A Very Special Valentine’s Day Letter to Saturday Night Live’s Tina Fey
Dearest Tina,
This Valentine’s Day, I regret that we must be apart. I have so thoroughly structured the day in my mind, yet alas, it must wait another year.
A boat ride through Central Park, for us to inhale the romantic aroma of horses and urine, the sweet elixir of amore, as we ferociously paddle the intoxicating pools of love and asphalt.
Oh, how we would have picnicked beneath the stars, chewing on sandwiches of peanut butter and desire! And then, an evening whiled away shooting vagrants at the port authority bus terminal.
I would have filled a stadium with roses and we would have dove into it for a flowery swim, yet we would have immediately fallen to the bottom and drowned in the overwhelming petals.
None of this can be, so I have taken it upon myself to rather write you a sonnet this year.
I learned Italian in order to write this for you as Italian is far more musically structured than this monotonous English we have chosen to speak. Upon considerable reflection, I felt it would most aptly serve as the appropriate vessel to proclaim your glory.
Forgive my poor grasp of the Italian language. I’ve only had an hour to pick it up as best I can.
In the tradition of Latin literature, the romanced lady of such poems was often concealed with a pseudonym of corresponding metric rhythm. Lesbia is a popular example. As such, I have felt it necessary to alter your name to Bina [Bean-AH] for romantic purposes and to sustain the height of my artistic endeavor.
Sonetto per Bina
Più caro Bina sopra altri
Di chi parola dolce ti’ene
Tali spirito e fascino e
Di chi occhi lustro al modo di
Mangusta ardente in camici.
Assassino del mio cu’ore,
Perchè Bina che quale adore,
Chi mi ricorda di pantaloni?
Dite agli scherzi con un uomo
(Chi spreca spesso il mio tempo)
Circa il mondo, mentre attendo.
Coleremo e saremo solo,
Ed allora, vicino al fuoco,
Accarezziamo in lumino.
(Very) roughly, the sonnet translates as follows:
Sonnet for Bina
Dearest Bina, above others,
Whose speech sweetly holds
Such wit and charm and
Whose eyes shine in the fashion of
A flaming mongoose in overalls.
Murderer of my heart,
Why is it you Bina whom I adore,
Who reminds me of pants?
You tell jokes with a man
(Who often wastes my time)
About the world, while I wait.
We will run off and be alone,
And then, beside the fire,
Snuggle in dim light.
Come Bina and let us snuggle the day! It is long and weary and in need of snuggling.
Your cuddly valentine,
Jacques
| 
