Category: Andrei Navrozov

The other night I couldn’t fall asleep, and scrolling through Twitter news feeds was only making the insomnia more virulent – as virulent, come to think of it, as the news – so I decided to watch a movie.

“A spoonful of tar,” goes the Russian proverb, “spoils a barrel of honey.” Such was my instinctive response to a Twitter poll I happened on while scrolling aimlessly as one does.

The gentle reader may recall the famous moment in the film comedy The Gods Must Be Crazy when a Coca-Cola bottle falls from an airplane and lands in a bushman camp in the Kalahari.

Suppressing the pangs of guilty conscience like a recidivist pickpocket – Conscience? What a load of hooey! – I’m taking my four-year-old to Burger King.

As I noted here a month ago, my interest in the Titanic originated in my four-year-old’s obsession with the maritime disaster, which I had at first found as inexplicable as other children’s obsession with dinosaurs.

This post is pure plagiarism, but not because I’m lazy or because today, for us Orthodox, it’s Christmas and I’m breaking the fast in some extraordinarily time-consuming, lamb-devouring, deck-the-halls way.

The child is only four, but neighbors are already beginning to ask why he isn’t in school.

Until then, gentle reader, have yourself a Merry Christmas of old.

What first struck me about the murder was the fact that the lady of the house was the photographer who had taken the portrait photo for the cover of The Art of the Deal.

Of course the sinking of the Titanic was huge news in 1912 and immediately afterward, but by the 1950’s it figured no more in the public consciousness than, say, the Lisbon earthquake of 1755 or the sack of Troy.