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GZ hangers

GZ hangers

Complications set in. A pink shirt, a French blue shirt, some black polos.

Mainly, I sorted . . . hangers. Many wire hangers are now . . . in the middle. They must go. I do not remember what happened to the shirts. Surely there were shirts. But I am focusing on hangers per se.

I think the shirts went into a suitcase. The shirt-wearer has taken the suitcase and left.

The categories: blue, blue-and-white striped, and white.3shirts

Veterans’ Day

Today I read again the commendation from then Secretary of the Navy Forrestal, recognizing the “courage and sacrifice” of my grandmother, who sent seven sons to fight in World War Two. Here’s to you, Catherine.

A few hundred students marched down the Barer Strasse to join others marching down the Schelling Strasse to protest tuition and the relatively-new European bachelor program; and to express solidarity with students occupying the Auditorium Maximum of the University of Vienna. › Continue reading…

Munich students protest tuition hike

At about 8:30 pm, a few hundred students coming from the direction of the Technical University marched under my window on the Barer Strasse to join their counterparts marching down Schelling Strasse from the direction of the Ludwig-Maximilians University. › Continue reading…


This is my friend Anna, also known as LadyButler. Anna’s closets actually look like this. It is a little scary and I try not to think about it too much. However, I do think–often–about my own shortcomings in this regard. I think how much nicer my life would be if my closets were not inhabited by demonic textiles.

I do know what the problem is, and I will not burden you with my personal neuroses. Just remember that the first short story of my adult life is called “The Closet and the Money,” and deals with the detritus of the Second World War, that somehow wound up stuffed in a standing closet in my childhood bedroom. That’s all I will say for now. › Continue reading…

Flying ferries

Planes in the Hudson, ferries in the sky. Join us on Upstage on 20 May at 9 pm Venice time. Go to the Salvation page on this site for login instructons. › Continue reading…

Queen of the May

It’s a long weekend in Bavaria. May first, the communist holiday (=Labor Day), fell on a Friday. May first is also Lady Day, a feast of the Virgin Mary that, as far as I know, is strictly a popular fertility holiday having nothing to do with the liturgical year. › Continue reading…

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Nothing much happens in this play, either. It’s someone’s birthday, or it isn’t; two strangers arrive; the birthday boy leaves the next morning as a zombie. I wonder if I am suffering James Joycean déja-vu, or if I really recognize a boarding house, a mother, an eligible daughter figure, a stage Irishman and a Jew. Maybe it’s like a sensory deprivation touch: you start to project.
The theatre is from a great age of French something. The play is from a different great age of French something. Existentialism superimposed upon the flocked-red-velvet era. Paris despite the wars.
I love the sensuously curved metal rating on the stairs on our way out. I have given up wondering why we do not take the elevator. I ask the Canadian, how is her knee. She says, “That’s why you have two.”
Outside, the Eiffel tower has switched to an epileptic nightmare. Scintillating pinpoints of halogenic white lights among the stable gold. It bristles with self importance.
If only it would fade back into the iron sky. If only I would fade back into Paris.

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