Neither love nor loyalty is testified to by the purchase of cheap crap squirted into a heart-shaped mould on an assembly line in the presence of who knows what human suffering. But you know all that already.
It's funny, but Eric and I actually met in person (after a week or so of flirting first online) the day after Valentine's Day six years ago, and an awesome punky dyke notarized our domestic partnership forms in a dusty downtown San Francisco office the day before Valentine's Day five years ago. Our indifference to Valentine's Day has twice contributed to our failure to notice that key moments in our romantic itinerary were freighted with the high cheese factor of close proximity to corporate cupid's dimpled ass cheek.
Nice to see that we're not the only ones [via Open Left] who feel the way we do:
How much do I hate Valentine's Day? Let me count the ways. Oppression is the hallmark of this Hallmark Card holiday: the cheap chocolates made from cocoa beans harvested by child slave labor on the Ivory Coast; the fungicide-filled flowers picked by exploited Ecuadoreans; the sleazy lingerie stitched together in a Jordan sweatshop. Only in the lexicon of the Great American Lemming could these global grotesqueries say "I Love You."
Just in case all this comes off as one of my "too negative" posts, here's the incomparable Nico singing My Funny Valentine to pick you back up:
Of course, if it really is true that Valentine's Day is just another crapitalist hokeyday manufactured like "the consent of the governed" or Cheez Whiz to provoke consumers into shopping for still more future landfill to stave off panic at the prospect that they will die alone (you will, you know), then nothing could be more true in America than the truism of the song's last, curiously imperative, line: Each day is Valentine's Day.