mainsqueeze's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- nine lives, like a cat Nice, nice day off with the Boy on Sunday- We haven't spent an entire day together in a loooong time. We needed it. He took me to the Bellagio's art gallery, where we looked at ridiculously expensive, impractical furniture and jewelry from a British noble house, portraits and paintings and photographs. The girl who greeted us at the door handed us long, black electronic tour-guide devices- The exhibits were numbered, and when you pressed the corresponding number on the keypad, a snooty British woman told you the history of that piece. I used it two or three times and then noticed how silly everybody looked, holding their recorders up to their ears. Into the purse it went. No more strange mini-machines for me. There were a few pieces by a man named Inigo Jones- I liked those the best. I whispered to Jeromy, "These remind me of a comic book!" and he laughed, and a few old men standing nearby frowned and shook their heads at me. After the art gallery, I bought an Edward Munch book, and a vintage postcard for my Mom. I bought Lise a Frida Kahlo pen- She loves Frido Kahlo, my little genius sister. Andy Warhol and Mary Cassatt, too. It was a lovely, lovely day, my Boy and I, walking and talking and holding hands and knowing when to stay quiet. I found out about Matt's Dad later that night, after I came home. He told me, and I said "What? What?" I sat down on the kitchen floor and cried. Not for me, for Matt. My best friend, my beautiful darling, I wanted to cry hard enough for both of us. He says he's okay, but I don't believe him. How could he be? 2:40 p.m. - 2003-09-24 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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