Thursday, February 14, 2008

Things to Do Other Than Kill Yourself: Valentine's Day Edition

While whitling away the remnants of one's youth meandering behind a cubicle/office/register/barista/steering wheel/bong lamenting your last failed relationship/sexual transaction, here are a few ways to get through the day:

PostScript. Yes, this site's long passed it's cache coolness after becoming packaged and processed for conglomerate bookstore goodness, and it's amassed far more saccharine submissions than thought provoking ones, though days like this were made specifically for sites like this.


Dave Hill's "Dave Hill Explosion" is delightfully delicious, and his forays into love are just as sweet. Next week's "Explosion" features Amy Sedaris. Act like y'all don't wanna go.

Read. Yes, it's probably the least fun option, but losing yourself in a book can be a nice, cost effective way of leaving this world. (or a nice precursor to the eventual binge drinking/drunk dialing that will close out your night.)

For your literary enjoyment:

"I Love You Beth Cooper" Former Simpsons writer Larry Doyle's ode to teenage love is fast paced, engaging, and consistently hilarious. Like a smart man's version of "Say Anything," sans the overplayed Peter Gabriel soundtrack and Cameron Crowe's ball shrinking schmaltz.

"Shortcomings." Adrian Tomine's graphic novel 'novella' is a alluring indictment of cross cultural relationship mores and the haunting reality of perpetual inadequacy compensation. I lost my love of comics somewhere after Spider-Man's "Clone Wars" during preadolescence, but beautifully rendered works like Tomine's have brought me back to the loop. Powerful, beautiful, and short enough to read in one sitting, it still frees you up to do other things today, like test your alcohol poisoning limit.

"Suicide Casanova." Arthur Nersesian is one of my favorite urban writers because of his inate ability to craft humorous, sexually explicit, satirically dramatic stories that perfectly encapsulate the "New York City is full of awesome assholes vibe." Unlike his much more famous "the Fuck-Up," or his equally adventurous "Manhattan Loverboy," "Suicide Casanova" is Nersesian at his dastardly darkest. It's erotica, horror, crime story all rolled into one book, that's always engaging, and at times, disturbingly unnerving. Love/lust, sentimentality/stalking-V-Day seems like a perfect day to bone up on sexual nerosis.


Watch (Like TV, except with fewer, albeit tiny, annoying adverts...and it's FREE! Well, ofcourse, not counting how much high speed Internet costs.)

David Wain's "Wainy Days". Catch up on Season 1 and 2-they're short, sweet, and will fill you with that feeling you thought in kindergarten was happiness.

HBO's "In Treatment." Contrived, heavy handed, borderline amateur-pretty much anything and everything has been said about HBO's ambitious 5 nights a week for 9 weeks experiment into the drama that is psychotherapy, but few touch on how shamefully fun it's been watching Gabriel Bryne do his best as the struggling, sexually repressed doc. For those of us that have been in analysis (I love saying I have an analyst; for some reason it makes me feel like I'm in a Woody Allen movie), it's a nice reminder of what is/was; for those who haven't, see what you've been missing lying to yourselves about not needing it. Watch it now online- it's the last week of free episodes.

For those of us that don't want to engage in any activites that involve bright, elaborate colors/movement/shopping, music seems like a nice alternative:

George Jones. I had a professor in college who made us listen to Jones, and related tales of himself and his friends sitting in his living room, drinking till dawn and crying in silence. God, I loved Professor McCourt. Anyway, "If Drinkin' Don't Kill Me (Her Memory Will)" seems like a perfect country opus to serve as an entry point to George Jones newbies.

Eef Barzelay. I'm not the biggest fan of his band Clem Snide, but his solo debut, "Bitter Honey" is a nice soundtrack to sitting in the darkness, enjoying a bottle and watching the sun rise.

Tom Waits. The Michael Jordan of last call lotharios, Waits is the perfect complement to any alcohol/drug/depression/recently dumped-infused evening. The release of Scarlett Johansson's Tom Waits cover album provokes mixed feelings (on one hand I wanna bed her, on the other I don't want my Waits to be violated-Bowie doing Waits?! WTF?) yet in the end, any pub for Mr. Waits, is good pub. Now pop in "Nighthawks at the Diner" close your eyes and let that whiskey linger and burn a little before you swallow. Ah...yum.

Movies are absent from my list, just because it'd be exhaustive expounding on films with artistic merit that lack any semblance of romance or reminders of why one is alone. That, and romantic comedies are fucking evil.


So please, drink, drug, dance, and find some manner in which a single person can enjoy this day of commercial despair. Just don't walk around the city (fucking pseudo-happy couples), don't watch too much porn (blindness and hairy palms are myths; chafing is not), and don't direct the energy of the vast emptiness inside you into pathetic attempts at tasteless humor such as this:

On second thought, maybe going home, sitting in your tub and popping open some veins wouldn't be so bad.

People suck. Do as you wish. And enjoy.

1 painful displays of affection:

popshop February 19, 2008 at 9:26 AM  

Wow. That sir, is a very full list of things to do on VD. Sadly I'm only reading it today! Could've used it more the day AFTER VD since that's when I was really feeling low, but oh well.

Nicely done... (Weeps).
@ sugartown

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