Chapters
When US government officials do acknowledge that drugs are coming into the United States from China, rather than holding the Chinese government to account, they seem to place all the blame on Chinese organized crime groups, known as triads, for the illegal drug production and distribution.
Chapters
President Joe Biden sat facing China’s president Xi Jinping, each at a separate table draped in blue cloth. It was November 2022, and the two leaders were in Bali, Indonesia.
Chapters
I don’t remember what the last straw was in my growing frustration with medical training, but I do know that the beginning of the end came courtesy of a drug called gentamicin.
Chapters
I’ll never forget the first patient whom I ever saw die. It was early in my second year of medical school, and I was spending a Saturday evening volunteering at the hospital, which is something the school encouraged us to do.
Chapters
A coroner’s inquest, composed of jurors and led by a justice of the peace, was hastily convened at the ravine. Inquests were a remnant of a time when ordinary citizens largely assumed the burden of investigating crimes and maintaining order.
Nonfiction
In April, millions of tiny flowers spread over the blackjack hills and vast prairies in the Osage territory of Oklahoma.
Chapters
The greater the doubt, the greater the awakening; the smaller the doubt, the smaller the awakening. No doubt, no awakening.
Nonfiction
I became what I am today at the age of twelve, on a frigid overcast day in the winter of 1975. . . . That was a long time ago, but it’s wrong what they say about the past. . . . Looking back now, I realize I have been peeking into that deserted alley for the last twenty-six years.
Nonfiction
John Byron was awakened by the maniacal cries of the Wager’s boatswain and his mates summoning the morning watch: “Rouse out, you sleepers! Rouse out!” It was not quite four a.m., and still dark out, though from his berth in the bowels of the ship Byron couldn’t discern whether it was day or night.
Nonfiction
Each man in the squadron carried, along with a sea chest, his own burdensome story. Perhaps it was of a scorned love, or a secret prison conviction, or a pregnant wife left on shore weeping. Perhaps it was a hunger for fame and fortune, or a dread of death.
Nonfiction
“ONE MORE ROW OF CLIPS and we’ll be done,” Mom says, speaking of the butterfly clips that she’s carefully pinning into my head. I hate this hairstyle, the rows of tightly wound hair fastened into place with painful, scalp-gripping little clips.
Nonfiction
THE PRESENT IN FRONT OF me is wrapped in Christmas paper even though it’s the end of June.
Nonfiction
When you think “open borders activist,” you probably think: angry purple-haired twenty something, probably with daddy issues, screaming at an ICE agent.
Nonfiction
Emily is getting divorced. She’s also being sued by everyone in her entire family . . . except her brother. “Do your lawyers know you’re doing this interview?” I ask her. “No,” she says. “They don’t need to know everything.”
Chapters
I’m driving to Beverly Hills in my matte-black Mercedes-Benz G-wagon, which I should add has extra tint on the windows. Illegal tint, apparently? But it looks cool.
Chapters
Okay, so here’s the deal: I rue the day that I met Sacha Baron Cohen. “Never meet your idols,” people say. No shit! I first met the towering presence of SBC through Matt Lucas.