I warned Corey that if he ever got me anything for Valentine's Day, I would kill him. OK, so maybe that is an embellishment. In reality I did tell them that I would be happy to receive gifts and expressions of love on any other day of the year...but please leave me alone on Valentine's Day. I recognize that the antipathy toward Valentines Day is getting almost as overcommercialized and capitalistic as the holiday itself, and so I have oft tried to remain neutral on the whole occasion, especially since the kids are still gleaning some of its "magic and romance". But I still find it difficult to not want to gouge out my eyeballs with an old pair of rusty scissors every time I see a lace-ridden heart or watch a cheesy jewelry commercial declaring, "If you truly love her, you will give her only the very best." What fools we are to buy into this money-making scheme of unabashed transparant nothingness thickly disguised as a day to show our loved ones how much we really love them while at the same time leaving so many others feeling rejected, unloved, and inadequate. I really can't help hating Valentine's Day. I find Valentine's day to be reeking of poshlost.
I have had the book, Reading Lolita in Tehran, in my collection for a few years now and only just this week finally began reading it when one of my sisters seemed anxious for a discussion. I found it strangely coincidental that I happened upon this word,POSHLUST, while reading on Valentine's Day Night. The book discusses a group of women in Tehran and how their lives are changed and enriched through illegal book discussions with a former professor. The first author they discuss is Vladimir Nabokov. Poshlost is a Russian word which Nabokov likes to transliterate as poshlust. It's sort of an untranslatable word but basically indicates something that is in bad taste or is trashy or cheap. Often poshlust disguises itself as something great, true or beautiful. Nabokov says that 'poshlust is not only the obviously trashy but also the falsely important, the falsely beautiful, the falsely attractive.' ... So is this why I hate Valentine's Day so much, because it quantifies, commercializes, and cheapens something that is too valuable to be treated in such a manner? Unfortunately I think that my distaste of the day is not rooted in altruistic ground. I believe its tendrils lead back to,yes, my own stubbornness, pride, fear, and
insecurity. Again, after self-effacing soul-searching, I have come up with 3 not so shining examples of how my own weaknesses have destroyed any chance of my liking Valentine's Day.
1. I hate people telling me what to do. As a child, I remember starting to clean my room and then hearing my mother call up the stairs to please clean my room. My desire to clean my room would vanish and I would deliberately bore myself to death in order to avoid doing what I was originally voluntarily doing, just to avoid doing what my mother told me to do. Likewise, I think on V-day, I despise the fact that I feel forced to tell people that I like them on this day, as if I couldn't think of the idea myself. It is patronizing. We are all, ok mostly, smart enough people to know how to tell the special people in our life that we love them.
2. I told my first big fat lie on Valentine's Day. It was 1981. I was in the 4th grade. I went to school and found a huge box of chocolates and a silver necklace on my desk. It was from the curly haired boy named Howard, who had on more than one occasion, expressed his deep and abiding longing for me. Feeling as if I had committed some unpardonable sin, I told my mother that the teacher had given it to me. I am still ashamed, possibly more at my lousy attempt at a good lie. I have since learned to lie much more effectively(jk) And I suppose I am a little perplexed as to why my mother didn't call me on it. There is no possible way that a 4th grade teacher would buy a huge box of chocolates and a necklace for a student in her class. Maybe she was just a little preoccupied with being 8 months pregnant and having 7 other children to worry about. In fact, she probably didn't even hear me.
3. I committed my first hate crime on Valentine's Day. 1989. 11th grade. Victims....Orem High Cheerleaders. I am having a really hard time disclosing this, but feel it an important step in my progression as a real person. Besides, I am almost sure that I will have scared most of my readers away with my initial ranting. I agree that ranting is at times truly obnoxious. I doubt any of you will have made it this far into my blog. Anyway, some nameless, yet not blameless, friends and I decided that it would be hilarious to make cookies that with the words, "Die" and "hate"and leave them on the doorsteps of the cheerleaders in the school. I am hoping that they just laughed and shook their luscious hair and I fully recognize that it was my own teen insecurity that led me to such behavior.
Maybe I can redeem myself and be extra sweet on Valentine's Day from now on. Or then again, maybe not.
So I will end and begin this post with some pictures of something in my life that is not at all POSHLOST.
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