bktheirregular

The new "New Yorker" came in, with what I'm sure they thought was a poignant cover, of a soldier in the trenches, guns all around, jets streaking overhead, and the only spot of color in the drab brown landscape was the Valentine's card in his hand.

It's supposed to evoke a lot of feelings, I know. Well, it certainly evoked one for me:

I hate Valentine's Day.

I frelling hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate that holiday.

I think it was a bad idea when it was founded, way back when, and I think that the commercialism that has sprung up over the years makes it a thousand times worse. Everywhere you go, you see signs saying, "guys! If you love your sweethearts, you must buy them lavish gifts!" "Have you told your lady love you love her? Preferably by spending lots of money on her?" "Hey! Give us your money and show your special lady that she's special!"

The message between the lines: if you're not in that category of people with a special someone, you don't exist.

Between Groundhog Day and Valentine's Day, I know the feeling of being a forgotten minority. And there isn't even a National Association for the Advancement of Depressed Single Guys to complain to. I mean it's bad enough to have the holiday in the first place, but do they have to be so in-yo-face about it?

Did I mention that I hate Valentine's Day?

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