Sometimes I think technology is out to get me.

Now I know it is. I just cut-n-pasted this entry three times before it showed up.

Times three, of course.

Yesterday was a beautiful day. Sunny, warm but not hot. Perfect.

Today, the weather stinks. At least it's not cold, although I think the temp is dropping.

I've been doing lots of running around lately. Yesterday, it was yoga, lunch with Angie, and the OA museum tour of the month, one right after the other.

The exhibition we saw was at Triennale: clocks, coins and cooking through the ages. It was pretty lame. They were trying to show how these things started out as necessities and, as the technology of manufacturing grew, they became objects of beauty. The displays were set up in a way reminiscent of high school science fairs, and put a lot of emphasis on the current items manufactered by what I imagine were the exhibition's sponsors.

I wasn't really interested in the clocks and coins bit, I went for the cooking section. Sadly for me, the cooking part was the lamest of all. I would have done better to hang out in the basement of La Rinascente department store. Quite frankly, they have a better selection. And there weren't many older cooking tools on display, either. There was an old cast iron stove that looked just like an Aga, mainly because it was the exact same thing. I mention it only because it was very low to the ground, as in it was only about two feet tall. "Not for the likes of you and me," said my Hungarian friend. I'm 5'7", she's maybe 5'9". I guess people really were shorter then.

After that, Angie, Maggie and I strolled through the Castello (we didn't go in, just used the courtyards as a shortcut) on our way to Café Guido. Guido was there, of course, and brought us mountains of food that we didn't eat much of, and gigantic glasses of prosecco that we drained dry.

Today, Elvis and I went to the Questura to pick up our renewed Permessi di Soggiorno, which we applied for four months ago. Guess it was a rush job. I forgot the reciepts from the original application. They didn't tell us that we needed them, but I probably should have figured it out anyway. So we had to come back home to get them, and Elvis went back to the Questura to trade them for our papers. Now we're legal until next January. Whoopee.

Then, if was off to the the Cimitero Monumentale for the AIM tour we arranged with Marica. We've used her as a guide before, and she is fabulous. The cemetery is fascinating. The Italians are really into big, overblown monuments and family crypts. It's unbelievable, really. The cemetery is huge-- about 250,000 square meters. There's a waiting list, because the monumentale is the hot place to be buried, and there really isn't enough space. After nine years, they dig up what's left of you from under your family's overwrought angel or whatever, and move you to one of the vast ossuaries on the premises. That way, when great-aunt Giuseppina dies, there's space for her. It's lovely in the summer, full of trees and insulated from the noisy streets surrounding it.

Today, though, was appropriately gloomy, and we wandered around in the rain. I imagine I'll dry out eventually.

Lots of famous people buried there, and famous families, both internationally and in Milan. We saw Toscanini's grave, and his son-in-law Horowitz was buried in the family crypt as well. Albert Einstein's father is in the "important milanese" ossuary. Apparently, he lived in Milan, which I did not know. He didn't get his spot on his son's coattails. Other familiar families: Olivetti, Peroni (of beer fame), Campari (of cocktail fame), Motta, Bocconi, Crespi, and many more.

Many of the monuments are wa-a-ay overdone. Lots of weeping angels and distraught widows and other baroque crap like that. There are an astounding number of architectural styles, especially when you consider that the cemetery didn't open for business until 1866. Some of the more modern monuments and chapels and so forth are really pretty neat-- and no less oversized and grandiose than the older models.

Apparently, the plots are on a ninety-nine year lease. If your family is unable to pay the 150,000 Euro or whatever to renew, or if you have no more descendents to do so, the chapel, statues, crypt or whatever it is that you've got is removed, and someone on the waiting list moves in. I find that rather sad. It's bad enough that you get dug up after nine years, but at least you're still on the grounds. And the monuments built by your loved ones turn out not to be eternal, but just until the lease runs out. What they do with the defunct monuments is unclear. But it must happen, as the cemetery is fully rented, has been for decades and decades, and there are quite a few modern ones about. Great big suckers, too. Guess it's never too late to be ostentatious.

After the cemetery, we went to lunch at a nifty little osteria that Barbie recommended. Barbie rocks. This place was great. The menu consisted of four primi and four secondi, which is what the cook decided to make today, all written on a blackboard that our waiter obligingly brought to the table, as we forgot to look when we came in. Actually, we noticed it, but thought it was just the specials, not the entire menu.

The food was fabulous. I adore cozy little places like that.

Now I'm at home, but only for a few hours. The PWA end-of-the-year dinner is tonight. There have been rumors of a belly dancer.

Meanwhile, I'm just sitting here, waiting for my feet to stop throbbing.

A girl can dream, can't she?

Had a fight with Elvis on Monday night, so I haven't been in the most cheerful of moods.

It was bad: not in terms of length or loudness, but in terms of-- what? My own disillusionment, I suppose.

It will be ok, I know, in the long run. We have a strong marriage, and even at the time of the "incident" I didn't feel like I loved him any less.

I just wish it hadn't happened.