Yes, yes, I know - you didn't think it was possible. Neither did I. But I went on a tour of Juilliard yesterday (was it yesterday? I won't even attempt that kind of mathematical time zone gymnastics - I've slept once-ish, since, so it must be yesterday) and - wow.
For a start, 750 - 1,000 people apply, and they only take about 20 each year.
Then, once they're there, they work them unbelievably hard: six days a week, 8 am till 11 pm (apart from Wednesday and Saturday evenings - woop). And they're not let anywhere near an audience till their fourth year.
Just after we sat in the theatre where the seniors perform, we walked down a corridor lined with framed black and white photographs of performances past. Shame I don't know what year Brad was here, I thought, because he might be somewhere on these walls. And then, I don't know why, but I turned my head slightly to the left and the photograph I was facing caught my eye; I read the label, just in case, and yes - it was him: unrecognisable in his youth and wispy moustache.
I couldn't help feeling it was another of those just-for-me moments, like finding Hillary Clinton's Living History in a box of free books in front of a house in a Georgetown house. It made me smile.