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This week: February Edited by: Robert Waltz  
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Handmade presents are scary because they reveal that you have too much free time.
-Doug Coupland
There is still no cure for the common birthday.
-John Glenn
I hate birthdays.
-Zane Grey |
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February
I've come to hate February.
For a short month, it sure grates on my very last essence.
What's wrong with February, you ask? Glad you asked!
It's bad enough that it has two of the most ill-conceived celebrations of the year: Groundhog Day (I mean, seriously, rodents make terrible meteorologists) and Singles Awareness Day (which I refuse to call by its common name). On top of that, I live in a northern hemisphere temperate zone, which means the nights are long and it's pretty much guaranteed to snow. And worst of all, it contains my birthday.
Now, I'm sure no one reading this takes Groundhog Day seriously. In fact, I'm not sure anyone takes Groundhog Day seriously. At least, I hope not. At best, it's a good time to watch one of the greatest movies ever made. At worst, it's a pale shadow of the ancient celebration of Imbolc, which I believe is when the Druids came out of their groves and tried to find their shadows, but they couldn't because they lived in a northern hemisphere temperate zone and it was bloody February.
And what to say about Singles Awareness Day? I've devoted entire newsletters to this abomination in the past, and that was when I thought I was happily married. These days, it's even worse. It's gotten so that there are particular shades of red that make me see red, and don't even get me started on chocolates and flowers. Sometimes I just want to jump up on yet another display of forced romance, shake my fists at the ceiling and shout, "LIES! It's all lies, I tell you! Sure, you've got your hormones flowing now, but just wait a few months! You! Your perfect, romantic boyfriend is 90% likely to cheat on you within a year! And you! Yes, you, with the silly grin on your face and the ring box in your trembling hand - don't do it! Sure, she's hot for you now, but just wait a few years, and I hope you can afford child support payments!"
But I don't, because that would get me kicked out of the store. Er, or so I've heard.
There needs to be a day for those of us blissfully free of the bonds of commitment to another human being can celebrate. Let's see, opposite the calendar from February is August... so maybe August 14 or 15 there could be Freedom Day. Since it's August, it's nice and warm here in the northern hemisphere, so it could even be a beach holiday. And August is inexplicably free of other celebrations, so it's not like it's going to crowd out other holidays - it's a bit close to Labor Day, but so what? August needs a holiday. And I think the day's mascot should be the cat. No, no... a whole clowder of cats. And the official drink should be gin. Straight up.
But that's not the worst thing about February. No, I can ignore Groundhog Day and Singles Awareness day well enough, easier than avoiding Christmas. What I can't ignore is the weather.
Last November and December, I drove across the country and back because why not, and while driving through New Mexico, I got hit by a blizzard that limited visibility to the interior of my car. I couldn't stop because then I'd be rear-ended; I couldn't pull over because of drifts on the shoulders, and so the only thing I could do was maintain what I thought was a reasonable speed and hope that the idiots in front of me also realized that they couldn't stop. This blizzard lasted me from west of Albuquerque (which I was hoping to spend more time in because, well, say Albuquerque a few times fast and you'll know) all the way to Amarillo, Texas. That's right; I managed to avoid excessive snow through New England, Minnesota, North Dakota, and Montana only to fall prey to the evil white scourge in freaking New Mexico.
So you'll excuse me if I'm done with the snow. In fact, I'm seriously considering flying to the Philippines to hang out with my scuba-instructor friend at the first hint of "it might snow in Virginia."
But snow, while inevitable, is at least largely unpredictable at long range. What truly makes February horrid for me, the one thing that is utterly predictable and completely unavoidable, is my birthday, which follows Singles Awareness day in much the same way that my cat can't just puke once, but moves over a few feet and pukes again.
Like most of us, I can remember a time when birthdays were pretty awesome. Your friends came over, you got to eat cake, and maybe your allowance went up by ten cents a month. You got presents - maybe even a pony. If you were lucky, there were no clowns involved and so your therapy bills are now lower than mine.
I think it was a few years ago, when I was actually having a pretty good year, that I realized that I'd had more birthdays in the past than I had any reasonable expectation of seeing in the future. I'm not going to say that that was the moment I turned into a bitter old man, but get the hell off my lawn, you damn kids.
There is nothing to celebrate about birthdays any more, for me. They're just another reminder of my own inevitable end.
So this year, I just want February to go away. It won't, of course. It is, in fact, a leap February, which means it's one dragging, soulless day longer than most Februaries.
But at least there's gin. |
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Comedy: February 08, 2012 Issue [#4871]
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