Red Wine Vinegar Valentine


Tonight, for some reason, I ended up on Tumblr and there my dear friends and their associates ended up reblogging all sorts of vintage and unusual valentines and eventually, there was a post about vinegar valentines.  I’d never had any idea that such a thing existed.  But essentially, they’re about using Valentine’s Day to send someone a nasty note about their behavior in rhyming, cartoonish Valentine form. Most are so un-PC, that they died out even before crossing the threshold of the 50’s, but at least the ones I saw had an artistic appeal.  As historical artifact, too, they seem to hold a fascination for me.  Imagine a time where you could send a woman a card to call her fat, or trolloppy, or a bad house-keeper, and she, as the recipient, had to pay to receive it!  Or, you could gleefully and anonymously send one of these “valentines” to men who were lazy, or miserly, or otherwise scoundrels.  While surely one would prefer to experience the consumerism involved in this holiday in a positive manner, with chocolate and pretty cards complimenting us, there’s something to these cards that has its own sort of love.   Among modern day friends, I think these cards could definitely be a resurrected tradition.  With a certain amount of wit, it says, here, you, friend of mine, love of mine, member of my inner circle…pay attention to yourself.   They’re loving check yourself before you wreck yourself cards.  Of course, a couple of them are mean as fuck, but some people deserve cards like that.

Just a bit of an opinion, I guess.

And after I’d done my bit of learning for the day (work was busy, and I didn’t have much time to keen and worry and bark at the moon), I ended up on a tumblr that I really love.  I am linking it here with the caveat that there’s quite a bit of nudity and it’s not safe for work. I am sort of absorbing this tumblr because …to use tumblr terminology…it’s totally my aesthetic.  Almost exactly except there’s a lot of images of 80’s punk and goth subculture which I find beautiful, but it struck me that I know a bit about cheesecake pics, and vintage films and photography, and pulp novel covers, and there’s this whole universe of people who grew up and have emotional connection to the blurry, threatening faces that pass across my screen.  How many of those exist that I will never know about?

Shit, time is running away.  This is not news.  This is the story we face every single night, just about.  A scurry to five hundred.  I aim to write my words tomorrow in my other writing and not here, I don’t really have any developments to discuss and I’m already wishing I could retract any mentions of personal…whatever.  It is whatever.  It hasn’t gone away, but it has not continued and while I am waiting with baited breath to learn my short-term fate with regard to..this…it’s nothing.  Still.  Say a little prayer to Sainted Valentine and all the spirits that I am not entirely a fool.