Chapter One
In the grand scheme of scientific meetings, the Mummy Congress is a small,
intimate affair, long on singular personalities and surreal slide shows and
short on sophistication, hype, and ballyhoo. There are, after all, far larger
scientific meetings, gatherings where thousands of name-tagged delegates in
identical conference bags swarm city streets like ants, taking over every cab,
restaurant, and bar in sight. There are also far more sophisticated events,
where the world watches through simultaneous Webcasts and where handlers manage
large, jaded crowds of reporters. And there are certainly far more lavish
affairs where attendees dine in gilded French châteaux or toss back glasses of
chianti in Tuscan vinyards, all paid for by generous corporate sponsors. But the
Mummy Congress is none of these things. It is not large. It is not savvy. And it
certainly is not deluxe. What makes the Mummy Congress so memorable — some
might say gloriously eccentric — is something a good deal rarer and far more
interesting. It is the odd, lonely passion of its delegates. With few
exceptions, those attending the congress love mummies. And they relish ... read full excerpt from The Mummy Congress ebook
