Ah, dear readers, I'm sure you've been waiting with bated breath for my return to the page...I have not been suffering from writer's block so much as I have been afflicted with absolute fucking laziness and inertia. I'll be honest...this writing thing is hard because it demands that I stick to some kind of routine and, for some reason, I am hard-wired against routine. Which is weird, because I lead probably one of the most boring lives outside of my job.
In any case, with Valentine’s Day nigh, I figured it was time to return to the blog and regale you with my musings on this funny little day of the year, smack dab in the middle of February. For most people, the middle of February is a cold, sometimes grey, time of year and maybe that’s how Valentine’s Day ended up here. In Los Angeles, however, it’s usually pleasant weather (when is it not, really?) so it doesn’t represent the need as much for warming your heart physically as it does spiritually.
Haha! What am I saying? It’s EIGHTY-SIX fucking degrees out here today! What in the actual fuck? That’s hotter than it gets in the summer (sometimes) by the beach. And it’s in the fifties on the East Coast? We’re all going to hell in a handbasket.
Already off topic. Back to Valentine’s Day.
As I’ve said before, I’ve always kind of loved this holiday because, well, it celebrates love. And while I’m known for my snark and liberal use of the F-word, I think that it’s a good thing when there’s at least one day out of the year that does not focus on a war victory, a memorial, or religion. Before I was married, I’d spend the day with friends, watching a movie, going out to eat, drinking wine….celebrating friendship. And don’t argue the history of this day…..there’s no definitive research out there about how it actually came about, so here’s a fun article that touches on some of the meshuggas surrounding it’s uncertain history.
When I was a kid, there was no requirement for every kid in the class to get a valentine. In the world of grade-school hierarchies, I was not at the very bottom, but I was close to it. This put me in a weird position because as much as I wanted the attention of those at the top tier, I worried about the emotional safety of those at the bottom. Thus, I remember agonizing over giving a valentine to class pariah Andy Blum, since any attention paid to him was social suicide. While I didn't rack up that many valentines myself, I made the risky decision to give one to Andy...let's face it, not giving him one wasn't going to elevate my social status either. I do remember feeling anxious on Valentine's Day at school, not knowing if I would receive any of those cute little cards, but I do remember the joy of giving them out.
Fast forward to high school, and, by this time, I'm a full-fledged outcast, spending much of my day in the drama room, hanging out with the rest of the school rejects who loved a good musical and/or a Shakespearean soliloquy. Valentine's Day at my high school was fraught with young, stupid love, and with ultimatums leveled by cheerleaders against their jock boyfriends. I was keenly aware of this so I had no expectations that I would get a CandyGram, or whatever the fuck they called it then. On Valentine's Day in my high school, each class period would start with the delivery of CandyGrams to lucky (and soon-to-be-pregnant) girls with big , permed hair and perfectly pink cheeks. I believe there may have also been teddy bears involved. Gag me with a spoon.
But while I suffered these minor indignities at school, home was much different. Since we were little, my parents would greet us on Valentine’s Day mornings before school with small heart boxes of chocolate at our breakfast places at the table.
(Okay, before you think this was all Norman Rockwell-perfect, our breakfasts – which we were required to eat before school – consisted of a bowl of cereal, a glass of orange juice, and, when I was in high school, a cup of instant coffee, so they were not particularly nutritious. I didn’t even know eggs were a breakfast food until I was in college. I ate them for dinner as my meat-alternative growing up.)
My parents always celebrated a family form of Valentine's Day and, to this day, my mother always sends me a card with 2-3 one dollar bills to buy my own Valentine's candy box. Yes, that's how we roll. Go small or go home.
So it was ingrained in me from an early age to celebrate a day of love as an inclusive day: inclusive of children/family and inclusive of familial/platonic love. I’ve actually never put a lot of stock in the romantic aspects of Valentine’s Day and personally can’t stand the commercialization in the form of expensive prix fixe dinners or upselling mediocre activities for the day. But my husband and I used to celebrate by going out before or after the Big V-Day itself, taking an overnight trip and just enjoying time together.
This weekend, we are spending Valentine’s Day with about 150,000 out-of-town visitors coming to see the athletic spectacle otherwise known as the SuperBowl. The romance is strong for this one.
And just so we don’t leave on a note of snark, here’s my other reason for loving this holiday: I leave you with some more fine examples of vintage Valentine’s Day cards. Happy Valentine’s Day, my beautiful friends! You all deserve love, and, as the great philosopher RuPaul says: “If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell you gonna love somebody else?”
