Protest Part Five: weary, wary, and working together
I was guilty of the thing I loathe: letting the misbehavior of a few drown out the positive actions of the many, but when I got home from another night of protest last… Continue reading
Tag Archive: photos
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Buckets of vodka and breasts like weapons
I was young until I went to Ko Phi Phi. I was young with cups of čai on Turkish wharves, and the same when I danced in Lithuanian discotheques. But faced with buckets… Continue reading
Where to find, where to miss, and how to kill the divine.
The coarse wool of my djellaba was scratchier than the sand blowing against my bare legs. Maybe the other way around. One does not customarily wear shorts in the desert, but I welcomed… Continue reading
Mercurial madness, retrograde riots.
Congratulations, my friends. We survived another one. In that last post, I said something about the sun waiting in line for its macchiato on Mercury. Luckily for all of us, I was just… Continue reading
Hemoglobin, non-terrorism, and adorable despite a little racism; in Panama City.
I was a happy little red blood cell. Biding my time before entering the veins of Venezuela, I was promenading through the pulse of Panama, crossing arterial roadways to meander beside the lymphatic… Continue reading
Why bother blogging?
I’m supposed to be writing a blog right now. Instead, I’m pretending to type while observing the hunched man across the communal table, who looks like Lewis Black fallen on hard times. His… Continue reading
A home for Alvaro
“My daughter is a musician,” were Alvaro’s proud words as we shared a taxi into Caracas. He was the program coordinator for the Witness for Peace delegation that I had come to Venezuela… Continue reading
Food porn, Venezuela style
The pupusas of El Salvador clearly made an impression on me, but Venezuela was ready with a rebound relationship. The arepa is the traditional and quintessential food item of Venezuela and Colombia, dating… Continue reading
Pussycat love and perspective on/in Israel
So yes, Jerusalem felt like it wanted to hate me. But I still fell head-over-heels in love in the city. I suspect he was a male. He had clean teeth, big feet, and… Continue reading
I fear for Israel; or, Jerusalem wanted to hate me.
“I need a little more time to know for sure how I feel about Jerusalem…” was all I could say after I left there last year. Months went by, and I never came back… Continue reading
