Isn’t there something embarrassingly
democratic about the second grade ritual of passing out Valentines
to the entire class? Not that I’m a bitter person, but oh,
how the stupidity of it haunts me. Even now, my hand cramps up
thinking of Mom standing over me and mandating I still fill out a
“Duck Tales” card for every creep who heaved me in the
mud and all the bitchy tattles who got me sent into the hall.

Candace Mui

Ah, elementary school egalitarianism. No matter how stuck up or
how smelly, everybody’s construction paper mailboxes would
teem with cartoon characters and paper hearts on Feb. 14. If one
person got candy, we all got some candy. And heralding almost every
Valentine’s Day thereafter, Sincerity and Romance
didn’t bother to get involved.

Half for nostalgia, half because I really need a column idea at
the moment, I thought I’d crank out a few Valentine’s
greetings for some of the more marginalized entities and forgotten
folks on campus — the paste-eaters and pants-wetters of
Michigan, if you will. Don’t want anyone’s feelings to
get hurt after all, so here goes …

I love you, workers of the Subway in the Union:

Like to take this chance to formally apologize for all the times
I made you come out from around to the back to make my Italian BMT.
Don’t know what goes on back there, but I’m sure
it’s very important. Sorry to have interrupted. I understand
that sometimes you run out of every bread except Harvest Grain.
Hey, next time don’t worry about my stamps. You keep
’em. Happy St. Valentine’s Day.

Somebody likes you, Donald, my Pol. Sci. GSI:

It’s me! Hey don’t worry about what those sorority
girls said about your sweater and hair. Aw buddy think of the fun
times we’ve had. Remember when no one did the Hobbes reading
and you unnecessarily took it personally? Or when you were talking
about social contract theory and I was staring out the window at
those squirrels on the Diag? For the rest of the semester
you’re gonna get nothing but even more begrudging nods and
late, half-assed response papers out of me. You deserve it. Happy

XOXO, Goth girl in my poetry discussion section:

Not everything we read is about death. Many poems are about sex.
And just because you wear black all the time doesn’t make you
an expert on Langston Hughes and Maya Angelou. Please stop scowling
at the professor. I think he’s gonna cry. Happy Corporatized
Celebration of Standardized Emotion.

Way to be awesome, crazy bearded guy:

About that time I woke you up while you were sleeping in the
stacks, I swear I wasn’t touching your stash. I just need to
do some research. I go to school here. Next time you’re
handing out coupon books, I’m going to wait till I round the
corner to throw it away. Happy V.D.

You’re cute, guy who sits next to me in lecture drawing
assault rifles and knives all over his notes,

Obviously we haven’t talked very much, but I just wanted
to say please don’t kill me. Seriously. I think the buzz-cut
and arctic fatigues make a bold statement. Very now, very …
well certainly not creepy, I never said that. I swear, it was my
friend Todd, who sits on the other side of me. Also I’d never
call the cops on you. I don’t even have their number. NRA
forever, brother.

Stay cool, whichever housemates are refusing to take out the

Gentlemen, it’s seems our little battle of wills is at a
standstill, hmm? Well two weeks now, and I’m no where near
cracking, I assure you. If I can live a month without toilet paper,
then I sure as hell can wait it out, you turkeys. I don’t
need to breathe, I’m not afraid of typhoid. Feliz El Dia de
San Valentino, you bastards.

I choo-choo-choose you, LSA advisor:

Look I really need to graduate at the end of this term. I know
that I haven’t turned in my paperwork and that a few classes
are listed as “incomplete.” Merely filing errors and
computer glitches, I assure you. Did you get the muffins I baked?
What about the lilacs? For the love of God, please just let me
slide by, this skinhead kid wants me dead. I believe my
“Uncle” Jefferson will make it worth your while.

Donny of the New Kids on the Block says “Hang
Tuff,” Mary Sue Coleman:

’Sup homeslice … aw, why so down? Look, meeting
people is hard. Sometimes it just takes awhile for a student body
to warm up to a president. Nobody cared for comb-over Lee at first
either. Try just being yourself, or at least what some PR-conscious
focus groups think the real you might be like. Come on, give us a
smile … well not quite that clenched. Don’t force it.
Valentizza to da Dizza, killa M.C.


Alternative Valentine recipients at one point
included Diag preachers, Ralph Williams, Howard Dean, SARs patients
in Markley and the female water polo squad. Feel left out? Bitch
and moan to Scott at

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