There is no St. Valentine’s Day here at la casa del bitterhombre. Wifey and I actively avoid the holiday of corporate romance and suggest that you do the same. Having a holiday stricken from the record due to lack of participation would be spiffier than the splinterless lifting toilet seat.
I chalk it up to that dark, heart scarring day every year in grammer school that clearly luminated who carried clout and who was doomed to be a nose picking A/V aid for the rest of their miserable lives. Sure; your parents might have tried to explain the benefits of simple human kindness to you and made sure you had a Valentine prepared for every child in your class, but it was no difficult task to weed through the undesirables on the bus and make sure that those tiny red and white envelopes never reached their destination. Meanwhile, paper bags taped securely to desk fronts on the left and the right are filled to overflowing by lunch. At the close of festivities with the 3:00 bell to go home, the bitterman’s bag contains Valentine cards from the teacher, the two kids who spent half of each day in special education, and the janitor.
There is a long, awkward silence while everyone stares.
But I digress……….
Wifey and I generally google an interesting event that occurred on February 14th and celebrate that with a lunch away from home. Usually we make it easy and raise a glass of bubbly to Scarface and his victory over Bugs Moran’s Chicago Irishmen, but other events have been toasted as well. Like Thomas Cranmer being declared a heretic and the start of the 8th Air Force’s fire bombing campaign about 12 weeks before the end of World War II with the complete and utter destruction of Dresden, Germany. Since Friday the 13th was in such convenient proximity this year, we shall mark its passing today with a trip over the hill and a seafood repast of some kind.
I’m thinking Monterey. It’s touristy as hell but this place called Blue Moon makes the most killer tempura style calamari with this peanut/sesame dipping thing………..it’s worth looking like a total spazz dweeb on Cannery Row to get this stuff.
Wifey is of no opinion, as usual. So I shall throw the camera in the back and point the nose of the Z car in a more or less westerly direction and we shall see what transpires.
Best to you and yours. Andy