Morrison and I went to the opera last night for our ten year dateaversary, La Traviata at the LA Opera. It was maybe the second time I’d ever been, and it was just as I remembered it, moving, and stunning and gorgeous and also VERY BORING. But isn’t this the case with all old things that we keep alive, because they’re beautiful? Sitting there moved beyond words, and also trying to stay awake, I discovered the correct way to participate in an opera from your seat, which is to sing along with your own mortal voice, and just add whatever you might order at an italian restaurant. PASTA PRIMAVERAAAAAAHHH, I sang to myself. SPAGHETTI BOLONGESEEEEE, I crooned, my voice reaching the rafters of my mind. Stop, begged Morrison. FETTUCINE ALFREDOOOOOO, I trilled, as we walked back to the car, marveling at our ability to keep art alive, as my husband questioned his life choices.