Today we asked our daughter to tell us a story. Here it is: Amma and Daddy and Baby and Amma! We’re a family! We peed. And then we got up. And then we went downstairs and had some food. And then we had some dinner. And then we had some lunch. And then we went in the room to sleep. And then Daddy shaved off his scratchy chin.
I say appearance, rather than reading, because the reading portion of the evening (voice and text and presence and performance) seemed if not beside the point then certainly a second-tier attraction. People came to gawk or moon, they came to get their galleys signed or to soak up the air conditioning.
Inevitably, when someone comes into New Orleans to visit, I have to roll them by the Banksys. But usually when I drag people into a larger conversation about street art, Banksy seems to be the limit of their familiarity.
Seven Other Contemporary Street Artists You Should Know Read More »
On July 14th, the Prime Minister and First Lady of Malaysia had a private audience with Queen Elizabeth at Buckingham Palace. The Prime Minister, Najib Razak, wore a dark suit; the First Lady, Rosmah Mansor, wore a pale blue baju kebaya, a traditional Malay women’s garment that harks back to a time before Malay culture was as heavily Islamised/Arabised as it is today.
A Tiny Yellow Light Read More »
I’ve recently gotten into the habit of tuning into AM radio while getting ready in the morning–sometimes listening specifically for the news; other times just enjoying the voices and occasional musical interludes that make for relaxing background noise. The other day, to my initial delight, I heard a guy mention one of my favorite literary protagonists: Emma Bovary.
For the Love of Emma Bovary Read More »
The venue: The Raven Lounge in Philadelphia, not far from Rittenhouse Square. A scene for unlikely juxtapositions: downstairs, you’ll find board games, and upstairs, a stripper pole.
SPIT BACK A BOY: A Book Launch Party in Photos Read More »
Summer is a season of midnight. At least that’s how it feels to me. No matter how much sun I soak up it is night and night alone that gives Summer it’s special feeling of (sorry to the strict Lacanians) jouissance, a kind of pleasure-in-defiance.
In Praise of Exhaustion Read More »
Among some of my oldest relatives, there’s a custom of recording weddings gifts given and received in order to ensure that no family is left feeling cheated.
I have been reading Italo Calvino’s Cosmicomics at a speed that indicates I must be reading dot by dot.
Transitioning the Great Sadness Read More »
