Monday: Why don’t you watch National Geographic’s exceptional miniseries Kingdom of the Mummies? It follows Egyptologists Dr. Ramadan Hussein and Dr. Salima Ikram (who I adore) as they excavate an […]
I entered what I can only describe as an old abandoned asylum. There were no people there. There were no sounds aside from the humming of the lights. There was an overwhelming foreboding of something gone wrong. I simply assumed that I had entered from the back and would soon find the rest of the caucus. I was wrong and I realized this is why people always die in horror movies. It is so easy to make a dumb mistake.
He was strongly influenced by one of the most important and derided albums of all time, “Paris,” by Paris Hilton. I knew I loved him then. If you don’t know by now, I don’t think you’ll ever know how significant Paris Hilton’s debut album is. I’m not going to get into that even though it is one of the seminal albums of our age…I connected immediately with the mysterious gay cowboy and his dramatic mask. In other interviews, he gushes over Dolly Parton and her wigs with the reverence of an art history major wandering through the Louvre for the first time. I am captivated by him.
Ever since finding that deal, I’ve had my eyes peeled — what a horrifying expression, I need to look that up. Bear with…bear with…well that was a wild ride. According to linguists, the expression first appeared in American English around 1850 and was derived from a latin word that meant “to pillage.” Over the years, the original spelling became bastardized to “peel” and it meant to remove, which it still kind of does. So, the expression means to remove any covering from the eye, not to literally peel your eye away, which would seem to defeat the purpose. Anyway, back to the main point.
I miss getting into playful Egyptological arguments with scholars over martinis at The Royal Bar. I even miss the touts demanding baksheesh and donkey drivers hollering at me. I miss the filth in the streets and the flies that buzz around the horses. I miss the robes and the heat and the ferry across the Nile. I miss the cacophony of sounds at night when you’d hear honking horns and bellowing camels and the call to prayer. It suited me and I need to get back. Once I get this terrible year behind me, I’m going to treat myself to a glorious return to the sands of Egypt.
Cairo was not one of my favorite places. I can’t even pretend that it was. I found the place chaotic and fascinating, but when I was there for a week, I failed to develop any irrational passion for the city. Luxor and Paris and Turin and Mexico City and Los Angeles, well, those were all different. I immediately loved them, oftentimes for no reason, often for the way they made me feel. Cairo made me feel vulnerable and foolish at first. I didn’t understand the city, and I can’t claim that I do now.
WE HAD BEEN POISONED!
Now, don’t get too excited, it wasn’t like we had been exposed to a toxic nerve agent by a Russian spy, though had that occurred I wouldn’t be terribly surprised. I have talked a lot of shit about Putin’s girlfriend, Donald.
Jessica and I haunted the hottest gay club, which turned out to be the movie theater at Reforma 222. Don’t ask me why because I don’t know the answer. We were at the movies at least every other day it seemed. The first one we sat down and saw was something called Crucifixion. This drew our attention for very different reasons. Jessica loves a horror film and I love a Romanian hay farmer.
I have never taken classes during the summer before, and they have taken up a lot of my time. If you’re in need of reading material while I work on the usual blogs, please enjoy the research paper that I spent the past few weeks furiously researching. I’m rather proud of it. Hopefully you have an interest in the connections between modern English and ancient Egyptian vocabulary!
In high school, I would not miss an episode of Así es la Vida. It was on Univision without subtitles and I couldn’t understand a thing. It was brilliant. Eventually it became the foundation of my Spanish education, which is surely why it’s easier to talk about my cheating husband than it is the weather. Still, no knowledge is bad knowledge.