First off, please let me direct you to Chewbacca's blog for the most hysterical response to Cheney's "hunting accident" I've seen or heard in the last 48 hours. In the meantime, I'm seriously considering joining the cult of the Wookie. Methinks the Ginormous Yorkie knows the whatfor.
I'm not a huge Valentine's day person. I like it, because I like anything in a culture that encourages candy that tastes like pepto bismol and anything that encourages chocolate. But I don't like it because I hate the month of February, for one, and having spent my adolescence as the girl who watched every other girl in school get roses from her paramour, sold by the student council, it seems like a guilt-fest "holiday". If you don't get a gifty, then you are a lonely hag; if you don't give a gifty, then you are a bitter beast. If you're not inspired to have hot sex, then you're not romantic. (Whatever! Who feels turned on in the drippy, freezing-ass, grey month of February? I like my sex on Texas Independence day, or on Cinco de Mayo, when the irises are blooming and the weather's at the cusp of exploding into heat. OR on Thanksgiving, because after you've stuffed the bird ... Well, now I'm just getting crass. I apologize to the legion children who read this.)
That said, though, I do give my honey Valentine's day cards. I do like giving cards. And this year, at Target, I came across a box of cheapo chocolates that must've beeen inspired by the card above that Lisa gave Ralphie in The Simpson's episode of long ago. I was trying to find a link to the chocolate box, but it's basically that. However, Target online apparently sells a "Strip Chocolate" game. Hmm. Sounds interesting and tasty. From my honey, this year I got a card and a small box of Lindt chocolate. I like that my man loves my humps enough to keep them real round and juicy! And this year - and he never does this - Cupid Claus left me a copy of Princess Mononoke and an anthology of short stories edited by David Sedaris! You do know the tradition, right? Leave a pair of thong undies in the living room of your house on Feb. 13 and every year, if you've archered just enough, Cupid Claus will leave you a gift, under your thong. Thank you, Cupid Claus! I'm so glad I kept up my cross-bow hunting this past year!
On another note, Honey and I concurred that we should name our first child - whenever we have it - KILAMANJARO. Imagine going through life with the name of a revered and feared mountain in Africa; the mountain that is, in fact, the centerpiece for all those inspiring shots of the Serenghetti. No matter what course that child pursues in his/her life, he/she will have the badass name to go with it. Vegan tree-dweller? Corporate Wall Street shark? UN Ambassador? Gigolo? Clergy? ESL Teacher? Ravenous Army General? The name works in all situations. The best part is the business card our child will carry in his/her adulthood, no matter what course of commerce the child chooses pursue: Kilamanjaro Malone. MOUNT THIS!