| Issue #44, February 9, 2007 |
When In Manhattan
Valentine’s Day
with Oliver Peterson
For most of my adult life, I have shunned the idea of made-up holidays like Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Secretary’s Day and Valentine’s Day. I’m a guy who likes things. I’m an accumulator of objects that tickle my fancy en masse, but yet, at the same time, I tend to rally against consumerism and dream of an austere life devoid of all this stuff and the noise it produces. I fantasize about living in a sparse room with only a few books, a lamp and maybe a typewriter and some paint. Sadly, this won’t ever be me. At this moment I can see from my desk hundreds of books I’ve collected like trophies or conquests, numerous electronic devices, at least four miniature likenesses of comic book characters, pop-culture icons and characters from cult films. There are paintings and silk screens on my walls, designer vases, pillows and rugs and any number of eBay purchases that track a long history of sleepless and obsessive evenings spanning these last few years.
Being a recently married person, I have participated in Valentine’s Day like a dutiful husband or boyfriend should, but it was only recently that I determined there’s nothing wrong with all of this. At one time I would say, “I don’t need a two-inch square on a calendar to tell me when to buy my wife a gift.” Gifts are not something that should be forced, I thought, but are to be given when it feels right or when inspiration strikes. Then it occurred to me – what’s so wrong with celebrating love? Why is it not okay to take February 14 and like a birthday, submit to the fact that it’s a little gift to those of us lucky enough to be in love? It’s not such a bad thing to honor, is it? So there it is. I turned the corner and let the romantic take hold. If nothing else, one might get lucky this Wednesday, even if it means waiting in line at your favorite restaurant before a rushed meal that will be followed by your waiter bullying you through dessert in order to prepare for the next happy couple. New York City has a lot more people than our little piece of the Island, but it also has a lot more places to choose from.
I don’t blame you if, in this frigid climate, the big city seems far from romantic. The stark, gray concrete and wind tunnel avenues can feel more than unforgiving, especially when our homes and hearths are a refuge 100 miles away. Sheets of ice and taxicab traffic, crowds pushing forward on the final stretch of a long day of walking, hotdog stands and the frozen homeless may not be your ideal vision of romantic love, but I ask you now to picture a softer side of our friendly neighborhood metropolis. Instead of imagining the discomfort of popping champagne and the awkwardness of pouring while shivering in the back of a horse-drawn carriage in Central Park, envision an excuse to cuddle and the warmth a shared glass of Cliquot will give as it settles, crisp and clean as the night air. Picture your breath as you exhale in unison. Does it become one rolling cloud? Okay, I don’t need to make anyone nauseated, but lighten up and get where I’m coming from. The New York skyline alone is breathtaking on a clear winter night. It’s a city steeped in romance. Catch a movie, grab a meal – hell, even a hot dog – hold each other tight and rejoice in the fact that you can so easily be in the greatest city in the world. If you’re single, go in with friends. It can be slim pickings out here in the winter and you can bet there are more than a few eligible ladies and gentlemen out looking on the night of Hallmark-enforced love. Hamptons to Manhattan long-distance romance is an age-old tradition in these parts. Go for it. If nothing else, as I said before, you’ll at least have a good chance of getting lucky. Even better than that, you might step out of whatever place you’ve chosen to whet your whistle, look up at the lights of a proud city and gaze past to an inky but starry sky and find you’re not just lucky, but lucky in love.
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