Two Extremes

Look Ma, that man's talking about our house. In the latest issue of the New Yorker, music critic Alex Ross blankets the Met's fall season with a handful of exact paragraphs. Alex (a) is with the populi on the question of the An American Tragedy; (b) is exceedingly fair with Emperor Volpe, and suspects the Gelb era may bring us yummy treats [chocolatey or fruity? we shall see]; (c) appreciates the Giuseppe Filianoti, the Violetta Urmana and the Levine Così; but inscrutably, (d) gets Anna Netrebko's sound. We in the WTF Diaries don't. Temporarily, at least. [Sieglinde may still do a 180 on the Anya, but not till a more flattering vocal venue; meanwhile, we continue to think that that Gilda was wrong.] Otherwise, Alex's fabulous column is the crib sheet to take to the holiday party.

Look Ma, that woman's talking about our family. The NYCOF, Sieglinde's conscience-elect, gets off on Fricka, our Tragic Family Album, and our upcoming family reunion. We must visit her (at the facility) from time to time, to bring our own inner Freak back to balance.