CONTENT FOR ME.
Musings for myself, on topics far and wide but often related to being an Australian living in the United States. Hosted on Substack.
Still standing. In case anyone is actually paying attention - a big if! - apologies for the lack of posting.
Patchy performance. It began, as a lot of things seem to these days, with TV so bad it’s great.
Flying high. In the eight months since I moved back to the east coast, I’ve flown between Chicago and New York City 55 times.
Magna Carter. Whenever I’ve reached a decisive fork in the road of life, it feels like I’ve instinctively chosen the path rutted with potholes.
Hot property. Almost everything I’ve missed about Australia during the past two decades have been simple pleasures.
Grumpy old man. For the past 15 years, my job has been to help (generally) really smart people who are (always) enthusiastically bad writers sound even smarter.
Small world. In the summer of 2002, I finally took a break from 18-hour days reporting on the aftermath of 9/11 and jetted to Salt Lake City.
Return to work. Right around the time cab drivers began very reluctantly accepting fares from Manhattan to Brooklyn, a new kind of man emerged in the borough’s streets.
In excess. Trigger warning: this post deals with distinctly first-world problems.
Stimulation nation. Two random events set me off.
Trunk or treat. Halloween is a big deal here in the States.