The temperatures are slowly creeping above freezing, the snow has finally started to melt and posters for some sort of Eyes-Wide-Shut-style yoga orgy are in the air at McComas.
It can mean only one thing: Valentine’s Day is upon us yet again.
Ah, Valentine’s Day, that annual occasion when those among us who happen to be involved in a romantic relationship in mid-February gather to celebrate the life of some Christian dude named Valentine who was imprisoned by the Romans and brutally executed.
Or some other guy named Valentine, who also happened to be — you guessed it — imprisoned by the Romans and brutally executed. It was tough to be a cleric in Rome named Valentine in the second and third centuries A.D. And you thought you had a bad week.
Now, I should probably stress that I only hope to come off roughly half as sarcastic and cynical — but twice as witty — as I am in real life. So after my tongue-lashing of the Super Bowl last week, I’m afraid to venture too far into critiquing another manufactured and consumeristic holiday that people generally seem to enjoy, lest I appear too curmudgeonly.
That being said, if you find Valentine’s Day far too sacrosanct to satirize, you may wish to avert your eyes. Or maybe you should have done that before. Oops.
And if you happen to be reading this online, please do feel free to go ahead and scroll down to the “Comments” section now and post anonymously about how tactless and/or vapid I am. Go ahead — I can wait. I’ll be here making small talk with the people who are still reading.
So anyway, just what do celebrations for the martyrs Valentine — no relation — on their annual feast day entail, you might ask?
As near as I can figure from very extensive journalistic research around campus, love is somehow involved, but the festivities mostly comprise discounted dinners, evening bowling, expensive flowers, and candy hearts imprinted with phrases that run from pretty cheesy to mildly disconcerting.