As some of you may recall, the last time “Phantom of Chism” (the bargain bin version of “Phantom of the Opera”) made an appearance in the Hall of Music was last year after the Opera Workshop’s production of “Hansel and Gretel.” No one had seen him since he decided to “take on a pupil.” 

There I was once again, in a practice room late at night. I was singing with remarkable mediocrity when I heard a stirring in the rafters. I opened the door out into the hallway to introduce myself to whatever creature lay out there. However, I was met with nothing but the fluorescent light and distant sounds of a Chopin piece. Then he appeared. Again in his gold lamé cape, gripping a baton and some rumpled sheet music in his callused hands.  

I just stood there silent, gaping at this immortal’s raw beauty. He stepped forward:

Him: So you finally choose quiet now?

Me: …What do you mean?

Him: I mean that you’ve been in here day in, day out stirring up a horrendous cacophony with no improvement in sight.  

Me: That seems a little harsh. 

Him: Maybe, but it’s true. I suggest you re-evaluate whatever your current strategy is.

Then with a whoosh and a tinkle of some invisible chimes, he disappeared once more.

How dare he?!

My love for that being has shriveled. Love does not grow in the fields of disapproval, nor is it sown with the seeds of dislike. If you loathe my song so much, unkind sir, then stick a wad of beeswax in those ancient ears and pretend not to hear.