November 17, 2007 – 8:19 am
Las Vegas only makes an impression if you don’t look past the illusion. Peek beyond the veil that the corporations have cast and its nothing more than a series of asphalt lanes and bus routes. For a tourist it bears the promise of endless pleasure, salivating strippers, heaving hedonism.
For a resident, on the other hand, Las Vegas is the fat black guy with dreads who spends his day time in the bookstore discussing politics (with a guy carrying a briefcase too big for his body) and at night moves to the 24 hour café; playing chess against the bespectacled white guy called “The Tutor” who makes his living hanging out in the university library, getting hired by students to do their homework.
The real Las Vegas is the stripper named “Ana” who came from Texas three years ago because her parents are dead and she is putting her sister through college.
Read More »
November 4, 2007 – 10:37 am
I grew up in a family that did not hold beauty in much esteem.
Both of my parents were uncomfortable around people who fit the cultural standard of physical attractiveness. It’s not that they were particularly unattractive - it’s just that for them, brains were more important than beauty. I was raised with the notion that vanity was bad. Spending time and money on your looks was wasteful. Wearing clothes that emphasized your physical attributes was pointless, because “Why would you want people to look at you that way?” Living in University towns all my life kept me in the company of other people who valued brains before beauty, so it felt normal.
When I married and moved away (yes, I lived with my parents until I married. They didn’t charge rent and the food was free), I was suddenly in the company of people who habitually wore makeup, dressed (to my eyes) provocatively, and emphasized beauty over brains. It was awkward, to say the least. My practical and very modest wardrobe appeared drab and mousy next to all that radiance. My lack of makeup had people confusing me for the new Sister at the local Catholic church. I don’t even want to talk about my hair. Read More »
October 7, 2007 – 3:23 pm
Life inside Boston’s easternmost ring road, west of its massive suburban mosaic, is more than the meets the eye of Google earth.
This outer ring of habitation, tucked inside the burly bark of the interstate, is the next woody circle out from suburbia - exurbia – an as-yet unsung layer in the tree rings of the great trunk of metropolitan American life. Here, west of Boston and east of Worcester, tumbled grey stone walls still trace roads without sidewalks and the big yellow school buses lumber picturesquely past the odd apple orchard. Here is where middle-class New England families hunt acreage and the faded fantasy of small town community. Let me sing you the song of this exurban ring – some notes soar and others plummet. As Julie Andrews taught us, when you sing you begin with do re mi . . . . Read More »
October 1, 2007 – 3:27 pm
I’ve lived in Georgia and Alabama since 1974. I was nine when we moved here during Christmas break. I want to describe life here, so people who don’t live here won’t think we’re all uneducated hicks…then again maybe you will, but if you do, I can tell you with certainty that we don’t care.
I’ve lived in both large and small towns. The large towns are, for the most part, pretty much like any other large town in other parts of the country. There’s ethnic, racial and economic diversity, opportunity for employment, even lemongrass in the grocery store sometimes! Small towns have diversity as well; it’s just usually not culinary diversity. That’s another topic, though.
One thing this town does right, and I mean that in all sincerity, is the Parade. Read More »
September 17, 2007 – 9:23 pm
I must be stuck in some dark-humoured comedy sketch. Everywhere I go in Kyiv, the same exact conversation follows me (well, perhaps I’m fudging a little, one conversation I overheard involved two university professors, gossiping about another university professor who may or may not be sleeping with a student) – and the gist of it is this: the much-vaunted election does not matter. If some element of life in Ukraine gets better following September 30, another element will probably get much worse. Read More »
August 23, 2007 – 6:50 pm
“Miss, I don’t believe in God, but can I talk with you for a minute?” He held his red bandana in his hand with a sense of awe and reverence not typically observed in our simple, one-room chapel on the first floor of the shelter. Jon was a tall, muscular young man whose quiet confidence instantly commanded my respect. I may have been older, but I could tell he was much wiser than I.
“You don’t have to believe in God to sit in the Chapel and talk. Tell me what’s on your mind,” I offered him a chair and some chocolate to share while we talked.
“Miss, I don’t really want to believe in God. I guess you could say that I got angry at God a while ago, and I can’t believe anymore.” Jon proceeded to tell me a story that I can’t forget. Read More »
August 16, 2007 – 3:35 pm
As millions of other people in this sick, sad world of ours, I follow in the footsteps of Winston Churchill. Am I a charismatic leader who overcame the Nazis and a lisp? Am I a defiant showstopper with a knack for draining “native” rebellions of their energy and whiskey bottles of their contents? No, no, no. I’m only depressed.Watching the Premier League is not exactly an orthodox way of treating a bout of depression. I can’t, however, afford a counselor. Pills are known for their tendency to cause lethargy. Star of BBC’s resurrected and resplendent “Doctor Who” series, David Tennant, refuses to make house-calls. And so, I am forced to self-medicate.
One of the more obvious ways in which the Premiership can inspire one to crawl out of bed in the morning and do the things that the spoiled brats with normally-wired brains do, is the sense of belonging it inspires. When you are depressed, you do not want to feel alone (alone with mounds of chocolate, alone with sharp objects, etc.). And as the dark universe stretches out in infinite directions all around you, it’s a comfort to know that there are, out there, small pockets of warmth: pubs full of like-minded individuals spilling beer down the front of their shirts and yelling rude things at the television. Read More »
A friend of mine, X, lives in a town called Y. She resides in a relatively egalitarian neighbourhood that is a far cry from the faceless “gated communities” that are so popular with certain segments of the middle class. The houses are older, made of solid brick and in possession of true character. There is a good school nearby and an eclectic shopping district. There are also the bums. Read More »
January 23, 2007 – 9:28 pm
(This article was first published in Living Well magazine of Jordan in December 2006)
Yet again, I disappoint my ever forbearing editor. Contrary to my promise – and despite her friendly instructions to turn off the serious tone, if only for the merry season – I find myself compulsively tapping the wrong buttons on the keyboard. Despite my solemn pledge to don a white beard and write a joyous Christmas carol, my hands have declared mutiny and are disobeying orders from the central command of my better judgment.
Santa is nowhere to be found. To make matters worse, the alphabets have joined the revolt, pulling my fingertips towards sentences that can’t wait to be written. As I surrender to their gravity, I find myself itching to tell this story, I even feel it’s my responsibility to do so. To tell you the truth, the historic document I’m about to share with you has restored my faith in the basic goodness of the human race, the mere thought of which brings warmth to my heart, more joy than any Father Christmas could muster. Read More »
December 19, 2006 – 4:10 pm
“Omigod, Brianna, my neighbours have an inverted Christmas tree just like this one! Who do they think they are?”"I know. Some people just try to be different for the sake of being different. It’s totally stupid.”
“Seriously.” Read More »
