The other day I asked Johnny if he wanted to do a joint entry on Valentine’s Day. He liked the idea so I asked him for his opinion of the holiday. He wasn’t very forthcoming and I finally worked it out that he has no opinion because he’s never been involved with anyone who merited a holiday (during this particular time of year). Since he was neither bitter nor resentful I sent him on his way so I could take care of the task myself.

In the past I have not been shy about my disdain for certain holidays. Yes, the commercialism is vulgar and no, there’s really no believable connection between St Valentine and love and/or romance, but that isn’t what pisses me off most about this and other greeting card holidays. The really offensive bit for me is the obligation associated with these days.

Which of the following is more appealing to you?

1. Hi, I found this really fantastic book at an old store downtown and figured it was just the thing for you!
2. Hi, Here’s a box of chocolates for Valentine’s Day. Oh, I see you already have seven…

That’s the beauty of anniversaries and birthdays - they belong to you! The obligation for a gift, mention or phone call is entirely based on the recipient instead of a national commercial campaign. Cupid has a bow and arrow, but that isn’t good enough for advertisers. They’ve got the full-on forward offense with rapid fire machine guns and carpet bombing. You don’t stand a chance.

And if that wasn’t enough, this giant revenue engine is engineered to make people feel inadequate if they aren’t coupled with someone. Desperate citizens update their online profiles and tear through old date books to avoid being caught “alone” on VD. Husbands, wives, boyfriends, girlfriends all scurry to get something for their significants and curse the holiday for falling on the eve of payday. Hearts are cello-taped to every surface, romantic music is piped into every public space and there isn’t a mylar balloon to be found for love or money in any of the shops. It’s madness I tell you!

Well, I feel much better now. Not that I wasn’t fine before - in fact, I almost forgot about VD this year. Sometimes I just like a good rant - especially when it’s about the monumental stupidity of our vapid culture.

A few weeks ago I decided to rent Clatterford from Netflix. Since I love Jennifer Saunders I figured it was time to check out her newest project. After watching the first three episodes I was charmed. A dramatic departure from Ab Fab, Clatterford is dignified and endearing in a very “everyday” sort of way. Humor still abounds, but there is really good drama as well and I was surprised at the maturity and depth of the writing.

Then the second disc arrived this weekend. I’m almost ashamed to admit that I wasn’t all that keen on popping it in the player. I mean, I enjoyed the first three episodes quite a bit; however, the cadence of the show is not exactly Friday night material. Oh how wrong I was! Knowing the characters and the relationships I was adequately equipped to immerse myself in the story and it was amazing.

The character played by Dawn French annoyed me at first because I thought her sole purpose was to be ridiculous and insulting to people with mental disabilities. I could not have been more wrong! Now I worship the courage and resilience of her character and I can hardly wait to catch series two.

When I was through with the last episode I decided to check out the extra features on the DVD. Hello?! BONUS CHRISTMAS SPECIAL!! It was so wonderful I just didn’t want it to end. Then as the camera pulled back to roll credits the music started. It wasn’t the theme to the show (although that is wonderful, too) but it was the same singer and I was put into a trance by the haunting, lonely vocal and music drenched in wistful longing. I can’t stop listening to this song.

A friend of mine suckered me into volunteering for the Warner Brothers annual holiday party for homeless gay youth of Los Angeles. I mean, how do you say “no” to an invitation of that nature? I like my assholery to be of a certain brand. The party was a raging success; plenty of smiles, hot dancing and an incredibly impressive spread of food. Oh yes, and the faint undercurrent of despair, loneliness and wounded souls. That’s right, I could smell it. My overactive imagination compounded that by creating scenarios to go with many of the attending youths. I really do have a flair for being unnecessarily dramatic.

When in the company of people less fortunate than myself I always feel awkward. Am I acting TOO nice? Does my expression look judgmental? That sort of typical, dumb-ass, suburban whitey-tries-to-do-good thing. After serving turkey on the buffet line for about an hour I was watching some of the dancers on stage when a beautiful girl came up to me and asked me how I pronounced my name (volunteers wear name tags). She introduced herself as Starr and started to watch the dancers with me; occasionally commenting on this or that. I was mortified. While many people who know me will boast that my conversational skills are exceptional, there are times when I can hardly force together a rudimentary sentence. What does one talk about with a gorgeous, underage black girl who doesn’t happen to have a permanent residence?

“Would you believe it took them nearly an hour to detail my car yesterday?”

“In the end I had to settle for an inferior, locally manufactured comforter because the Hungarian down was on backorder.”

“One of the greatest benefits to this new job is that I’m close enough to drive home for lunch. Of course, the free medical/dental/vision and 100% 401k matching is also quite good.”

Thankfully Starr mentioned that she was doing a water cleanse diet and that was something I could talk to her about. Contrary to what some might think, I can be a freaky health nut. We also bonded over the downright shocking sex appeal of one of the “sexy Santas” they had to take photos with the kids. At one point he took his shirt off and I thought I was going to burst into flames. My morbid imagination couldn’t leave well enough alone and I had to wonder how many of those Polaroid photos with sexy Santa would end up in plastic bags at the morgue. Yes, that’s the brain I get to live with.

