House of Mirrors

House of Mirrors

House of Mirrors: Al Franken resigns. Roy Moore gets $$ from the RNC. House of Horrors, I: You’re sitting on a plane and the guy in the seat next to you–he has what looks like a dead, stuffed chipmunk on his head, or is that his hair?–tries to put...
Time for a Deep Breath?

Time for a Deep Breath?

Hands up skirts, on thighs, brushing bottoms. Off-color comments, propositions, power. Roy Moore? Sure. But Charlie Rose?! Et tu, Brute? The tsunami unleashed by Harvey Weinstein’s fall from grace, the finally-making-public of distasteful truths everyone acknowledged...
Thanksgiving Crossings

Thanksgiving Crossings

Two weeks before Thanksgiving, in Uppsala, Sweden, a beautiful lop-eared rabbit named Stella died. I didn’t know Stella, or her humans. I follow them on Instagram. Stella’s death was unexpected, as rabbits’ passings through the veil so often are. It brought back the...
Served Up

Served Up

This week: Granada, one of my favorite places to eat and drink. Berenjena frita—fried eggplant, thin slices both tender and crispy, drizzled in molasses. Cogollos a la cordobesa—hearts of romaine tossed with crunchy little bits of fried garlic and the olive oil they...
In Praise of Airport Hotels

In Praise of Airport Hotels

This post was meant to be about Roy Moore and Kevin Spacey and young girls and young boys (and lest we focus on our own sorry age as the nadir point of such abuses, I’ll just remark that a sub-genre of medieval Arabic poetry waxed lyrical comparing the merits of the...