In classical Greek Drama, fantastical plot twists were the choix-de-jour of a fair number of ancient Greek playwrights. When confronted by a dicey situation, or when all hope is lost to avert a crisis, or when tragedy strikes, etc. the writer simply stages a divine intervention from the gods of Olympia to resolve the issue and create a happy ending. Couple can’t marry and live happily ever after because the groom was just murdered? No problem, just introduce Zeus unto the stage before the curtain falls to miraculously resurrect the groom from his deathly state. Crisis averted, you may kiss the bride!
This plot-technique was called Deus Ex Machina, or God on Machine, since those last-minute plot-twisting gods were u
sually actors propped on a huge crane, literally, god on a machine.I couldn’t help but think that, in light of the recent fantastical turn of events in my life. After what felt like a decade (but was a mere two months) of waiting for my H-1b visa, preparing myself mentally for a miserable closeted life in Egypt, after serving a mandatory 3 year military service (shoot me now, please) and thinking, how on earth would I get an h-1b with a success chance of 40% at a lottery? (if you think 40% is a high probability, then you’ve never met me or my bad luck), I resigned myself to the fact that I would have to leave the country, ending up in Egypt getting drafted (read: royally fucked) by the Egyptian army.
Out of nowhere, like an Olympian god on a crane, came a ruling by the department of homeland security to extend the stay of visa applicants so they are not forced to leave the country for a gap period. Then, I was informed I received a visa. Honestly, I wanted to kiss everyone on the subway back home that day, including the Hobos in Penn station.
First item on the agenda: to Party like its 1999 and I’m a big a Drag Queen on Crack.
DISCLAIMER: Te operative term is “like”. Do not write me back asking if I’m into 90’s pop music (I f***** love it) or drag (I got a whole collection of fierce wigs, but I’m a strictly-Halloween kinda gal. I only drag for one night in October, just like the housewife that will only have anal sex with her husband on his birthday. That way it will always be special. *giggle*
As for crack, I tend to talk about it as if I walk around carrying it in my purse, but those of you who really know me, know I’m horrified of anything that goes up one’s nose. My mommy used to say: “the only thing that was meant to be shoved up my nose is an index finger. Everything else is an abomination”. I made that one up, but wouldn’t it be funny if she did say that? Secretly, I wish I had a crazy mother.
The only thing in my purse (ah, I mean my macho man handbag) is my make-up. Kidding! Maybe…
So I went to Fire Island for the fourth of July weekend and watched the “Invasion of the Pines” ceremony unfold. It’s too surreal an experience to describe by words, so I’ll do an interpretive dance for you…Or, you can watch my video:
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