Target: Cupid

I might have forgotten that today was Valentine's Day if I hadn't gotten on the subway this afternoon.

I had sent out the cards to the women in my life, like my aunt, my sister, my nieces--and I heard all the love songs and love-themed programs on WNYC.

Now that I'm out of work, I listen to the radio all day long.

But the day really didn't register with me until around 4 pm when I got on the train to go to Manhattan.

I saw a young couple on the Bay Ridge R station and the girl was holding on to a huge bouquet of roses.

Oh, yeah, I thought. I've got to put up with this crap today.

Notice how I take random incidents personally.

I don't want to sound bitter or anything, but how come I have to lose my job while that little winged putz Cupid gets to fly around shooting love-sick idiots in the keester and pissing off people like me?

Why doesn't somebody give that arrow-slinging monkey his walking papers? I'd love to run into his scrawny ass on the unemployment line. I'd string him up by his diaper.

I saw a few other people with flowers or stuffed animals on the train tonight, but not as many as I would have expected. Maybe relationships have taken a downturn with the economy.

All right, every year I sit in front of this keyboard and whine that I don't have girlfriend. And here I am again...only now I don't have a job either.

Meanwhile I'm reading that the New York Times plans on cutting 100 jobs in the newsroom. That means I'll have even more competition when I go out looking for work only those people will have better looking resumes.

Am I too old to work for the Sanitation Department? The pay is good and you get to work outdoors.

I was debating about going to a singles event tonight. The email invite said that not enough men signed up for the thing, that the females outnumbered the males by two to one.

I don't know. I'm signed up for a post-Valentine event tomorrow, which theoretically should take the holiday pressure off. Going to a singles event tonight seems to be a lot like trying to find a date on New Year's Eve.

The scent of desperation in the room could probably sent off the smoke alarms.

Another singles group sent out an invitation to a fellatio workshop--for women only, of course.

10 page Manual/Tips Sheet Included! , the email says, adding that you should accept no substitutes--this is the original and the best class.

These classes were started to help empower women and inspire confidence in their body and their abilities,the invitation continues, stressing that the classes "aren't just about pleasing him."

Oh, heaven forbid, why would you possibly want to please him?

He's out of work, bald, and too old to get a job with the Sanitation Department. To hell with that bastard.

Our classes are more about inspiring you and helping you tap into that raw sexiness and sensuality that all women possess.

They all do? Then the women I've been dating have been doing a great job of hiding theirs.

Please Don't Squeez-A the Bananas

Women attending actually practice techniques on props (cucumbers, vibrators, bananas, lollipops.)

So I guess I shouldn't volunteer to help with the lessons. Probably for the best; some things really shouldn't have an audience.

It does sound like a terrible waste of good food, though. Don't they know people are starving around the world?

But please, do keep the food once you're done with it. Even starving people can say no to some dishes.

And lollipops could be risky. Police in Florida are reporting that an object appearing to be a metal staple was found in a Valentine's Day lollipop at an elementary school.

This was a day after a woman reported a blade-like piece of metal in another bag of the same product.

Don't look at me, people. I haven't been to Florida in years.

There was a song called "My Boy Lollipop," who "made my heart go giddy-up." There was no mention of metal objects in that tune.

The fellatio-fest invite includes a check list of highlights (lowlights?) such as lubrication, concerns with jaw discomfort, and, my personal favorite, "alternatives to swallowing."

Well, there's not swallowing. And...what else? Is this a class in sexual techniques or a magic show?

Watch carefully, ladies and gentleman--especially, you gentlemen. I have nothing up my sleeve and nothing in my mouth--

All right, that's enough. Just because I'm bitter doesn't give me the right to be disgusting. Let's talk romance, damn it.

The CBS Evening News had a story last night about a group of men in Japan who loved their wives so much the formed the Wife-Loving Association, where they proudly declare their devotion to their spouses.

The elderly gentleman who founded the organization gave tips on how to be good to your wife. He said couples should find something they like that they can do together.

The report ended with footage of this lovely couple doing their thing--ballroom dancing. It was very sweet without being cloying. And I promise to adore my wife all the doo-dah day, just as soon as I find her.

The day is almost over and the love songs keep on coming. A little while ago, WNYC played a French rap song by someone called MC Solar. French used to be called the language of love, but after hearing this little ditty (Diddy?), I'm not so sure.

This guy sounded like he was suffering from a little jaw discomfort himself.

Now the New Sounds program is playing every imaginable variation on the old standard "I Only Have Eyes For You." It's getting freakier with every selection, but I kind of like it.

When I got off the train at 72nd Street and Broadway tonight, I saw a middle-aged man with glasses waiting on the other side of the turnstiles with a single rose in his hand.

There was something very touching about that man and his flower standing there while the rush hour crowd buzzed by him.

No phony cards, cheap teddy bears, abysmal poetry or stinking bushels of roses--just a regular looking guy with one flower in his hand looking for that special someone to emerge from all those racing bodies.

Perhaps he was waiting for his wife of many years, who was coming home after a long day at work. Or maybe he was getting back into the dating scene after a lengthy absence and was meeting somebody new tonight.

Whatever the story is and whoever that man was, I have only one thing to say: Happy Valentine's Day.