
Un-Mellow Yellow
Today's missive springs from a dried out husk. Please join us in a prayer for (more) rain.
I was a citified Paris correspondent for fancy American glossies who went Green Acres in a village of 175 people in the middle of a forest. It's been interesting.
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Today's missive springs from a dried out husk. Please join us in a prayer for (more) rain.

Sorting out the contents of a slowly ordering mind.

In which we wish you all a happy Sunday and call it a day. See you in two weeks.

This 250th, we are searching for cope.

A summertime story of woman versus nature in one act.

No really, you must. I will never achieve pretty privilege in my adopted language.

In which we transplants to Saint-Maxime finally allow ourselves to flex.

And hoping that fatherly wisdom is false prophecy.

I can’t quit the latest chapter of Jordan Bardella’s teflon come-up

An Easter meditation on America’s dark princeling

Or in our case, where only one (objectionable) candidate is running for mayor, it abides.

Sometimes the urge to make meaning can be counter-productive.

What is your Epstein diet and how are you managing it?

Regulating our frazzled nervous systems, one cat pic at a time.

Why is the nicest thing you can do one of the hardest things to ask for?

It's 2026. Let’s get back to business.
Festivus comes in a mere two days. Let us now gather ‘round the aluminum pole and bitch.

Far-right parvenu Jordan Bardella just lapped everyone in the French presidential polls. By a lot.

Far-right parvenu Jordan Bardella just lapped everyone in the French presidential polls. By a lot.

On burrowing underground versus thrusting oneself into the spotlight.