Another Valentine’s Day has come and gone. Did you have a good time? Did you spend the holiday in the company of that special someone? Or did you spend it on the couch pondering your inadequacies with a pint of Dryer’s ice cream and a “Real World/Road Rules” marathon? Whatever you did on Valentine’s Day, it doesn’t matter anymore; we’re all equals on Valentine’s Day weekend.
It’s that special time of year when the drunken debauchery of a typical college weekend meets head-on with the all-consuming power of love. It seems to me, though, that the holiday’s meaning has undergone some subtle changes in the past 10 or 20 years. What was once a day for celebrating love is now part of a much bigger picture – a well-crafted plan of Ocean’s Eleven-type proportions. The heist starts tonight, and the treasure is booty. Not cash, not golden doubloons, but sweet, curvaceous Homo sapien booty.
Even as you read these words, you’re getting ready. You’ve heard about the parties through word-of-mouth. The biggest, most extravagant ones have made it to Facebook and MySpace CQ, where students, creepy dropouts and law enforcement officials alike can help spread the word. Themed parties take on a whole new meaning on Valentine’s Day weekend: angels and devils, cupid parties, pink lingerie parties, orgies (they’re out there if you look hard enough) – no drunken, half-naked stone will be left unturned. I’ll be turning in my pen for a pair of grownup diapers and a bow and arrow, and replacing my sharp wit with the social awkwardness of a sophomore surrounded by women in their underwear.
I’d like to take this opportunity to clear up any confusion in regards to my position on half-naked members of the opposite sex: I whole-heartedly endorse each and every individual’s First Amendment right to freedom of expression by shaking his or her ass while whichever sub-par rapper playing in the background eggs them on. But to say all this booty shaking is harmless shows a deep misunderstanding of the social dynamics behind booty. Once you flip that switch on and start dancing, it becomes like a drug. Doing it once in a while may be relatively harmless, but too many times and you become hooked. Soon your perspective of the world becomes permanently altered: You crave that feeling of being on the dance floor every second of every day, and your personal relationships begin to suffer. All the excitement, the attention that comes with being in the spotlight, can cloud your judgment. Sincere attraction and drunken lust look a lot alike after one or two (or ten) shots on a Saturday night.
So when you’re out on the town this weekend – whether you’re male, female, casual drinker or alcoholic in denial – take a minute to think about your intentions. I mean, let’s not kid ourselves; this weekend is going to be pretty much like any other. Friends will meet, drinks will be drunk and good times will be had. But at a time and state of mind where sheer desire is often mistaken for love, and the word itself is tossed around carelessly, I can’t help but think of simpler times.
Remember going to school on Valentine’s Day and sitting in class, working up the courage to give your crush the valentine you made? The teacher made you make one for everyone, but this one was bigger and had more sequins than any of the others. That’s what Valentine’s Day is all about. Of course we were little kids back then, and this is just the natural progression of things. But still, there was a sense of purity, of sincerity, that I miss.
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