This morning, I opened my e-mail to find a message advertising an expensive series of female empowerment seminars, that began with the phrase, I don't know how many of you are as Oprah obsessed as I am. That does seem difficult to gauge, but I will stand up and be counted as Officially Not Oprah-Obsessed. I've never been what you could call a fan, and after I saw a clip of her gushing thanks to Robert James Waller for what she termed his "gift" to us all of The Bridges of Madison County, I felt her credibility slip just a smidge.

And anyway, The Bridges of Madison County is not the kind of gift I have in mind today, on this Valentine's Day (or, as my friend Ali calls it, Singles Awareness Day). The kind of gift I have in mind is the excellent one I got from the Keelhauler, in the form of cufflinks shaped like tiny '60s muscle cars. I think they resemble a 1969 Dodge Challenger. The Keelhauler (who at any rate knows more about these things) says they're a 1968 or '69 Camaro. No matter: visit Cartier or Asprey, and you will not find finer cufflinks. They're gold-toned, even. The only way they could be finer is if the tiny doors were functional, and afforded access to a minuscule gold-toned driver.

Instead of a picture of the Muscle Car Cufflinks, I will share something else with you. (See illustration.)

ILLUSTRATION

This picture is a couple of years old, but I'm hauling it out to serve as an example that one small act--say, sitting on the sidewalk, serenading your girlfriend while she is at work--can go a long way toward making the list of Things To Consider In Times of Romantic Discord.

It is true that I could not hear the song he was playing. It is also true that he wasn't seated outside my window, and that I didn't know he was there until a coworker strolled by and said, "Hey, I think I saw your boyfriend sitting on the sidewalk playing a guitar" that I was aware of his presence, or of the fact that he owned a guitar. As I looked out the window in my boss's office and watched the Keelhauler strumming that guitar, I knew that the spirit of Lloyd Dobler lived on.

The Keelhauler later claimed that he had been inspired by the spirit of Jonathan Richman (who is still flesh and blood as of this date) to buy the guitar, which cost $60 at a thrift store. I cannot argue with him on that point, so I accept it as fact.

The guitar's name is now Laundry Pile, in reference to Jonathan's "This Kind of Music," that mentions leaving a cheap guitar at a laundromat. It makes as much sense as romance ever does.

I wish you, on this Valentine's Day, a sweet serenade of your own.

Here's one to get you started.

Star of the day. . .Psyche