"Well," my co-worker, Jaime, the twenty-three year old virgin said looking at his cube-wall calandar, "It looks like there won't be any holidays after new years until...march."

I ignorned the fact that he looked past Valentine's Day.  Many's the time I've wanted to look past it myself.

"Yeah," I said, "Until Good Friday.  Maybe you could put some purple lights in your yard."

"And hang a crucifix," he said.

Which would be clean, wholesome fun.  Impaled corpse on the lawn hanging from a stick?  Check.  Purple lights?  Check.

Must be Good Friday.