i am putting various songs into bean's iPod. bean has an iPod & we are taking it to pittsburgh this weekend. pittsburgh! home of andy & of my
imaginary friend & also, apparently, of my therapist whom i really need to get around to firing (=just stop making appointments really) because we have run out of Things To Dissect so she sits there telling me places i should go when we are in pittsburgh this weekend.
her uncle, she says, her favorite one, is buried right smack next to andy.
i don't know how i would feel about seeing the grave of andy warhol. i certainly have hopes that his headstone is just like everyone else's. i also have hopes that he is buried along with a lot of weird things, like one of his time-machine pieces from when he stopped painting his own paintings & had hired others to do them instead & started just putting things in boxes & writing the date on them (the boxes) & storing them & people only started studying them (the boxes) in like the past two years.
(i am very self-conscious about how i just will not shut up about this kind of thing.)
anyway i have only ever been to the grave of one famous, renowned person, & that was thomas merton. there is this photograph i have of me at sixteen years old standing right behind its little whitewashed cross with emma & jim & my mother & brother luke. it's pretty obvious that emma & i aren't sure whether smiling while standing amid a bunch of monks' graves is appropriate.
but also i was rather predictably one of those kids who always liked hanging out in graveyards & never got the spooks therein. & although it's been a while, i think i certainly wouldn't pass up a nice afternoon spent in a graveyard, since they usually have some nice ornamental trees & not a lot of hubbub, not any kind of a crowd.
