Helen wants to go the opera again.  She keeps telling me oh, you’ll love it, you’ll love it!  This time it’s La Boheme at, where else, the Lyric.  Come on now!  Doesn’t she get it yet?  I’m not a fan of these overgrown musicals where everybody’s always singing the dialogue!  You know, one time, at Aida I think it was, I actually dozed off for a few minutes—I don’t even think she noticed.  That’s how engrossed she was in this ludicrous piece of dramatic nonsense.  But Helen is a subscriber.  And she keeps all her programs, too, wrapped up very neatly in this folder, every single show from Don Giovanni right down to this silly version of the Robert Altman movie A Wedding!  (Lucky me, I missed that one when my cousin got married in Springfield.  Right—I had a real wedding to go to.)  It’s just plain agony sitting there enduring these musical travesties with Helen.  I adore her, but it’s much more fun sitting on the couch with her and watching rental movies or even those idiotic game shows.  A few cans of beer, some popcorn, and I’m in heaven for all time.  Oh—here she comes now, chatting away on her telephone.  Something about best-priced tickets.  She’s got to be talking about that dumb opera again.  She hinted the other day that she might actually try to get Tim and Felicia to come along.  Give me a break!