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April 16, 2012 / Wythe

Indiana Jones-es

Who are the collectors, the obsessors, the tireless “adventurers” IRL? Who are they? What do they look like? Do they really train with weapons? At most, probably, they carry a single gun or knife. Probably, they resemble the hapless quasi-protagonists of Paul Bowles’s North African fictions. They are eggheads doomed to death. They are not Jones of Spielberg/Lucas fame.

Or perhaps we misjudge them, or deny them an essentially fantastic character that is only fair. Perhaps in every world we can find our Jones-es, our tireless wanderers, keepers of strange chipped diamonds, seekers after rumors, savers of screaming harpies in the dive bars of foreign kingdoms.

Perhaps it is only the limit of our imaginations that keeps us from achieving the proper admixtures of camp and clear-eyed optimism of the Indiana Jones movies.

To every Evil Empire, I wish a Jones.

To every lost diamond, may that Jones act as careful and sass-tongued Roomba, sweeping back into the cultural consciousness some long-thought-lost mote of magic.

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