Because Arrows Would Be a Lower-Percentage Shot

Oh, that’s right:  It’s Valentine’s Day.

I’ve never much cared one way or the other about such things, and have been blessed to have been involved with people who’ve felt the same.  Or at least have been involved with those sorts of people around this time of year.  Whatever:  Like any other holiday  -- or like anything in America, really – it’s the marketing that bugs me.  Useless cardboard empires like Hallmark, the gooey starched-shirts at Russell-Stover, they’ve very effectively sold us on the notion that we need them and their wares.

What I found particularly disturbing, this year, was an Anti-Valentine display in Tower Records.  Big endcap with Nick Cave and other such(oooo...) “dark” music.  All in an effort to convince people their personal misgivings re: the holiday are inadequate until they’ve been bled dry, cashwise.  Can’t properly hate something until you’ve given it the perfect soundtrack, can’t prove your loathing until you’ve bought the book.

So thanks to these nimrods, I’ve decided that I WUVVVV Valentine’s Day.  Freakin’ love it.  Can’t get enough of it.  I’m wearing red today – I never wear red, but I’ve got my redredred Imperial Teen T on, and I’m going to find some non-alcoholic pink champagne and consume chocolates until I’m a walkinggurgling canker sore and buy flowers for strangers and – cards!  I will buy cards that say deep, sincere things in florid prose and give them to vague acquaintances and people towards whom I’ve expressed severe disinterest.  Whiny MTA-guy up in 2-E, that’s you, buddy!  I’ve got a card with your name on it!  (Although I don’t really know your name – still, it’s the thought...)

I LOVE YOU ALL!

I hereby pledge to be SO FUCKING INTO this goddamn holiday that the haters – bless ‘em, the haters, we need you, or love means nothing – stop commiserating over Goth rock and barely-ironic self-help piffle and start actively hating something.  Even if that something is ME.  Do, don’t buy.  That’s all I’m saying.

Or something like that.  Here, a Valentine’s Day song, for all of yous:

Pink Floyd – Careful with that Axe, Eugene (Live from Oakland Coliseum, 9/5/77)(mp3)

It’s like ten minutes long.  So have a seat.

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YOU’RE WELCOME.

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Dana has solicited a bit of unlove in her First? Annual? Anti-Valentine Invitational.  Dress appropriately.

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Stuck on You, Dept.:  I don't like posting links to sites with porn adverts -- no, really, I don't -- but here's a brilliant fetish:  Women Glued to Chairs. (via Phlurph)  Love that the gallery consists of nothing more than "virtual oil paintings" of women glued to barstools.

"What fun to watch as Morgan tries fruitlessly to pry off the chair. She knows all too well that one drop of glue can hold two tons, and her seat was covered in the glue. It's hopeless, but still she must try."  A bit like life.  (NSFW)

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While I was looking for Ziggy pictures – there are some places on the map in which you never hope to find yourself – I came across this wonderful page, where that cartoon’s creator (Beelzebub, or whatever he calls himself) tells you How to Draw Ziggy.

An inspirational gift for the bulimic in your life:

tags: antivalentine  valentine  valentines day  

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