Or: A few of my favorite things
By J'Mel Davidson
Geez, is it that time of year again? Time flies when youíre trying to avoid the one day a year where itís actually encouraged for people to force their public displays of affection upon the Eleanor Rigbys of the world.
As much as I want to complain about this big-business sham of a greeting-card-company-manufactured holiday, I guess I really canít.
It is the American way to celebrate openly and with much vigor the fact that you have something that others may not. While I may have to put up with Valentineís Day once a year other people have Motherís Day, Fatherís Day and Functioning Liver Day to suffer through.
Of course, my seething, white-hot hate comes from the fact that I have never ever had a Valentine. Sure, while in grade school Iíd get the occasional flimsy paper wishes from the kids whose parents had forced them to give every one in class a card. But that only meant that I got the cards with innocuous prose like ďItís good to have friendsĒ and ďYup, itís Valentineís Day alrightÖĒ Iíd take these cards home and stare at them in anger because, really, Iíd rather have gotten nothing at all. I didnít want the forced effort. Itís the same as getting a trophy when you didnít win. It hurts more than helps ó like when I was 9 and we had my birthday party at Putt-Putt and I lost the golf tournament but I got a trophy because it was my birthday! I won the ďToday Coincides With the Day You were Born Nine Years AgoĒ trophy.
The trophy was assy and I hate it and the person that designed it. I understand that in some way it was supposed to make me feel better for not winning at golf but what it did instead was instill in me an absolute hatred for receiving credit that was not due. This was the seed, I suppose, of my slight inability to take a compliment. See? I figured all this out with out a therapist.
But I digressÖ
There was a time I thought I was going to get a Valentine, and I did ó a bouquet of flowers. Unfortunately they had been ordered in advance so by the time I received them the woman in question had already decided that sheíd had enough of my shenanigans. Of course, I didnít find out until a week or so later. I guess the true ďValentineĒ was that she didnít break up with me until AFTER Iíd bragged about how Iíd gotten flowers from a girl that really seemed to get me.
Sigh. Eyes closed, head hung low, heartfelt sigh.
Still, I canít blame people that actually have unconditional love with taking this holiday based on bragging to the hilt.
I would if I could.
Instead, I drink wine made from raisins, Visine and Zippo fluid, then vomit away the pain of solitude.
But, seriously, I have a few things and people that I love. Of course there is no sweetheart on this list because, as you all know, my taste in women is comically bad. In fact, the only way the girls I fall for donít disappoint is in their capacity to disappoint.
So, what do I love?
I love discovering a new candy at some out of the way quick mart or gas station. Last week I discovered Sweet Tart Rope. Itís a tube of Twizzler-like candy filled with a sweet paste and Nerds candy. Damn it, itís good! I took a few with me to see There Will Be Blood and promptly announced to the theatre that I was holding outside snacks.
No one snitchedÖ
I love watching trailers in a darkened theatre and making fun of all the formulaic romantic trash with my crew. Not in a loud and annoying way, mind you, but just to make sure that we all hate whoever thinks that Brittney Murphy tripping during a wedding rehearsal is ďcuteĒ.
I love that southern women think that everything is ďcuteĒ.
I love my sister because she is a strong and intelligent woman that acts her age and not her shoe size. She gives me hope.
I love hunkering down in front of the television on a day off and enjoying hour after hour of daytime court shows. This coupled with cheesy bread and two liters of Coke Zero and you canít tell me nothing, son!
I love that my best friend Sam and I can have the same conversations about M.F. Doom, David Lynch, Terry Gilliam and David Mamet over and over again and never get tired of covering the same ground.
I love the fact that it was I who introduced Reservoir Dogs to most of my friends upon arriving at Savannah College of Art and Design all those years ago.
I love ďThe Great Pumpkin WaltzĒ to the point that I used to burn CDs where the song appeared at each odd track so I didnít have to keep skipping back to it when I walked to work.
I love movies with non-sappy, realistic or semi-downer endings. You can walk from the theater after these and hopefully tell yourself that you have it better than the poor sucker on the screen.
I love the moment in every Martin Scorsese flick when he dissolves from an image to the exact same image. This is a real movie-nerd thing and Iím going to go so far as to say that if you have never noticed it, then you canít call yourself a Scorsese fan. So there!
I love a shot of Jamesonís and a nice room temperature Guinness to wash it down with.
I love fresh tumble-dried underwear.
See, the things in life that actually make me happy are fairly simple. These are the things that wouldnít change regardless of wealth or what women I had. And thatís what itís all about. Thatís what Valentineís Day will be for me this year and every year ó the little things.
Iím going to celebrate the things that canít leave me, disappoint me, use me or make me sad: the things and people in life that I truly love.
Iím not going to let one random day a year make me feel bad anymore. Instead of honoring a relationship that will likely fail and buying gifts that loose their meaning the moment Feb. 15 rolls around, Iím going to think about the stuff Iíll have on the 13th, 14th, the 20th and the next month.
I guess what Iím trying to say is, Happy Valentineís Day, young lovers. Good luck with all of that.
Send the love, if you dare: Write to jímel@bhamweekly.com.