Did anyone see all those awesome local commercials for Valentine’s Day? Jewelers, florists, candy stores — they all wanted a piece of the red and pink action. So, they dressed up the owner, the owner’s trophy wife and their most awkward employee in a suit, gave him some tried-and-true dialogue, and captured all the magic on a hand-held camera from 1984. Throw in a hand-drawn heart and some cupid graphics floating around the spokesperson’s head, and you’ll have a real champion in the commerce arena.
p. Weirdly enough, though, none of these commercials compelled me to go out and buy anything. Shoot, they hardly even made me think about Valentine’s Day. More than once, I stared groggily at the mélange of red and pink balloons behind our local Chevy dealer,and thought, “Oh my, that certainly clashes with his kelly green suit. Why on Earth would they do that?” only to realize later, when all of my housemates’ long-distance boyfriends started showing up that, hey, there was some kind of holiday going down. But I’m not here to talk about Valentine’s Day, mostly because I think holiday-themed columns are a bit of a cop-out.
p. It’s like admitting that you never think about what you’re going to write for the week until two hours before it’s due. Then, some manufactured holiday just happens to occur and everyone is talking about it, so you cobble together some pithy greeting card sayings and pass them off as your own. I have standards — when I do a half-assed last-minute job, I leave the good people at Hallmark out of it.
p. The real reason I paid so much attention to all those Valentine’s Day commercials was because they made me think, “Holy crap — it’s mid-February already!” And when I start thinking about all the time that has flown by this semester, I don’t think about the friends I’ve made or the lessons I’ve learned. I think about the Delis.
p. One particular musty, dank, grease-spatered, beer-serving nexus of Williamsburg nightlife truly stands out when you think about how far we’ve gotten into the spring semester: The College “We’re closing in December” Delly.
p. I used to love College Delly as much as the next person. How can you not adore a place that serves dollar beer and souvlaki and plays home improvement shows on the bar television — one time, I got caught up on my “House Hunters” at dollar beer night, and it was wonderful. I have many fond (though hazy) memories of sorority tabs and games of chandeliers. Even those chilly bathrooms have a little hold on my heart — at least they flush most of the time (take note, Paul’s).
p. I was heartbroken the first time I heard that The College Delly was going to close. By the fifth time College Delly told me they would be gone next time I came by, I started to get a bit jaded. We are now on round 87 of “final dollar beer night,” and enough is enough, College Delly! There’s no one out there quite like you, College Delly — your smell of old grease and sweaty men, your impeccable taste in music, your sexy and mysterious fog of cigarette smoke — but you can’t toy with my heart like it’s some sort of game.
p. It’s twisted and cruel, College Delly, and I can only be jilted so many times before I decide to pack up and move on.
I feel like our relationship is subsisting solely on manufactured nostalgia and my unquenchable thirst for cheap beer. But even the cheap beer just isn’t the same; you can’t lure me in with dollar Coors and then, just because you’re getting a little comfortable and not trying as hard to impress me, switch to dollar Icehouse. I don’t care if it is in a bottle — it’s still Icehouse.
p. It’s mid-February, and you’re still here. Now either up your game or let’s move on. Valentine’s came and went, College Delly. Where’s the romance?
p. __Lauren Bell is a Confusion Corner columnist for The Flat Hat. She’s totally had a crush on College Delly since, like, the third grade.__