Cracking the Maya Code

I was whinging about National Geographic specials whilst having coffee with a friend yesterday -- the suspense-filled, breathless discussion about something that happened 2,000 years ago fitted with commercial breaks and recaps after the commercial breaks in case you forgot the suspense during the commercial break, where the amount of information conveyed would fit into teaspoons while the face of the Dr. Zahi Hawass, Director of Egyptian Antiquities, flashes on the screen more often than cigarette commercials in 1950's tv. Granted it is somebody's attempt to make dry history exciting, but for me it conveys a whole lotta dust.

So, why did I click on Cracking the Maya Code on Netflix last night? Ghod only knows. It was wonderful. It told a story. It had gallons of information. It had people naming names, and it had the people that made the discoveries talking about it. Who was right, who was wrong, and who was right and wrong. It had Maya and Spanish priests. It had communist scholars and capitalist scholars. It had kids and grownups. It had a goddamned story, and it told it. It had, that I can remember, no Mexican or Guatemalian historical official posing against a ruin...

I told Netflix I really, really liked it. Then Netflix spewed up a bunch of similar documentaries... I clicked on Machu Picchu -- Must poke my eyes out. It was back -- the suspense, the dust, the officials posing scenically against ruins, the commercial breaks, the historical reenactments, the excitement of cracking Al Capone's Vault...