C-flat My Valentine?

February 14th is a day that some people dread with every fiber of their being.  The plethora of lace-edged hearts and trite love poems, red roses, and mobs of lovey-dovey couples tossing small nougat-filled chocolates at each other...really, it's enough to make anyone try to use a Russell Stover box as a plunger.

If you have a lover/partner/baritones, you are required by law to spend the evening as Robert and Elizabeth Barrett Browning, i.e. feeding each other chocolate-covered strawberries and limiting your conversation to words that rhyme with "love," "snuggle," and "canoodle."

If, on the other hand, you are currently between lovers/partners/baritones, you are forced to endure the personal humiliation of an evening spent at home, watching "When Harry Met Sally," drinking from a heart-shaped bottle of whiskey, and reminding yourself that, in addition to not getting into any summer programs, you are going to die alone and unloved, surrounded by twelve cats named Bach.

Don't get me wrong...I happen to adore chocolate, and I have been known to wear the color red on occasion.  In fact, I even wrote a Valentine love poem to Charlie Anderson in the ninth grade along the lines of: "I want your body.  You're such a hottie."  (For some reason, he changed his phone number and filed a restraining order the next day, but I really think that we had a connection.)

And, though it may be hard to believe, Valentine's Day does serve an important purpose to our society.  First, it helps fill in the depressing holiday gap between Christmas and the 4th of July.  Second, it reminds us that expensive cardiologists are unnecessary because the heart is actually a two-dimensional symbol surrounded by lace.  Third, it helps our beloved country maintain its Olympiad status of obesity.  Huzzah!

In essence, what truly enrages me about Valentine's Day is the extent to which opera singers are cut out of the holiday.  Three hundred and sixty-four days of the year, we are the experts on love: whether it's romantic love, carnal love, parental love, incestuous love, perverted love, intellectual love, culinary love...you name it, we sing it in our opera houses.

But then, when February 14th rolls around, the civilians decide to mutiny against our romantic monopoly and take matters into their own hands.  And what is the result of this heavy-handedness?  Coconut-flavored chocolates and Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On."

With that in mind, I have taken it upon myself to reinvent Valentine's Day as a holiday that can be celebrated best by opera singers.  Russell Stover and Hallmark will continue to churn out chocolates and banal poems, but, for this year at least, I have created a few Lily Puns replacements for those painful Valentine traditions.

Box of chocolates:

Buy a box of Mozartkugeln and write a short note that reads: "Batti, batti, but my love for you is come scoglio."

If your inclinations are more toward early music, you might want to consider accompanying your chocolate with: "I love your well-tempered clavicle, so I'll definitely be Bach" or "If I don't get a Handel on you, my heart will be baroque."

Or, for a more generic Valentine saying, I would recommend either: "Roses are red, charcoal is black, I just don't like your vocal attack" or "Roses are red, votes need a ballot, my teacher says that you need more palate."

Seductive sonnet for a handsome baritone/tenor

Perhaps you've noticed how I look at you

At school, in class, especially when you sing

I've spent some time constructing plans to woo

A bari-tenor.  You are just the thing!

Your dulcet tones are sweet, the truth be told

But even more, I like the way you place

Your vowels up front, your [i] and [a] so bold.

I've just so glad that you are not a bass.

I think you might be dating someone new

But honestly, her high notes are quite weak.

My Mimi, Tosca, Anna, and Lulu

Make hers sound like a toilet with a leak.

So drop the broad, and be my Don Jose

We'll sing a duet Valentine, okay?

Break-up sonnet for your current baritone/tenor so that you are free to pursue the handsome baritone/tenor mentioned above:

Oh God, I cannot stand it any more.

We're done, we're through, you owe me last month's rent

You weren't that smart and really such a bore,

But, worst of all, your voice was nightmare sent.

While we were close, I felt the need to lie.

You tried your best (I guess) at singing well,

But when you'd vocalize, I'd want to die...