A few of Starr’s friends came by and I spoke with some of them, but she never introduced me. At one point I was literally surrounded by homeless gays and I felt like a lawnmower in Macy’s. Then a fight broke out and was quickly neutralized by the kids in the immediate vicinity. I was impressed. They were policing themselves out of respect for the event. It was a very “documentary” moment. I realize how silly it was of me to be so uncomfortable, but I couldn’t help myself. And when I noticed some of the volunteers breaking down the buffet tables I excused myself from Starr’s company saying I needed to help out.

Next was a guy named Steve that my friend met when she volunteered for this event last year. She was discouraged to see him again (i.e. homeless for more than a year) and told me that when she encountered him near the bathrooms that he didn’t seem “all there” to her. When she pointed him out he was alone on the dance floor cranking out some pretty bad hip hop moves. He looked really cute from that distance, but on closer inspection was definitely worse for the wear. It crushed me. I had to sit and wonder what circumstances led to his current situation. What happened to all of these kids?

Near the end of the event I was heading to the room upstairs where they would be handing out the gift bags. Just ahead of me was Steve and I avoided eye contact because, frankly, he scared me. His eyes seemed to be witnessing events other than those around him and his mannerisms gave every indication that he might snap at any moment. I paused to allow him to pass in front of me and he said, “Hello there” in the most normal and genuine tone and I was surprised. I returned the greeting and continued on my way feeling like a bona fide jackass.

This is why I distance myself. I don’t watch the news or read the paper. I’m too sensitive and I get enraged about all of the needless suffering and pain in our world. I made a lot of incredibly tasteless jokes with my friends just to keep from tearing up. I felt like such a fraud spending three lousy hours in aid of the unfortunate. I loathe seasonal charity doers! I left the party a little early not really knowing what to think.

The drive home was somber. My heart went out to all those great kids enduring a hard life for this reason or that. I chastised myself for the petty grievances and minuscule conflicts that interrupt what should be a jubilant life. For the trials of my childhood, which I begrudgingly endured, any of those kids would gladly exchange. The opportunities I’ve had, the love and adoration of my family, the friends I ignore and abuse, the beautiful apartment I neglect, the shiny, new car that I didn’t have detailed yesterday and is overdue for an oil change. I’ve never felt more American in my life. My country that infects all corners of the globe with its gluttony and disdain. Exploiting every resource and turning a blind eye to atrocities in the name of good trade. Wearing a pious mask to protect the world against injustice while abused innocents are left to survive by their wits on our cruel city streets.

It’s all well and good to achieve a little perspective in this season of “good will towards men” but why must this attitude be restricted? I freely admit that I am a raging hypocrite. There is certainly a great deal I could do all year for those souls bereft of the many blessings in life I’ve come to expect and yet I do precious little for the betterment of myself. They say charity begins at home and I think that’s something we should all think about.

My work for today was canceled without warning and I found myself wondering what to do. What is it that I do when I’m not working? I couldn’t remember so I decided to go see a movie.

Last Thursday I went to the opening of a gallery exhibition to see my friend, Jared, the photographer responsible for the images you see on this page. He is one of those people I see infrequently whose company I always enjoy until I remember that he is infuriating. Other than that I would marry him, but the point of this mention is that he saw Across The Universe recently and wanted to know my opinion.

My opinion was that I felt bitter because I waited for nine months for that movie to come out and then found myself with no time to see the damn thing. It was released nationwide on Johnny’s birthday and where was I? Not at the theater as planned.

So I checked my local listings this morning only to discover that it wasn’t playing in any of my preferred theaters, but rather in the sad, dilapidated Mann cinema I typically avoid. It turned out well with an unheard of $3.50 matinee price and a deserted, old school auditorium.

Going through the process of preparing myself for disappointment after such a long anticipation was wise, but entirely unwarranted. From the first note sung in the opening scene to the closing credits I was in awe. The trailer put emphasis on the surreal aspects of the feature and that can sometimes be a warning. Thankfully the whimsical, art school orgy bits blended seamlessly with reality much in the way I often impose my own fantasies on my everyday life.

After the movie I couldn’t get home fast enough to buy the soundtrack. I called Jared so we could have the discussion we should have had on Thursday. He asked me to sum up my experience in a single sentence (yeah, he’s one of those). I told him that it was like visiting a museum on acid and all of the paintings were singing to entertain me. That stopped him in his tracks.

Go see the freaking flick, please. Even if it’s only for the shockingly homoerotic Army induction sequence. I haven’t felt so artistically molested by a movie since The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover. The arrangements of the Beatles songs are simply sublime and incredibly moving. I’m including a selection here because during that scene of the movie I almost dropped my nachos I was crying so hard.

Tomorrow my friend Michelle and I are going to see So You Think You Can Dance. It’s the results show so there won’t be as much dancing, but OneRepublic will be performing their song “Apologize” and I’m almost as excited about that as the possibility of seeing some more of Neil’s flesh live and in person!

Here is the Timbaland remix that I can’t stop playing in the car.