Now that we’ve been on COVID-19 lockdown for several weeks, I’ve mastered washing my hands, putting on a face mask, and sneezing into my armpit. Or was that elbow? After endless days as a couch slug, I’ve finished watching everything Netflix offers. My single-day record is seven straight hours of TV and eating an entire quart of ice cream. Possibly more than a quart. In fact, I’m sure it was more. A quart is only 4 cups and that’s nothing, really.
Some of my friends have turned to me as their good-idea maven for meaningful activities. (They’ve often said, “Karin…
I’m still befuddled as to why Americans thought they needed to hoard toilet paper early on in the coronavirus crisis. Did they fear toilet paper manufacturers would suddenly stop producing and shipping it?
The news this winter that a Vanderbilt University study proved conclusively that dogs are smarter than cats blared resolutely on the evening’s TV newscast as my cat and I sat on the living room couch. I saw my cat’s face fall. I lunged for the remote control to mute the sound, but it was too late. She had heard it.
“Fake news!” she hissed.
I nodded in agreement because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, cats being so sensitive and all.
As I sat taking in this new reality, I began to worry about the repercussions of such a…
I was just finishing up a book-launch event at Vroman’s Bookstore in Pasadena, CA, when a young woman in a visible state of exasperation came up to me with a question. “I’m trying my hand at writing, but I have writer’s block. Did that happen to you?”
My new book, “So Happiness to Meet You: Foolishly, Blissfully Stranded in Vietnam” took five years to write. Let me rephrase that: It took two months to write. The other four years and 10 months were spent staring at a blank screen while picking the calluses off my heels and big toes.
I am the author of “So Happiness to Meet You, Foolishly, Blissfully Stranded in Vietnam.” I’ve written for numerous publications, including the L.A. Times.