Eight months with you was tantamount to Hell.

Your tone is harsh and thick, you tend to crack,

And as for pitch, you might as well be deaf.

Your low notes wobble with the breath you lack;

Your high notes shriek and struggle at mere F.

So that's my reason: simply, straight, and true...

My vocal taste demands much more than you.

Show me the money!

During the first few days of 2009, I had high hopes for my bank account. Things have been tight, to be sure, but the New Year, new President, and new national optimism would surely result in a few extra zeros magically appearing at the end of my check book balance. At the very least, I figured that Mr. Obama would stop by and give me a coupon to Denny's.

Alas, my grasp of economic theory has never been strong. Instead of watching my wallet swell with additional Grants and Franklins, I instead have been watching opera houses close, small businesses fall into financial ruin, and Britney Spears make a come-back – all horrific signs of an economy that now has the stability of expired cottage cheese.

Sadly, the time has long since passed when I prepared for such disasters by stashing sweaty dollar bills between pages 386 and 387 of "Anna Karenina" and plucked out my gold fillings for safe keeping in the toe of my left bunny slipper.

Still, always the optimist, I have decided to take this economic down-spiral as a chance to refine my craft. I have happily turned "Yes We Can" into "Yes We Can Subsist Solely on $1 Hot Pockets" as a way to really grasp the character of Mimi, sunken temples and all. Plus, the yellowish tinge to my skin has done wonders to highlight the jewel tones of my favorite ball gown, and my consumptive fainting fits as Violetta have never been more realistic.

Perhaps you think that I am approaching this economic crisis from a slightly skewed perspective. I simply should tighten my corset strings, hold my head and soft palate high, and get a regular job like the rest of you.

Pish and posh! Please do not offend my artistic sensibilities with such a suggestion! Hot pockets and scurvy are one thing, but a civilian job is something else entirely. Let me assure you that my wallet could never shrink to such a wasted shadow of its former self to require a step of such drastic proportions.

So, instead, I have come up with several cunning plans that will supplement a limited "-ina/-etta" income without betraying any operatic inclinations.

1) Find an elderly gentleman who keeps his cash safely stored in an old Bud Light bottle beneath his front porch. Transfix said gentleman with a rousing rendition of "Glitter and Be Gay" until he begins to asphyxiate, then take the money and run. If you feel guilty at such gold-digging behavior, remind yourself that "Candide" isn't really an opera and you can't be held responsible for your actions.

2) Lock yourself in the airplane bathroom during a transcontinental flight and channel Florence Foster Jenkins as you alternate between the high Es of "Durch Zärtlichkeit und Schmeicheln" and the high Fs of "Der Hölle Rache." By the second hour, the passengers will begin pushing tear-stained $50 bills underneath the door. Just remember to give the pilot ear plugs unless you want to make an unscheduled stop in the Atlantic Ocean.

3) Form a mafia family with your fellow opera singers and go to the mattresses against all of the a cappella groups in the country. If they refuse to pay monthly dues for "protection" against awkward harmony and flat singing, send them to sleep with the Rhine Maidens.

4) Rip out the pages of your least favorite opera aria anthology and sign each page as Johann Sebastian Bach. Dip them in a bath of jasmine tea and Slippery Elm cough drops for effective aging, and then sell those puppies on Ebay for $5,000 a pop. If anyone asks you, assure them that Bach did, in fact, write "The Rake's Progress."

5) Write a self-help book brimming with nuggets of operatic wisdom. Assume a suitably punny pseudonym and then sell it to other opera singers for an absurdly high price.

There you have it: five foolproof ways to beat the economic odds, all while maintaining your elegant opera singing persona.

But these are only the first five of hundreds of brilliant strategies, all described in full detail (with color illustrations) in my new book, "Lily Puns: Surviving the Hindenburg of Economic Recessions While Maintaining Your Charmingly Tremulous Trills," only $39.99 if you order now!

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Don't miss this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to solve your financial problems!

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