“What makes people want to go to a place where there is such little protection?” asked the actor Philip Seymour Hoffman, when contemplating the book, Into the Wild, by John Krakow.
This book is the true story of Chris McCandless, a twenty something who ventures into the Alaskan wilderness for a self-sustained life. It’s a fascinating read and a well-told story. And I think most readers are either a) dying to know what prompts an accepted, educated, well-cared-for soul to abandon the comforts and safety of society for unknown and potentially perilous wooded environs and/or b) have these same desires themselves.
I read it years ago, when I not only found it on Michael’s shelf, but also found out that his ex-girlfriend, Shelly, was Chris McCandless’s sister.
But Philip Seymour Hoffman’s got a point.
Continue reading ‘On using protection. . .’
I was half-watching a terribly cheesy movie the other night while cooking dinner. The heroine was in the backseat of a taxi as the driver swerved across one of New York’s bridges. And at that moment, this woman realized that the man on the motorcycle in the next lane was in love with her and that she was in love with him and that without a doubt, she needed the taxi to stop immediately so she could tell him about this epiphany and so they could then begin their life together, right then and there.
It was the crescendo of the film.
But you know what came to MY mind at this moment? Continue reading ‘Effortless Communication’
Sometimes helping is so easy.
I taught a class tonight at OneWorld British-Bulgarian Educational Center. They’re a small organization struggling to provide resources, study guides and English certification courses to Bulgarians of all ages. Nadya Berova, the executive director, is a kind, hard-working, intelligent and ambitious woman.
But my class wasn’t about English.
Continue reading ‘Simplicity’
Yes. We went to Istanbul again.
This time, we took the tram, mosque after mosque away from the crown jewel Sultanhamet to where Istanbul looked a lot more like Bulgaria. Played backgammon while sipping kiwi tea that tasted just like a jolly rancher. Looked the other way as men cleansed their bodies at mosque-front spickets.. . .We were given a personal tour of a two-room slaughterhouse. Dumb, fuzzy sheep running into each other with caged confusion. A floor where blood, hair and horn bits had fallen away. And the shallow circular wash buckets filled with the heads of ones before. . . Continue reading ‘Sheepheads, Sugar and Asshole Cleaners’
Did I tell you?
I’m living with a movie star!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! His name is Michael Boudreaux and he just had his big debut–hopefully you caught it. . .
But then. There was another one.
When I was in Istanbul, I realized that my husband’s mother’s best friend’s traveling companion has a sister who is married to a guy whose sister’s husband is Yo Yo Ma.
Literally. I swear to God. True story.
No match for a Harpie Slayer, and I doubt he’s met Stephen Baldwin, but still.
I was ready.
It had been a crazy six hours, but I had drug myself out of jetlag, showered, found my most respectable outfit (Lucy said it was at the cleaners) taken two Benadryls and cabbed to Traditzia. I had met with three of the 600 individuals flown in two weeks prior to this event. I had greeted each blemish-free, well-bred, unpaid appointee with a thick layer of hospitality. I’d carefully avoided the awkwardness of asking too many “what do you do” questions to individuals who are independently wealthy.
I had received or witnessed at least a dozen phone calls from frantic voices.
I had met a Foreign Service Officer who somehow got away with calling me snookums, sweetheart and little Andrea without making me feel like an idiot. Continue reading ‘FLOTUS’
