Perhaps after a long, hard day filled with torture and excommunications he was sitting in his study, sipping brandy and trying to design a more perfect thumbscrew. Bamm! The inspiration hit him like a bolt of lightning. A holiday for people in love! How beautiful. How romantic. How perfect.
I don't think so.
But how else do you explain the existence of a holiday (if you can even call it that since it doesn't get you out of work or school, which, by my standards, is the very definition of a holiday) that is entirely controlled by The Man. No, I don't mean the government. I mean the REAL Man, the secret society of elites that actually controls the world. As anyone who has ever watched the X-Files can tell you, this society exists and it is spearheaded by the insurance companies, Hallmark and the FTD florist consortium.
Of course Valentine's Day does have a positive aspect (albeit a paltry one). It forces students to prepare for the real world, where the post-party "hook-up" is not an incontrovertible fact of life and people must actually date. Naturally the whole dating thing has a downside as well, as you cannot just go out with a friend of the opposite sex for a casual beer or whatever because of the romantic stigma attached to this Hallmark holiday.
I actually managed to avoid the whole Valentine's Day rigmarole this year by default. Not being currently involved or having any viable prospects worth the effort, I figured I might as well work and pick up some extra cash.
In theory, this was a great idea. I'm a bartender, and I figured that my bar would be swamped with hordes of affluent 20-somethings fully prepared to max out daddy's credit card in an effort to impress and inebriate their dates, meanwhile tipping expansively. I should have realized that, while theory is great, reality is quite different and is sometimes very ugly.
I did manage to make some fairly good money, but at the cost of running my ass off for seven hours and pouring drinks for throngs of inebriated, stubbly-faced meatsacks, dressed in their best from J. Crew and spouting insipid witticisms in an effort to regale their dates, most of whom were clad in identical too-tight Urban Outfitters livery and staring about vacuously as the alcohol hit their systems. I don't think Hell could be much worse.
Anyway, when I finally managed to get out of there about 12:30 a.m., I began pondering my options. I could go over to Friday's and meet up with the rest of Ann Arbor's population of disgruntled restaurant employees, but I figured I'd had enough of that scene for the night. I briefly considered rolling over to the Diamondback, but decided that the thought of being alone on Valentine's Day and surrounded by country music might make me want to put one of my handguns to use in an unpleasant, Kurt Cobain sort of way.
On that note, do even the most stalwart have a tendency to think of themselves as losers if they don't have a date on Valentine's Day? Even I am not immune to this, even if it makes absolutely no sense. Last time I checked, there were 365 days in a year. Why is one so important?
I briefly considered picking up a new hobby. Nothing too drastic - I wasn't going to start practicing idolatry (although I have nothing against an occasional kneel to the porcelain god), start listening to techno or run out and become a member of BAMN - but something.
I thought about cruising on over to the Fishbowl and getting in on a pickup ganish Inquisition.
Perhaps after a long, hard day filled with torture and excommunications he was sitting in his study, sipping brandy and trying to design a more perfect thumbscrew. Bamm! The inspiration hit him like a bolt of lightning. A holiday for people in love! How beautiful. How romantic. How perfect.
I don't think so.
But how else do you explain the existence of a holiday (if you can even call it that since it doesn't get you out of work or school, which, by my standards, is the very definition of a holiday) that is entirely controlled by The Man. No, I don't mean the government. I mean the REAL Man, the secret society of elites that actually controls the world. As anyone who has ever watched the X-Files can tell you, this society exists and it is spearheaded by the insurance companies, Hallmark and the FTD florist consortium.
Of course Valentine's Day does have a positive aspect (albeit a paltry one). It forces students to prepare for the real world, where the post-party "hook-up" is not an incontrovertible fact of life and people must actually date. Naturally the whole dating thing has a downside as well, as you cannot just go out with a friend of the opposite sex for a casual beer or whatever because of the romantic stigma attached to this Hallmark holiday.
I actually managed to avoid the whole Valentine's Day rigmarole this year by default. Not being currently involved or having any viable prospects worth the effort, I figured I might as well work and pick up some extra cash.
In theory, this was a great idea. I'm a bartender, and I figured that my bar would be swamped with hordes of affluent 20-somethings fully prepared to max out daddy's credit card in an effort to impress and inebriate their dates, meanwhile tipping expansively. I should have realized that, while theory is great, reality is quite different and is sometimes very ugly.
I did manage to make some fairly good money, but at the cost of running my ass off for seven hours and pouring drinks for throngs of inebriated, stubbly-faced meatsacks, dressed in their best from J. Crew and spouting insipid witticisms in an effort to regale their dates, most of whom were clad in identical too-tight Urban Outfitters livery and staring about vacuously as the alcohol hit their systems. I don't think Hell could be much worse.
Anyway, when I finally managed to get out of there about 12:30 a.m., I began pondering my options. I could go over to Friday's and meet up with the rest of Ann Arbor's population of disgruntled restaurant employees, but I figured I'd had enough of that scene for the night. I briefly considered rolling over to the Diamondback, but decided that the thought of being alone on Valentine's Day and surrounded by country music might make me want to put one of my handguns to use in an unpleasant, Kurt Cobain sort of way.
On that note, do even the most stalwart have a tendency to think of themselves as losers if they don't have a date on Valentine's Day? Even I am not immune to this, even if it makes absolutely no sense. Last time I checked, there were 365 days in a year. Why is one so important?
I briefly considered picking up a new hobby. Nothing too drastic - I wasn't going to start practicing idolatry (although I have nothing against an occasional kneel to the porcelain god), start listening to techno or run out and become a member of BAMN - but something.
I thought about cruising on over to the Fishbowl and getting in on a pickup game of Ages of Empire with the guys from the College of Engineering, but decided that I might end up ejaculating Chaos Theory before the end of the night (which would rightly make my housemates want to put one of my handguns to use in an unpleasant, John Hinckley Jr. sort of way) so I had to rule that out.
I pondered going over to the Web Chateau and maybe surfing the Web for a while (a GREAT boredom killer) but the thought of being surrounded by a pack of chain-smoking sorority girls with large breasts and larger thighs (and I don't mean "large thighs" in a good, Katarina Witt way) prattling on and devouring everything in sight like a locust swarm almost made me queasy. I don't know, maybe they were off at one of their "date parties" or whatever, but I couldn't take the chance. I was running out of options.
In the end, practicality won out over originality. I stopped at the store, picked up a six pack, went home and put my feet up. I turned on the television and skimmed around, finally settling on Sportscenter. My last thought, as I went to sleep was, "St. Valentine, you can kiss my ass. When does football season start ... ?"
- Branden Sanz can be reached over
e-mail at hammerhead@umich.edu.
 |
Branden Sanz Dropping the Hammer |
02-15-99
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