The Architecture of Marriage
MTM is skipping around the house in an overblown, hyperactive state of glee, at odds with his usual reserved demeanor. He somehow wrangled a way to go down to Brazil for a long weekend with Alison and me as we embark upon our next Rotary Friendship Exchange. Citing his worry over our being in the ginormous city of Sao Paulo alone for three days, he combed the wilds of the internet for a ticket.
I am not fooled by this display of machismo. I know his true intentions.
He wants to spend a whole day looking at weird architecture. Like this:
And how about this one:
I admit it. I do not understand the appeal of Oscar Niemeyer, the Brazil-born designer of freaky 1960’s modernist buildings. Yet, my dear MTM has finagled a way to spend a whole day traipsing around Brasilia, where many of Niemeyer’s most famous structures are located, and he designed this time so that he would be there.
As in, without me tagging along.
Whining about the hours he wants to spend gazing into the giant eyeball for some nugget of architectural enlightenment. Complaining about why I have to sit in a massive, echoing space that doesn’t make sense to my untrained, unappreciative brain. Proclaiming with my never-to-be-inside voice how ridiculous/strange/ugly/utterly screwed up the whole city seems to me within earshot of worshippers making architectural pilgrimages from all over the place.
No wonder he orchestrated this whole thing without me.