And if I’m depressed, I head for the comfort food, ironically. But I know that this is only a temporary fix; it’s good for the time being, but is only a part of learning to live our lives fully. It’s too bad we continue to be the Prozac nation, where we fix nothing or get nowhere with just antidepressants, and our comfort food.

A Bartlett Sher Boheme, say, wouldn’t please much of anyone. The traditionalists would boo lustily at the prima and withdraw their bequests because it didn’t have exactly the crowd scene from Act II that has become gospel to them. People who want something new, well…I think it’s fair to say we’re not thrilled with a lot of what the Met right now views as “new.” Tell me it’s Robert Carsen and I’ll be excited. Tell me it’s some of this half-assed stuff they’re putting on by people who kind of aren’t opera people and are trying to do something new in very shallow ways, and I’d probably just as soon see that familiar old garret.

(Not that the Met hasn’t hired anyone interesting, mind you, but the really stunning productions of the last few years have been by people one can’t quite envision doing Boheme. I’d show up for a William Kentridge Boheme, but I don’t think William Kentridge would!)