I recently received a letter (not in email; a paper letter) from one of my granddaughters. It is a treasure that will keep, as I have for many years with all handwritten letters and post cards
Vol.98.9: AFTERLIFE OF A YUM YUM GIRL
It only took me a couple of minutes to discern that she had not even read my book. The attractive, business-suited Chinese woman sitting across from me at the Pacific Coffee in Hong Kong represented
Vol.98.7: ANATOMY OF A MOVIE
I loaded my CD of Soldier of Fortune again the other night. It certainly is not a movie of much renown, certainly on nobody’s “great films” list, not even mine for that matter. But
Vol.98.6: WAR: AS AMERICAN AS APPLE PIE
Back in Fall of 2000, when I was a Fulbrighter teaching at Lingnan University in the New Territories of Hong Kong I used to take the fifty-minute bus ride from Tuen Mun into
Vol.98.3: Paris Cafes: A Tribute in a Time of Terror
The world knows that people were murdered at Paris cafés and other places this past weekend. Much has been said and written, and will be, about these horrific events, but I want to say something
Vol.97.3: ENHANCING CORPORATE EDUCATION INTO THE 21ST-CENTURY
A few years ago I was riding on the light rail system in Hong Kong’s New Territories. I was sitting in front of a bulkhead with a glass frame for advertising posters. The poster in front of me
Vol.96.3: TWO JIMMYS
In Tijuana, Mexico, June 1990
During my hiatus from DCJ as my websites have been undergoing an updating and facelift I actually considered whether I wanted to return to writing essays at all. A lot of the stuff I write is about
Vol.93.4: THE LAST TIME I SAW PARIS [MR]
© 1999, UrbisMedia-Ltd.
In the final scene of Bernardo Bertolucci’s The Sheltering Sky (1990), Paul Bowles, the author of the original story is seated in a Tangier café where he greets Kit Moresby (Debra Winger)
Vol.93.3: ME AND MY ALGORITHM
The algorithm at Amazon.com that knows me better, it seems sometimes, than I know myself, must be a little befuddled these days. Like a shadow it tracks my purchases for my bookshelves in my Kindle
Vol.92.1: Pas Aloof: A Travel Memory
In an earlier essay I (half) joked that American tourists to Paris often return home—usually to some very un–Paris-like town in the American “heartland” of Iowa or Missouri—grousing and
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