…I was going to say ‘a crap shoot’ but that would be mixing literary and visual metaphors. But it sure can be perilous.
As you might guess, I have ambivalent feelings about Valentine’s Day. Could be because my fortune in spinning the wheel in recent years has been a little spotty.
Like J. Geils, I’ve had the blues the reds and the pinks. It’s one of the sad facts of life that, sometimes, ‘this thing they call love it’s gonna make you cry”. Still, I hope your Valentine’s Day is a sweet one!
For a more somber look at the perils of love, visit my illustrated memoir.
Well, maybe not every girl, but this one did. When I was young and my relentless romanticism was in its earliest stages, I devoured movie magazines and Harlequin romances. That doesn’t make me much different from many girls who grew up during the 70s. I also read Tiger Beat, had a crush on David Cassidy and thought Alfred E. Newman was hysterical. But what really made my heart race with unbridled desire was the “Golden Age” of the Silver Screen. I loved the movies, the stars, the stories about them. The scandals, tragedies, triumphs and all of the glamour. I had (still have) coffee table books filled with black and white photos of Clark Gable, Myrna Loy, Hedy Lamar, Maurice Chevalier, Greta Garbo, Gary Cooper. I listened to “The Shadow” late at night on WRR. I was transfixed by movies from the 30s, 40s and 50s. That period of Hollywood was winding down by the early 70s but wasn’t dead yet. And I think it must have been in the back of some of the screen magazines I read then that I saw the ads for weekend getaways for couples in an exotic place called “The Poconos”. Imagine: little hotels tucked away in a mountain range (far from the Texan plains where I lived) that offered weekend packages for lovers – with heart-shaped bathtubs! That seemed to me the very pinnacle of romantic excess. I dreamed of going there one day with my Harlequin-esque lover who would sprinkle rose petals on the scented bath water before he lifted me in his arms and lowered me into the bubbles. Alas, that is one dream never realized. And now I know those tubs are cheesy and probably moldy as well. But ah, the fantasy lives on.
I’d still like to visit the Poconos and see one of those tubs.