
In Nashville they’ve built a giant replica of the Parthenon, the temple in Greece that was built for Athena. I don’t know why they built a replica of the Parthenon in Nashville. I suppose there is a placard that explains it but I don’t like to get that close. It sits in a field just off downtown, just off the country-music recording studios and boot stores, and when I’m driving through town I swear I hear Carmina Burana bellowing from the building’s ribs. At night they light the thing so it makes long black shadows on the lawn and when you look at it, driving by as fast as you can, you can sense a monster slipping its fingers round one of the 46 pillars. I like to think people in Nashville meet on the lawn before the Parthenon once a year to sacrifice a virgin. They don’t kill her, really, but they give her a record contract so she basically becomes a sappy cocaine addict. In exchange the gods feed their industry for another year. I shouldn’t say things like this about the people in Nashville because it probably isn’t true. But that is something I think about when I [...]









