The house I left is buttoned up tight tonight, its orphaned olive trees gone liquid in the wind. I’m a trespasser for even remembering.
“It smells like an old crypt,” Noor said as the central heating system sluggishly started up for the first time that autumn. Stray leaves whispered in the ducts. “Smelled a crypt before?” Khaldoun asked his new wife.
I see no point in responding to some comments in the actual comment box. Some comments are so wonderful, they deserve to shine all on their own. This was a comment to a post about honor killings in Jordan, and how “traditionalism” in traditional society is a one-way street – i.e., men get to doContinue reading “Comment gold: on Russia, “lousy women” and Darwin”
I should be writing a new script. So that I don’t fall behind on my student loans (on can dream, anyway), and so the husband and I can stay fed this summer (the baby, presumably, will have the breast – just like in the “Lady Madonna” song). This naturally means that I am busy participatingContinue reading “Per the Wills and Kate debate: yes, losing your anonymity can, in fact, suck”
I recently gave a talk at the Chekhov Cultural Center here in Moscow, as part of English Language Evenings (thanks so much to the organizer, Stephen Lapeyrose, and all of the wonderful people who attended), and before the talk, I had to clarify something on my resume. I had to explain that a certain jobContinue reading “Who are you? And the far reaches of globalization”