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Racist Warlocks and Sunflowers

Spoiler Alert: The end of this post contains the first two sentences of my forthcoming book about racist warlocks. Should you be a warlock purist, I strongly urge you not to read the last section of this post. I...

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Le Homme Bleu

A man doesn't have time in his life to have time for everything. He doesn't have seasons enough to have a season for every purpose. Ecclesiastes Was wrong about that. | Yehuda Amichai | My house here is covered in...

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Somebody's Been Drinking Some Haterade

I am at an artists' enclave in the South of France, where as a community, you'd figure there'd be some love. (And don't get me wrong there has been some). Unfortunately, somebody's been drinking some haterade. And anti-American haterade at...

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Toulouse, Cat'Art, Ste Columbe

I may or may not have almost been thrown out of here for screaming "BIJOU!" I knew that I had successfully left Paris when strangers started to speak to me on the trains and buses. I met a very...

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Cimetiere Montparnasse

After being surrounded by billions of people at the museum, this was easily the highlight of my day and my last night in Paris. After dinner in Montparnasse, I walked down Rue Emile Richard which divides the cemetary in...

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As Elijah Was

I was dressed in rags before I came through your open door, as Elijah was, and you met me inside, luring me to wine at the family table filled with endlessness. The erasure marks of moderation, of portents, there upon...

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Orsay Day

At the risk of offending someone's artistic sensibilities, I took pictures of some of my favorites at the Musee d'Orsay: (I've also put to use my amateur deconstruction and analysis skills to make the art banal for everyone else. Enjoy!)...

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The Montmartre Arcade Fire

Artistic/symbolic blurriness or low battery? You decide. I napped and "worked" until 10:30 on Saturday night, showered and made it to Montmartre at midnight. For those unfamiliar, Montmartre is on the far northern end of Paris (I think), on...

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A Mime, A Beret, and the Champs-Élysées

Trying to look as French as possible here. Champs Elysees: Part One One day when I'm traveling dishonestly, I will wake up early (or stay out all night) so that I can walk the Champs Elysees when it's empty...

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Croque Madame and Eiffel Power

Only the French (and Tony Parker) would place this backdrop for a basketball court. Inspired by the stories of French apostasy at the Jewish Museum of Art and History, I decided that I would break all the Shabbas laws...

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The First Twenty-Four (Hours)

I woke in a panic as I had missed free breakfast at the hotel and had overslept to counterbalance the difference between my intended and actual bedtimes. I was due uptown (which is a totally inaccurate but wholly-of-habit term) in...

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Welcome to Paris: A Post Largely About Urinating

I am sitting at my hotel desk in beautiful Paris, The City of Lights, gazing longingly out the window at the clothesline of my fat French neighbor across the way whose underpants (and the subsequent holes in them) are bigger...

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Foggy Londontown Sans Fog

Author's note: I got progressively drunker as this post was written and though I planned to edit it, I thought I would be robbing you of my precious integrity if I were to change any of the wacky, Freudian things...

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Chocolate City In White Beignet Powder

After 1200 miles and 11 states, you have no idea what a beignet can actually mean. Crossing Lake Ponchartrain was a highlight of the trek. Something inherently redemptive about a first sojourn to New Orleans since the deluge. But...

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Tocqueville in Birmingham

Baseball in America is alive and well in Alabama. Or maybe America in baseball is alive and well in Alabama, where outside of Birmingham, our national pastime still thrills, if only as sideshow to a more salient national pastime,...

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Regions Park, Alabama

Official press credentials. A view from the press box. Barons locker room where the non-human-growth-hormone magic happens. This is NOT what a baseball dugout should look like. Midnight moon and dugout lights from the pitchers mound....

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Panegyric L'Waffle House

Waffle House is, at the exact same time, an unabashed and guilty pleasure of mine. It's a difficult paradox to explain, but I will try my best (especially for Northeast and West Coast readers). Three hours past Washington, D.C.,...

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