There’s something creepy about Valentine’s day, right Memebers? Sort of like Charlie McCarthy, the reds are bit too bloody, the sentiments, a bit too blank-eyed. And like that monocle, it has the air of fake fanciness. Like most major holidays, it only seems like an opportunity for some old white guy to reach right in and take cash out of your wallet, all sanctioned by a vague, antiquarian rubric of martyrology. Not to say one can’t pay homage to that than which nothing more is fantistic. True love deserves things like sonnets, skywritten proposals, and worship from near and far. That said don’t let objects or ventriloquists do the talking for you.