"Kill the Wabbit"

I am an opera singer.

So you should listen closely when I tell you which is the world's greatest aria.

Or where to get the city's best great pastrami sandwich. (Langer's.)

You should also take my advice when I let you know which cars are safest to drive. Not because opera singers are such outstanding judges of car safety (most are not), but because this is a subject I have always taken seriously, and I consider myself expert in this particular matter.

If I let you know that velvet is the best material in which to make a cape, you might want to write that down.

However, I beg you, do not take my advice on faux Arts & Crafts furniture or where to get a good kayak.  If I am speaking to you ad nauseam about either at a party, please just take it with a grain of salt, as I do have a tendency to go on after a few glasses of Pinot Noir. And while I'm an authority at diagnosing my own maladies, I am not a trained doctor, so my asking to see your lower lumbar region is in no way appropriate.

If you see me backstage after one of my performances, please give me some room, as singing for hours takes its toll, and I need plenty of fresh air. This means no crowding for autographs. Though this has rarely been a problem in the past, I would hate to see it become one in the future.

If you happen to run into me while I'm shopping for groceries, please don't ask whether I think Verdi or Andrew Lloyd Webber is the better composer. Really. I probably just came to get Hebrew National Franks and more clumping cat litter. I did not intend to give a formidable lecture on what is right (and what is so very, very wrong) in musical theatre today. And if you make me forget to give the checker my Discount Club Card, I will be extremely cross.

I come from a long line of trained professionals in what so many consider to be the highest form of art, so please treat me with great care.

The fact that I am treated like a national treasure in Austria, but don't rate for a convenient parking space close to the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion in our City of Angels, does not in any way translate to you treating me the same way you would the man who stands outside a seafood place dressed as a lobster.

And though we are all in a rush to get to where we are going, shoving me while we are both in a line does not mean you will wherever you're going any faster.

Speaking for all of us craftsmen who practice this fading art, I will let you know we would all appreciate a great deal of courtesy, patience, and genteel treatment whenever you come upon any of us, in this city or while traveling abroad.

I'd like to thank your teachers and the Franklin Elementary School Principal for letting me come and speak with all of you today.

I hope you enjoy the rest of your recess.