The San Francisco Opera House is exactly the same, same coffered ceiling, same sweeping balconies, but the music isn’t. I’ve been invited to sit through 3-1/2 hours of Dr. Atomic, the new opera about Robert Oppenheimer and the first atomic bomb test. ... You made it through Parsifal, Peterman, I keep reminding myself. Then I notice her next to me. She’s leaning forward intently. ... After the bomb goes off and the lights come up, she cries “Bravo!” and flashes me a brilliant smile. “Wasn’t that wonderful?” she asks. The sight of her in this dress is almost enough to persuade me to give Schönberg a second chance.ARRRRRRRGH CAN WE PLEASE NOT USE SCHOENBERG AS THE STRAW MAN EVERY SINGLE EFFING TIME WE WANT TO MAKE A POINT ABOUT er sorry I mean ohhh, Mr. Peterman, you're incorrigible! Of course, when I think of operas and little black dresses, I'm not thinking Atomic, I'm thinking Ariadne, but that anecdote might be a tougher sell. Still, I guess I shouldn't complain. Maybe a few more J. Petermans (J.'s Peterman? J. Petermen? What's the plural) can help us to give new music its much-deserved aura of glamor, like how Mary-Kate did for the Met Gala. Wait, what?