When I was a kid, I loved the beginning of the school year. At first I believed that I was about to be initiated in the orders of the learned. Even in later years when the anticipation of great knowledge was reduced to the lowest common denominator of cafeteria food and lonely recesses, the dropping temperature and falling leaves of early September that heralded a new school year filled me with anticipation. Read More
ByGD
A New Hope
ByGD
Book Report: The Happy Atheist
Arguments about the existence of god bore me. I know my own opinion, and I don’t care about yours.
I’m ambivalent about books based on blogs. Part of me feels gypped; it’s just a a bunch of prewritten material lazily recycled. Another part of me thinks, “Way to go fellow writer! Way to build on a platform and add a book to your bio. I wish I was smart enough to do that.”
The Happy Atheist, by biology professor PZ Myers, was an unsolicited review copy that arrived in my mail one day. It is, as you may have guessed, a collection of blog posts on atheism. I read it anyway.
ByGD
Skin Deep
“Oh, yes, hi, I think we met before.” The attractive Icelandic man was so tall he had to bend down just to shake my hand. Self-consciously, I saw his eyes dart to my mouth and away. He was trying not to stare at the giant blister that had spread in glistening, pus-filled mounds across my face, leaving crusty yellow scabs behind as it traveled from the center of my bottom lip to my left cheek.
I met him at a different music festival two years earlier; I had a blister then, too, and I wondered if the blister was how he had recognized me. It occurred to me that many of the Icelanders I have met more than once have never since me with a healthy face. There might be quite a few people in this country who don’t know that fever blisters (or cold sores) are a common side effect of air travel, jet lag, and stress, and who think of me as “that poor American girl with the deformed face.”
And then I wondered, Is this how my daughter feels all the time?
ByGD
How Do You Like Iceland?
I forgot to ask his name. Didn’t even realize until after I left town that I didn’t get his name. But I got his story, and even without a name, I knew I’d never forget it. How could I, when it was also my own? Read More
