Roswell That Ends Well!
when war crimes are less believable than intelligent alien life
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Crumbs at the Slophouse
There was a man at the ice creamery the other day and I cannot stop thinking about him. He looked about 50. No family in tow, indeed no other travelling friends or acquaintances in sight. From his person there were wires, running out of his ears and a battery pack
Blessé this Messé
I was going to have some fun with the newsletter this week until the French authorities – who, for official purposes, I love and adore – sprung the steel trap of bureaucracy on my bliss and visited upon it a great injury. So the fun has been cancelled. Instead, today, we are
A Room of One's Own
I have signed a contract to lease an apartment from a couple in Paris. She is a Lacanian psychoanalyst and he is a professor of modern literature with a side expertise in the philosophy of Hegel, a man whose work is so dense, so sprawling, that the only way to
The Lion Speaks Tonight
A few days ago I was in a boulangerie a few blocks from the Champs Élysées ordering a sandwich, drink and dessert in one of those French lunch combinations, or formule, which requires a level of language just one step above rudimentary. 'Ah, you speak French,' the server