Vaguely in favor of heart-shaped things

Do I hate Valentine's Day, or do I love it? Or, to put it better, am I fully indifferent to the concept, or merely ambivalent?

If I'm ambivalent, it's the holiday itself that made me this way: fate has never destined me for a truly great or romantic Valentine's, and more and more, I think that's the way that I want it. Like so many people that I know, I find the holiday trite and unnecessary - why would you ordain a day on which to spontaneously show your love?

To give an example of why Valentine's Day doesn't exactly get my heart beating all pitter-patter, I'd like to relate a story which has nothing to do with romance, though it is tinged with the bittersweet quality of unrequited love: My junior year of college, Dave and I thought that a fun way to spend the day would be to go play with puppies. Unfortunately, in Iowa our options were a bit slim in this department, and we ended up at the Iowa City Pound.

At first, we thought we would be stuck in a room full entirely with cats and the scent of stale urine (pitter! patter!), but did eventually make our way to an outdoor concrete enclosure, where we fell in love with two vagrant mongrels: one was a puppy named Huxley who looked exactly like a bear, with huge paws, an unfathomably large nose, and the softest fur you've ever touched. I loved Huxley in the same way one loves Brett Favre, which is to say, as if he were a big stuffed animal.

The second dog, whose name I have regretfully misplaced in the annals of memory, was a different sort of a matter. Huxley was a baby, and it was clear that he was only going to be in the shelter for as long as it took for someone to come to the pound who had the legitimate means to adopt a dog. This other dog - let's call him Rambo - had bigger problems. Rambo had been abused at some point in his life, and was deathly afraid of all men. He sidled shyly into the enclosure, giving Dave a wide berth at first, but eventually allowing both of us to pat him and tell him he was a good dog (as I will do for any dog within hearing range). Rambo was also a documented (perhaps "established?" Does one really document such things?) chicken killer, which is a significant liability in farming country. When we left at the end of the day I was not concerned for Huxley, but Rambo weighed upon my conscience.

That sums up, more or less, how I feel about Valentine's Day: it makes you happy, but only temporarily, because the joy is forced. Candies & cupcakes? They give you a sugar rush, sure, but that results in a sugar crash (like drugs!). Fancy dinner out? Great, until you realize that the prix fixe menu is worse than what you'd usually get at any given restaurant, and the banter from 1st dates at nearby tables is exponentially more awkward and obnoxious.

However, I try not to be more cynical about things than I must be, and so I am choosing to be happy that it's Valentine's Day, if only for these two reasons:

1. I will pretty much take any opportunity to drink champagne
2. If not for Valentine's day, what would happen the the Heart-Shaped Things industry? This is a serious matter to be discussed at length.