Memphis.  The name evokes images of pharoahs and slaves, of pyramids and colossal monuments to long dead rulers, of Isis and Osiris and scarab beetles, of the once prosperous throne of Egypt's power on the banks of the mighty Nile.  But believe it or not, there is a town on the banks of the mighty Mississippi that takes its name from ancient Egypt's capitol.  I'm speaking of Memphis, Tennessee, the city I go to college in.  

     To non-history buffs, Memphis (the Tennessee Memphis, not the Egypt Memphis) is associated with things like Graceland, John Grisham "novels," the blues, and a high crime rate.  Well, let me tell you, dear reader, that of all these fanciful notions, only the latter plays any part at all in my life here.  I spend most of my time, in fact, wishing I could be in ancient Egypt's Memphis, and have drawn some parallels between the two during some of my sad and ever lonely afternoons.

     Graceland, for instance.  This extravagant and really, really silly house was the home of Elvis Presley, a slim "rock and roll" singer who in later years swelled into a sweaty, bulbous mound of flesh.  He died in Graceland while trying so very hard to go to the bathroom, and was buried there ... after being embalmed.

     Embalmed?  Ah, yes.  The magical process that the ancient Egyptians invented, which preserves the body so it can be reanimated in the land of the dead, where the corpse can enjoy the riches buried with him (or her).  Are you beginning to see, dear reader?  Elvis is the pharoah, Graceland his tomb.  It's my belief that it was Elvis's belief that the Egyptian beliefs were admirable and attainable.  So perhaps Elvis waits in the rotunda of Osiris with his still beating heart resting on a scale ... waiting to be judges by that jackal-headed god of sand.

     Another parallel:  Memphis, EGYPT was built on the banks of the NILE, while Memphis, TENNESSEE was built on the banks of the NILE.  No, wait -- the MISSISSIPPI.  And -- did I mention that before?  I think I did.  Never mind.

     As for John Grisham, I'll have nothing to do with that trollop eating rapscallion.  He trivializes the law, and his movies portray Southern lawyers as movie stars like Matt Damon and Tom Cruise.  Hogwash!  I walk by the School of Law every day on my way to the Theatre building, and I have not once noticed a celebrity studying law.  In fact, they look a lot like men and women in their early twenties wearing "professional" garb like suits and ties, squandering their youth on paperwork and words, words, words.  Not that I disapprove of the law school.  Far from it.  In fact, it's located next to the theatre building, and I've discovered that the law school's vending machines are a lot nicer than those of the thesbians'.  Just don't get anything chocolate, because it's melted.

      Which brings us to crime.  I have not been crimed against, but several of my fellow students have.  In the form of kidnapping.  Four of them this semester, in fact.  They were safely returned after their money had been liberated, but it's still a scary statistic.  Every night after rehearsals, I walk back to my dorm in the dark and pull by coat tight as I think of some kidnapper watching me and waiting... And then I think of that movie Sleepy Hollow and I imagine a headless horseman galloping after me, and I start to run.  And then I trip and fall on the ground and get up crying and continue to stumble headlong in the direction of my dorm.

THE END

Also, my dorm mates have a nasty habit of pulling the fire alarm on random nights at 3 o'clock in the morning.  I hate that.

THE END

Written November 30, 1999