just another day

The holiday of doom for all single folk rears its ugly tomorrow. A day where unattached people like myself must walk by couples with arms interlocked, facing each other as they stroll down the street, wrapped up in a Hallmark moment all their own, oblivious to the world around them, and contemplate why nobody is buying us diamond tennis bracelets or taking us out for a fancy dinner. A day where people engaged in public displays of affection make you want to run off and vomit even more so than usual, or make you mutter snidely under your breath, "go get a freaking room!" A day where as you walk by flower shops teeming with blossoms of all shapes and sizes, you feel thankful for not having to whip out your wallet to pay the insanely marked-up prices that the other sods will inevitably do in the name of love. On the other hand, a crimson blush of embarassment passes your cheeks upon the realization that you have nobody to offer the flowers to even if you had wanted to buy them.

February 14th is strictly for couples only. As if I don't feel like a third wheel enough the rest of the year. This ridicilous holiday only serves to emphasize my singleness, which at other times of the year safely passes for being an independent spirit. A lone wolf, if you will.

I haven't always hated this holiday. I can remember a time when I was, in fact, eager for this holiday to arrive. Nights before the fourteenth, I'd sit on the floor with my scissors, gluesticks, scraps of red construction paper and doilies fanned out around me, working furiously in an effort to create the finest Valentine's cards in the second grade class. Only a few years later, would I succumb to the pressure of scrawling the words "won't you bee mine" in pencil on store bought cards with pictures of cartoon bumblebees engaged in all sorts of romantic activities printed on the other side.

Then there was that time that I inadvertedly scheduled a first date for the evening of the fourteenth. "Let's just hang out and have sushi," or so I thought. It wasn't until the before the date that my friends reminded me that it was a Valentine's Date - stressing the word "Valentine's" with such intensity that it frightened me to the core. "What did that mean? Did I have to buy flowers? What kind of flowers are appropriate for a first date?" My head was spinning. Luckily, I got my act together and figured it all out before the nervousness and anticipation set in. What followed was an evening of great conversation and some star gazing. Romantic and schmaltzy, like a good Valentine's date should be. So you see, I haven't always hated it.

But now that I'm single, dateless, and not currently blinded by puppy love, I'm reminded of how ridiculous it is to have a Hallmark holiday devised to dupe the lovestruck populace into fueling the machine of consumerism. Fancy meals, expensive gifts, symbols of extravagance, all apparently to show how much you love your significant other. Like we really need another day devoted to that. What? Anniversaries and birthdays aren't enough?

And then there's the effect it has on us single people. Now the spotlight is on us to see if we can get your act together in the next 364 days so that the same embarassing thing doesn't happen again this time next year. Knowing me, I'll probaly still be dateless and sitting at home with the remote control in one hand, a cold drink in the other, and a TV dinner on my lap.

A friend of mine is going out for an anti-Valentine's celebration with a group of other likewise single girlfriends tomorrow. On a whim, ne of the girls in decided to make invitations for the event. The cover reads sarcastically: "It's just another day."

Perfectly said.

daytrip

Spent the day yesterday in Seattle with J & K as part of work-related "research." Our first stop was the Apple Store at University Village, where we completely geeked out and oogled the pretty machines inside. J showed us the Genius Bar where way-to-smart-for-their-own-good techies go to ask questions. And if the Apple guys get stumped, there's a red phone with a direct link to Apple headquarters in California. The complete geeks that we are, we ooh'ed and ahh'ed over the magic bat phone. After test driving various Macs and asking a bunch of questions, both K and I figured out what was on our respective shopping lists for when we came back across the border. Then, to complete the dorkification, we took digital photos of ourselves outside the Apple Store.

We had planned on eating at Zao's Noodle House, but seeing the long wait outside, we decided to try Burrito Loco instead. Freshly baked tortilla chips with tomato salsa and salsa verde for dipping, Chicken enchiladas with rice and beans, along with hibiscus juice at an authentic Mexican restaurant hit the spot and fueled us for a few more hours of retail resarch at Crate & Barrel and a few other stores.

Leaving UVillage, we drove toward Renton to visit the folks at the Seattle office, where we probably ended up staying way too long. It's always interesting to see how other branches of the same company work, and sometimes it helps us to appreciate the people and politics at our own offices even more.

After hightailing it out of the office, the three of us headed downtown to find someplace to have dinner. First though, we drove to REI to check out their use of graphics and just to be amazed by the fabulous space that they occupy. Then, we drove to the EMP to check out the unparalleled work of Frank Ghery. We had only meant to drive by so that I could see it, but when I laid eyes on it, I knew that we had to go down and explore a little. Seeing the building, with its curved metal walls reaching out all over the place and in various colours was almost surreal. It was like something out of a child's imagination translated onto the streets of downtown Seattle.

So, after wandering around for a little while, we decided that instead of finding somewhere else to eat, that we should just stay at the EMP and soak in the fabulous architecture. Luckily, we arrived at the Liquid Lounge a few minutes before Happy Hour ended, so we were able to take advantage of cheap eats and cheap drinks. Our playfully abusive waitress brought out some buffalo chicken wings with celery and blue cheese, oven-roasted greek olives with Mediterraean Sea salt and shredded Parmesan cheese, served with focaccia bread, Hummus with crisp, hearth-baked flatbread, and Caesar salad with crisp focaccia croutons, which we pretty much devoured. Good food, good conversation, and good music made for a great evening...or so we thought...

When we got back to the car, after joking taht we probably got a ticket for parking so long there, we discovered a boot on the car tire instead, along with a fine for $75. Luckily, the parking guy was still there, so we didn't have to get the impound guys to come down. At the same time all of this was happening, we were practically being accosted by a street thug harassing us for money so her could grab some dinner. After the fine was forked over and the boot removed, we all ducked into the car and drove home, kicking ourselves for not noticing the parking regulations signs prohibiting us from parking there.

The late night drive home consisted of a trip to Krispy Kreme for dessert, being amused by a seemingly stoned Krispy Kreme employee, the purchase of the perfect travel mug by J, listening to the most ecclectic mix of music on J's iPod/iTrip combo, and chatting about everything under the sun. I was dead tired by the time I finally got home, but in one of those satisfyingly tired kind of ways. The day was a blast and I couln't have had more fun with J & K. It makes me think that I don't really want to leave them to go off to Philly or Boston because I'll miss them way too much.

bleeding heart

Yesterday, as I was searching the English Department's website for some information about an event that I've been invited to speak at, I came across an entry on the events calendar page that made me stop in my tracks. The words read "memorial service," followed by a name that seemed vaguely familiar. After a few Google searches, my suspicions were unfortunately confirmed. The woman named turns out to have indeed been one of my first year English professors. She and I never really developed a relationship beyond the classroom (although I did see her at campus productions every so often in my years there), nor were any the papers or topics that I wrote in her class particularly memorable, somehow, however, she made an impression on me. Always vibrant and full of an assured and focussed brand of energy, she struck me as a woman who was passionate about teaching, steadfast in her convictions, and unshakable in her love of life.

Reading one of the many tributes to her reminded me of the fragility of our existence here on earth, but also impressed upon me the triumph of the human spirit even in the face of death. My heart bleeds for little Hana Gabriele, who will never meet her mother, but will nonetheless know her from the memories of the people who's lives she touched in her brief time here. A mother who gave much more than life and love before she even knew her daughter...