Friendship for Eugene Istomin led me to hear his Trio play the sort of program (all Brahms) I rarely attend. That they should begin an hour late (because, as it turned out, Isaac Stern had overslept) and then perform routinely (except for Eugene's cohering excellence) didn't lighten matters, particularly since during the wait a couple in my overcrowded loge were necking with a sound like the squashing of hot peanut butter in armpits. Despicable public shows of love!