See, Einstein reads this blog too. (www.hetemeel.com)

“In the spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love…”

-Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Except that it’s only February, and yet everyone I know is getting engaged. It’s like an epidemic. And yet, somehow, I remain immune. However, this outsider’s perspective has given me some ideas about how my own (theoretical) engagement should go. And when I say ideas, I mean idea.

You see, I’ve come to realize that competition is an eternal facet of mortal life. I hold with the philosophers of economics who hold that from the very moment of our entrance into this temporal sphere, we are competing with the rest of humanity for scarce resources: food, shelter, love, etc. And nowhere is this more apparent than the engagement ring.

This has become a common scene to my eyes. Several girls bump into each other. As excited greetings are made, it becomes known that several in their midst are engaged. This elicits a request to see the ring. This is equivalent to the well known sports phrase “Let’s get ready to rumble!” Rings are produced and the competition begins among excited gasps and cries of “that’s so beautiful!” But don’t let the innocuous appearance fool you, this is the very furnace of competition. Each girl is silently sizing up her opponent’s ring, assessing whose ring has the best combination of beauty, carat-age, and thoughtful selection. And in virtually every case, one girl walks away, knowing that she stands victorious on the field of battle, having triumphed over her opponents.

Now, let me peel yet another layer from the onion. This competition actually has very little to do with the girl. No no, my friends, this is about the fiancee. The fact is, when it comes down to brass tacks, it’s the guy who buys the ring. He makes the final selection of ring material, carat weight, features, etc. He is also responsible to come up with some kind of creative flair in which he integrates what he knows about his soon-to-be fiancee into a ring design that is unique to her. And of course, he must shell out the proverbial cabbage for the privilege.

That said, when your girl whips out her ring and gets her game face on, she’s really not the one going to battle. That’s right, it’s you. You’re on the line, and the way your ring performs reflects on you. You might say that it doesn’t matter if your ring loses. She still knows that you love her. I mean, it’s just a ring, right? Oh, my friend, how wrong you would be. You see, that ring is a reflection of your love for her. And if she loses the ring-duel (images of Space Balls begone!) she’ll start to notice that the diamond doesn’t sparkle as much as it used to. The band just isn’t as shiny. It doesn’t fit as well as it used to. And pretty soon, she’s wondering if she agreed to marry the right guy! So you see, this is far more crucial than I think any of us had noticed before. It was like an epiphany bursting over my head when I realized all of this. And that day I dedicated myself to winning! Always winning! My ring can and shall stand the victor on the field of engagement, and we shall live happily ever after! My final argument comes from my roommate’s fiancee, “Lucky Dub,” as we like to call her: “Go big or go home.” Need I say more?

I’ve been following the drama swirling around “A Million Little Pieces” author James Frey and Oprah Winfrey with some amusement. I guess my amusement comes from the media colossus that is Oprah, really, moreso than the actual concerns raised by the situation. I look at Oprah and I see the epitome of media royalty. Her show is the stuff of TV legend. Her talk show has spawned its own subculture, with millions of devotees. Her book club grants instant success to those authors fortunate enough to be selected for her recommendation. But I can’t help but wonder if all this success and power hasn’t gone to her Majesty’s head. Anybody who has her own magazine named after herself, featuring pictures of herself on the cover EVERY SINGLE ISSUE has a problem with narcissism. Or maybe I’m just jealous.