James McGirk

Behind Enemy Lines

Was it the twin plasma screens flashing our ugly mugs out over the dance floor every few minutes?

Homeland

The longer I live in the states, the less willing I am to tell the truth about where I'm really from. It's not that I'm trying to be mysterious.

Sour Grapes, Grad School, and Granta

Ugh, déjà vu. March 2007 feels awfully familiar. Oh, there are a few cosmetic differences. I haven't been gulping Honey Bee Brandy and getting my stomach pumped every weekend.

Off-Campus Housing Court

One thing you Columbia College snipes and, to be fair, any GSers roosting in University housing miss out on is that quintessentially New York experience of living in a slum.

Love Hurts, Squash Roaches

To plunder from distinguished GS alumna Jane Jacobs and invoke one of the hoariest columnist cliches ever, after living in New York City for a few years, the city begins to percolate into a couple

From the Department of Rhetoric

Every Thursday afternoon I have class after a full day of work. It's a comp lit class that meets twice a week. We read Kant last week and this week, Hegel's up-you get the general idea.

Soft Focus

I get cottonmouth when I'm nervous. My salivary glands seize up and my tongue curdles like a salted slug. So if I know I'm going into a stressful situation, I'll prep by chugging water beforehand.

Roar, Owls, Roar!

I hate to lay this on you young striplings like this, but-you missed your chance.

Prestige: The Answer to Our Woes

You knew it was coming.

Ceasing to Self-Infantilize

Hemingway killed my novel, but the Maine coon did the deed. He's a squirrel-tailed, tortoiseshell-striped thing who spreads blizzards of cat fuzz whenever he quivers his tail.