this entire month are Groundhog Day and the birthdays of George Washington and Abe Lincoln. While I think we all hold the utmost respect for our nation's former great leaders, neither they nor the questionable forecast of "six more weeks of winter," are convincing reasons why our parents were motivated to conceive. Hallmark might as well be my godmother.
I'm pretty sure I wasn't an accident - but that's just the point. Don't let the pressure of a holiday that we don't even understand take you for a ride that you don't really want to go on.
That'll happen anyway, but it will be at an amusement park, and the ride will be the Tower of Doom.
