LEFT BRAIN / RIGHT BRAIN

In the Spring, the young man's fancy turns lightly to thoughts of love. Well...it's not exactly spring yet...February has precious little warmth, but St. Valentine's day warms the spirits of all that celebrate it. Through the day, Valentines and boxes of chocolate and flowers are exchanged between sweethearts.

But what drives the romance? Obviously, there is a biological imperative for all this. The species requires procreation to survive. Still, simple instinct does not explain the rituals we put into wooing. And taking the name of a third century priest to label a day for specific acts of romance and to act as a locus for an acutely emotional time, simply adds to the aura. Love is a mystery, it always has been, especially to the males of the species. And none of us will ever understand any of it.

But as males, we don't really care. That we buy the dozen roses or the diamond jewelry or the heart-shaped box of chocolates is little more than a small price to pay for the way she looks when she recieves our gifts. That from such small tokens of affection so much emotion can be created and sustained amazes even the most stone-hearted of men.

So we muddle through the day. We work at our jobs and make our living, a week of drudgery where at the end, we can spend our time and some of our hard earned money on the ones we love. And once a year, we go all out if possible, to bring a bit more joy to our significant others. And for that one day, love comes to us all.

That was so sweet I'm getting diabetes. Timon said it best: "Love, shmove!" The only thing love is good for is making men poor, needy, depressed, and miserable...in that order. The man drive headlong into the poorhouse to keep his new significant other happy and near. When she tires of him and says she "needs her space", he get needy. The the she-devil says, "maybe we should just be friends, or maybe just acquaintances!", and the poor, needy guy gets depressed. Alone and rejected, the miserable wretch crawls into his hole, refusing to bathe, budge or beat-off until he dries up and blows away. The only time a man in love is happy, is just before he's in love. After that, he's sorry. Very sorry.

You want the real secret about love? Well, I'll tell ya anyway! It don't exist. That feeling of love is just a careful manipulation of serotonin levels in your alcohol-soaked brain by the members of the opposite sex. And the red lipstick and fingernails and makeup are just visual cues to trigger your instinctual responses and lure you in even more. And once those musky mechanical rabbits get you in their red-clawed clutches, they will drain you dry of cash, logic and ultimately, hope.

And when you're in love, guys, forget hanging out with your buddies! No more shooting pool at the bar while swilling beers and whiskey and watching your team get beaten up and swearing at the tube. You'll be lucky if'n she loosens you leash enough so you can go to the bathroom with the door closed.

So guys, when you see that semi-good looking woman amongst her little pack of trollops, don't fall for it. That come-hither look is like a piece of meat in a hav-a-hart trap. Once you're in, you'll never get out. You'll be trapped like a raccoon. Of course, even raccoons get laid once in a while, right.

For you, your date'll be made by Michellin.