The 'I' Is a False Mirror
or: why I can't write a book for the same reason I can't fix myself
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Her Name Was Toula
At the book launch in the Oberkampf district of Paris last Tuesday night I met an incredibly beautiful dog named Toula who was adopted as a rescue from the Greek Island of Santorini by a couple who live in Switzerland, all three of whom had just that afternoon arrived by
And So, To Paris
There was a moment, as my flight landed at Charles De Gaulle airport in the very early hours of Tuesday morning local time, when I believed fully that I had made a mistake. I was going to have to speak to some French people and my low-energy, three year stint
Seven Books on a Billboard Outside Paris
The seven books I take with me for a year living overseas may not be the same as the bundle chosen for a year in solitary confinement. If I was stranded on a deserted island for a few months and needed hunting weapons I would not, for instance, want with
A Short Violent Evening
The kinds of grievous injuries for which I might be covered under my travel insurance policy are oddly combinatorial, I noted with some grim amusement from the couch while I read. A lousy $25,000 for the loss of both feet or the loss of both hands. Similarly, the loss