The porker in question
Maybe you've gotten used to my snarky ways. Maybe you were thinking this whole post would be an ill-tempered screed against Valentine's Day. Maybe you were hotly anticipating some mean-ass prose, decrying the corruption of love.
And just maybe you were wrong.
Actually, Valentine's Day is one of my favorite holidays, even though its origins go back only to the 19th c., the industrial revolution, and the sugar-coating of nearly every aspect of our culture (kids, pets, death, marriage, love, war, prison etc). Also forget every "historical" (aka religious) explanation of some fabled St. Valentine. It's a sketchy notion at best. Until 1964, the Catholic church acknowledged eleven St. Valentine's saints' days, all of them suspect, and none of them having squat to do with romance.
Never mind. I think you've gotta love any holiday commemorating the mysteries of the heart, even if it's sometimes celebrated in weird, creepy ways. God knows, we do our best. I've just gotten back from Walgreen's Drug Store. I mostly went just to get cigarettes and a new lipstick. Once there I was confounded by the sight of bewildered men thumbing through cards and hefting candy boxes. "Yeah," my husband said, when I reported back, "it's the one holiday you gotta sweat."
When Valentine's Day fell on a work day, I was often in Albertson's supermarket around 6 PM. Not wanting to miss a lick or a dollar, Albertson's goes for Valentine's big time. This year they've dedicated two full store-length aisles to crap of all things Valentine's: teddy bears, heart-shaped things, candy, mylar balloons et. al. It only shows how ignorant a soulless corporation can be. Men always put off doing anything about Valentine's until the very last possible minute, when everything is limp, grimy, and nothing you'd give to anyone. Back then, I was often waylaid by some frightened guy holding a wilted plant, wanting to know, "Is this is okay?"
Well, obviously not.
Since we were already in a supermarket, I'd suggest, "How 'bout a nice brisket?" Something I knew I'd like.
But then, I'm not a romantic.
And just maybe you were wrong.
Actually, Valentine's Day is one of my favorite holidays, even though its origins go back only to the 19th c., the industrial revolution, and the sugar-coating of nearly every aspect of our culture (kids, pets, death, marriage, love, war, prison etc). Also forget every "historical" (aka religious) explanation of some fabled St. Valentine. It's a sketchy notion at best. Until 1964, the Catholic church acknowledged eleven St. Valentine's saints' days, all of them suspect, and none of them having squat to do with romance.
Never mind. I think you've gotta love any holiday commemorating the mysteries of the heart, even if it's sometimes celebrated in weird, creepy ways. God knows, we do our best. I've just gotten back from Walgreen's Drug Store. I mostly went just to get cigarettes and a new lipstick. Once there I was confounded by the sight of bewildered men thumbing through cards and hefting candy boxes. "Yeah," my husband said, when I reported back, "it's the one holiday you gotta sweat."
When Valentine's Day fell on a work day, I was often in Albertson's supermarket around 6 PM. Not wanting to miss a lick or a dollar, Albertson's goes for Valentine's big time. This year they've dedicated two full store-length aisles to crap of all things Valentine's: teddy bears, heart-shaped things, candy, mylar balloons et. al. It only shows how ignorant a soulless corporation can be. Men always put off doing anything about Valentine's until the very last possible minute, when everything is limp, grimy, and nothing you'd give to anyone. Back then, I was often waylaid by some frightened guy holding a wilted plant, wanting to know, "Is this is okay?"
Well, obviously not.
Since we were already in a supermarket, I'd suggest, "How 'bout a nice brisket?" Something I knew I'd like.
But then, I'm not a romantic.
A valentine in questionable taste any time at all
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