A friend once asked me, "James, if you had the chance, who would you love to take out back and pile-drive?" Upon first thought, many candidates came to mind -- Ryan Seacrest, Aaron Carter, perhaps Cody from Step by Step? After much contemplation and tribulation, however, I concluded with all sincerity that I would target whomever is responsible for turning a lovely mid-February day into the national Hallmark debacle we associate with St. Valentine.
Each year, just when winter couldn't possibly make our lives any worse, men and women everywhere find themselves subject to the sharp pains of cupid's arrows, the suffocating red blizzard of expectation that always ensues. On this tragic day of excess, men are habitually forced to empty their wallets and pour out their souls. Women, on the other hand, find themselves pacing back and forth, praying that their significant other doesn't mess things up too much. There remains the overwhelming pressure to provide the perfect date -- the perfect end to an artificially produced day. Considering the ever-growing demands associated with this day of pink hues and chocolate, it is no wonder that couples usually fight more than they get lucky.
Now don't get me wrong here, ladies and gentlemen, I love pink more than one might assume. In fact, many people have told me that I look quite becoming in a bright pastel polo. I may or may not look forward to a soothing Lionel Richie love ballad every now and again ("Endless Love" gets me every time). And I am certainly one who is partial to boxed roses and a cute smile. But all of this is beside the point. Year in and year out, Valentine's Day routinely serves as a superficial remedy for something we all crave -- that lovely four-letter word. I plan to expose this day for what it really is.
So how did this all happen? Who was this St. Valentine anyway and why must we celebrate his detestable day of love? After extensively researching the subject and, having exhausted all of my available resources (Wikipedia), I have come to several sobering conclusions. No one really knows the true origin of this debilitating festival. While many Catholics contend that this celebration stems from the deeds of one or more martyred saints of Rome, classicists believe that the day was once devoted to the god Lupercus. Still, many in France associate Valentine's Day with a Christian monk who once brought children back from death. So what can we believe?
Without an authoritative voice on the matter, we are left with the following scenario: In and around 500 A.D., there may or may not have been a Roman god, Catholic martyr, or considerate monk that either protected Rome from wolves, fought on behalf of Christianity, or helped little children escape death. Does anyone see the correlation between this scenario and a naked baby slinging arrows at us?
Yet despite the fact that there really are no historical grounds for celebrating this holiday, shopkeepers and marketing managers continually capitalize on our unfounded beliefs. The result, as we annually witness, is a day marred by nauseating anxiety, forced gestures of affection and a systematic decrease in national levels of testosterone. In our attempts to display affection, we blindly pour out our milk money on the worst that China has to offer.
Last year alone, we spent $13.7 billion on the holiday, according to the National Retail Federation -- almost $14 billion worth of chalky-tasting sugar hearts, mildly amusing candy-grams, questionable erotica and other items most likely produced by little children in Third World countries. And for what -- to remind someone of something we should be saying 365 days a year?
OK, so maybe I'm being a little unreasonable. I guess I can't be too upset about Valentine's Day, as it only comes once a year. I suppose that my bitter ramble simply serves to remind us of what is truly important. On a day when we are supposed to display affection for one another, remember that teddy bears, roses and whips are not the only way to show someone you care. If we concentrate our notion of romance solely on one day of material excess, we effectively trivialize it. Today, when the absurdity of Valentine's Day gradually seeps its way into campus, please try to ignore the words of the great Steve Martin: "I believe that love is one of the most beautiful, natural, wholesome things that money can buy."
