Jul 20, 2017
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 14, 2017
About to finish This Is Heaven...my new book
(Update: the continuity girl in me just discovered a few more issues)
Jul 7, 2017
Jun 30, 2017
It's immoral (2) --- Trump care 66.75 times as evil as the Twin Tower attack
One brief remark regarding the pending health care legislation in the US:
According to estimates built on the evaluation of the nonpartisan Congressional Budget Office, (15 million lose their health coverage during the first year of Trump Care, etc), the Republican-sponsored legislation will cause
200 000 preventable deaths per year.
Let's quantify this. NineEleven caused 2 996 deaths. So, Trump care is 66.75 times as evil as the Twin Tower attack. Per year.
Jun 26, 2017
"It's immoral"
Our new short story is out, IT'S IMMORAL---relating a ride from our home near Cannes to Nice airport---in issue 16 of the British lit magazine Bunbury.
It's a bit complicated to get hold of the issue (here's the link:) Bunbury XVI
For your convenience, we have the story here. It's not so long. Save for the penultimate paragraph, it's true-true, the story, so don't miss the penultimate paragraph.
Let me put this upfront: the main exit of motorway A8 into Nice has been under construction for quite a while. Anybody living on the Cote d’Azur must have wondered why a ramp pointing in the direction of the downtown voie rapide, obviously meant to relieve the overworked Promenade des Anglais along the beach, had been left for decades to peter out as a useless heap of sand. Two years ago, finally, a swarm of yellow caterpillars appeared and replaced the sand with an overpass of French proportions, meandering high into the sky as if the gloire of the nation depended on it. I had followed the activity with some interest and last time I checked, on Wednesday (returning home from an exhausting interview with Inspecteur Dugeny of the criminal branch of French customs about Jyske, my wayward bank), the work was still unfinished.
I’m writing this while waiting for the Lufthansa flight to Frankfurt. I’m sitting on a two-person leather couch opposite Chang, who sits on another, identical couch. The couch table separating us holds a glass of orange juice (Chang), and three glasses of Bloody Mary (Michael) (empty). On closer inspection, the couch table consists of two plastic stools of not quite matching colors. The entire room, a small VIP lounge off the boarding area of Terminal One is stuffed with like furniture and overhung by a low, impending ceiling. The room is busy with passengers, various flights are delayed; people behave, nerves radiate. A TV screen on the wall shows a feature about Alain Juppé, mayor of Bordeaux, a once-presidential-hopeful who refuses to go away despite the time he spent in prison for the embezzlement of public funds. I’m the only one watching, everybody else plays with his i-thing.
I’m not sure Chang is aware of what has happened because he is all business i.e., very critical of the booze. I can still feel my heartbeat.
It's a bit complicated to get hold of the issue (here's the link:) Bunbury XVI
For your convenience, we have the story here. It's not so long. Save for the penultimate paragraph, it's true-true, the story, so don't miss the penultimate paragraph.
Let me put this upfront: the main exit of motorway A8 into Nice has been under construction for quite a while. Anybody living on the Cote d’Azur must have wondered why a ramp pointing in the direction of the downtown voie rapide, obviously meant to relieve the overworked Promenade des Anglais along the beach, had been left for decades to peter out as a useless heap of sand. Two years ago, finally, a swarm of yellow caterpillars appeared and replaced the sand with an overpass of French proportions, meandering high into the sky as if the gloire of the nation depended on it. I had followed the activity with some interest and last time I checked, on Wednesday (returning home from an exhausting interview with Inspecteur Dugeny of the criminal branch of French customs about Jyske, my wayward bank), the work was still unfinished.
 |
| Nice airport |
I’m writing this while waiting for the Lufthansa flight to Frankfurt. I’m sitting on a two-person leather couch opposite Chang, who sits on another, identical couch. The couch table separating us holds a glass of orange juice (Chang), and three glasses of Bloody Mary (Michael) (empty). On closer inspection, the couch table consists of two plastic stools of not quite matching colors. The entire room, a small VIP lounge off the boarding area of Terminal One is stuffed with like furniture and overhung by a low, impending ceiling. The room is busy with passengers, various flights are delayed; people behave, nerves radiate. A TV screen on the wall shows a feature about Alain Juppé, mayor of Bordeaux, a once-presidential-hopeful who refuses to go away despite the time he spent in prison for the embezzlement of public funds. I’m the only one watching, everybody else plays with his i-thing.
_____________________
I’m not sure Chang is aware of what has happened because he is all business.
_____________________
I’m not sure Chang is aware of what has happened because he is all business i.e., very critical of the booze. I can still feel my heartbeat.
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