Tatyana wants to visit the Getty Museum tomorrow (i.e., Saturday). The Getty isn’t a “museum” as much as a consecrated tourist destination for weekend lookie-lou types. I generally avoid tourist destinations as I can’t abide the company, especially the way these places make me feel like I’m one of “them”. In my mind there are few things worse than this because it means a constant replay of “lemme outta here, lemme outta here, lemme outa here.” I would rather be confined for five hours inside a dank, windowless basement room with puddles on the floor and rats scurrying about than visit the Getty on a weekend. Visiting on a weekday afternoon might be a different thing. A couple of years ago I was given access to a private viewing of the Louvre’s Ancient Egypt exhibit — the absence of lines, crowds and people crowding into souvenir ships afforded all manner of sublime pleasures.