Halfway There

Die Zeit ist da! As of today we are merely two weeks away from the release of my novel, Land of Milk and Money , published by Tagus Pres...

The Church is my bulwark Over the years I have been to a handful of book-launch parties. The most recent—and most impressive—was for the...

Hawking my wares I have a long list of summer events in California's Portuguese-American community. It looks like I'll be doing a ...

Catholicism in transition This is the weekend when Catholics in the United States begin to use the third edition of the English-language R...

The quest for catchy Earlier this month I received a very welcome e-mail message from the general editor of a university press: We are ve...

Reflexive code-switching Quentin Crisp once gave some encouraging advice about maintaining one's residence: “There is no need to do an...

The Portuguese diaspora It was almost two years ago that a visitor to this blog posted a comment: You can't imagine how much I identi...

Not under the influence! Numbers are my vocation, but words are my avocation. There is always a book on my nightstand and a few (or severa...

Saturday was pretty weird, too The four high holy days always find me back at Mom & Dad's in California's Central Valley. It...

Sinners in the hands of an overworked God It was my grandmother's idea. That's what made it so surprising. You expect the matriarc...

Innumeracy abroad My faithful reader and commenter João Paulo has shared with me the results of a 2008 hearing in the 8th District of Lisb...

I know you are, but what am I? Yes, we live in entertaining times. The Republicans wallow in the Slough of Despond (taking such comfort as t...

What's mine is mine My grandfather liked to think he ran a taut but happy ship, but he was still surprised to hear the tuneless whistlin...