A few hundred feet away from the Great Pyramids at Giza, there is a Pizza Hut. One of the seven wonders of the ancient world, these 4,500-year-old structures dominate the surrounding desert, deeply impacting the millions who travel to behold their size and precision. Centuries of work with hand tools and raw manpower, forged out of the earth by brute force of will, meant to honor past kings and forever-reigning gods – and they’re just a short walk away from a damn Pizza Hut. While you eat a cardboard imitation of Italian cuisine, you can glance out a logo-emblazoned window and see them, indescribably cheapened by your vantage point. This Pizza Hut – a blemish of modernity, an icon of soulless corporate capitalism – has the right to exist mere yards away from the pyramids. It’s a uniquely modern travesty.
I often suffer violent fits wherein I desire to fill the American landscape with foreboding stone menhirs twice my height, standing stones, cuneiform inscriptions on cliffs. Is this common?