Valentine
messages
will publish in the
Oregon Daily Emerald
on Thurs., Feb. 14th
Bring your heart in
by February 12th
to the Emerald
Classified Office
Suite 300, EMU
or caU 346-4343
Oregon Daily Emerald
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Schmaltz; tchotchkes make Feb. 14
one overdone pink nightmare
Valentine’s Day, ah, Valen
tine’s Day. The day on which
you give your significant oth
er a box of chocolates and a card that
the local stationery and confec
tionery outlets make sure you have
to take a small loan out on.
Rather than wooing our mates the
old-fashioned way, we have been
suckered into a morass of cutesy
graphics, sickening chocolates (that
have probably been sitting on some
shelf in Pennsylvania since July) and
music that can only be described us
ing the phrase “the horror... the hor
ror... ” And we are subjected to this
terror every 14th of February be
cause someone, most likely connect
ed with a major department store,
came forth from Mount Sinai and
decreed that it shall be “romantic,”
and that thou shalt buy lots and lots
of crap thou dost not need.
And what exactly did happen on
the 14th of February that makes
this day so romantic anyway?
Some guy gets crucified in Ancient
Rome, and on a Feb. 14 much later
down the line, a bunch of Bugs
Moran’s gangsters get air-condi
tioned stomachs, thanks to Scar
face Capone. Real romantic, that.
Ol’ Pops Time is trying to send a
message here, says I. Then again, I
guess if you care enough to send
the very best...
Yet, you ask, who could be so
heartless, so low and depraved as
to hate Valentine’s Day? You did
read the byline, right?
I can wait...
Now that we’ve gotten that
cleared up, you ask: “Why would
this completely horrid monster
hate Valentine’s Day?”
That was a low blow. We colum
nists have feelings too (sob).
For one thing, it’s the schmaltz.
We in America have this insistence
vAJLmrmf,'a
4^&A,nce,
Saturday, February 9th
9p.m.-12:30a.m.
Riley Hall
(11th &? Patterson)
Sponsored by International Student Association &? Residence Hall Association
J
Payne
Columnist
on decorating
every spare
piece of real es
tate with a
heart when St.
Val’s comes
around. As we
get closer and
closer to Feb.
14, every town
looks increas
ingly like it’s
the set for a re
vival of “The
Dating Game,”.
“The Love
Boat,” or “Love, American Style”
or maybe some other thoroughly
nauseating ’70s TV show.
I mean it—you can’t swing a
stunned Cupid without hitting some
schmaltzy tchotchke! Do you need a
pair of plastic, heart-shaped hand
cuffs with a velvet lining, or a pink
teddy bear with a book of third-rate
doggerel attached?
And why would anyone think a
heart is romantic anyway? Have
you ever seen one of those things in
person? I’d think a plate of frozen
fish sticks (mmm ... Yes! They’re
even better when they’re raw!)
would be more romantic than a
spasming piece of muscle that’s
spitting red goo all over. I saw
“Temple of Doom,” so I oughta
know what I’m talking about!
When Mola Ram reached into that
guy’s chest and plucked out his
heart, I’m pretty sure that the
sounds in theaters all across the
United States in 1984 were not ro
mantic purrings, unless you were
those high schoolers in the back
row to whom I say—
getarooml
Now, I like seeing wreaths and
other Christmas decorations, and
New Year’s glitter and glitz is cool.
However, whichever demented
Osmond came up with the decora
tion scheme for Valentine’s Day
ought to be locked in a small room
with a 24-hour loop of Captain
and Tennille, even though their
music has been declared a direct
violation of the Geneva Conven
tion. Arid while we’re on the sub
ject of decorations, who decided
that everything in creation had to
be colored pink? While I am not by
any means antagonistic to the col
or, there are some things which are
better left in their natural colors.
Like damn near everything!
And Cupid. Poor Cupid. Any
where else, a butt-nekkid infant
could make a good living in diaper
commercials and comparisons to
certain brands of leather recliners
and down mattresses, but our boy
Cupid comes out, shoots his arrows,
and then it’s back into whatever sea
sonal dungeon they exile him, Santa
Claus and the Easter Bunny.
Finally, I despise this rotten hol
iday because of my childhood
memories. Of course you all re
member when you were in elemen
tary school and the kids went and
gave each other valentines, holding
them in those cheap lunch sacks
with the by-now obligatory hearts.
Although I came armed with valen
tines enough for everyone, even the
guys, I ranked behind the scabby,
chain-smoking janitor and the
boys’ toilet in numbers of valen
tines received.
Now then. Here endeth the rant.
Go about your business and sin no
more. But please, no Captain and
Tennille. The sanity you save may
be your own.
E-mail columnist Pat Payne
at patpayne@dailyemerald.com.
His opinions do not necessarily
reflectthose of the Emerald.
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