Knave of Hearts.
February 14, 2010
I wonder when Valentines Day became the one holiday that everyone decided to shit on. Easter doesn’t get a bad rap. Halloween and Christmas have lots of Facebook fans. Even President’s Day is all “Yay!” I think I read somewhere that our generation is in this “Singles Era” in which no one wants to commit to a relationship and everyone is more enthusiastic about abortion rights than settling down and having children. The more we grow up, the less we want to grow up. And the more society becomes more open and accepting to alternative lifestyles, the less we feel the need to conform to the kind of lifestyles our parents are used to. However, no matter how many babies we abort and how many women get married to each other, one thing remains true, and I’ll admit it: Love does exist. Though probably not the kind of love Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks once had. Twice.
I, for instance, have done stupid things in the name of “love”, even on Valentines Day. The girl who I convinced myself was THE ONE (not the Jet Li movie), lived almost six hours away and I got in my car and drove, drove, drove to surprise her and ask her out for dinner. It was fun and exciting and whatever, but nothing came of it and, oh, she’s married now. Hint: I’m not wearing the other ring. Eventually, I realized that I was fooling myself into thinking I was in love, when I really wasn’t. I just really, really liked her. She still remains one of my best friends and I’m so insanely glad she’s happy. But I want someone too, damn it!
The bitterness of Valentines Day is a mixture of two things: a.) jealousy of other people experiencing love (or something like it), coupled with b.) the liberating sensation of being single and saying, “Fuck Love!” So therein lies the rub. We hate love, and yet it’s the one thing we all want. We all want to feel special in some way, right? But the one holiday that celebrates love is all about sugar, flowers, punny cards, and expensive dinner checks. I’m sure a lot of people get engaged on Valentine’s Day, and I’m almost positive it’s the one day of the year (other than the night before the apocalypse) where everyone, everyone is having sex. Everyone except for those select few, namely one in particular, ME, who don’t have anyone else so all we do is bitch about the people who do! And we write blogs about it! And we take stupid pictures of ourselves with those gross Sweet tart candies (half of which taste like toothpaste; the other half of chalk erasers).
The Laff Staff performed a “Sweet Heart Improv” show last night. We didn’t do anything all that special for Valentine’s day, but a lot of our suggestions that we got from the audience were love-inspired. So we had a couple interesting moments–not our most solid show, but still fun–and it was great to have so many people there. Thanks to those fans who came! We offered free Hershey’s Kisses. It was special…
So tonight I’ll be working at the hotel, and our restaurant is hosting a premiere Valentine’s dinner for $100 a plate. I’ll be the guy standing on the outskirts of the restaurant watching the couples swoon over the food and each other. Occasionally I will walk though the tables and hear snippets of conversation (Recent dialogue of past nights included: “‘Heart of Darkness’ is all about fascination in the abomination!”, “Lamb is sheep, right?”, and “You still live with your parents?” “It’s comfortable.”) while I tend to the crackling fireplace.
“We’re gonna get a whole lotta people laid,” the head chef said to me yesterday. I couldn’t agree more.
But if someone gets down on one knee and proposes, I might just swallow my tongue.