M.D. Harkins is a noted authority on small hand tools and Nuristani mating rituals. He has lived in such far-flung locales as Beirut, Lebanon, and Billings, Montana. He maintains the Enlightened Despot blog and has written one novel, Feast. He currently resides in a fortified compound near Isla Vista from which he serves up frequent slices of beachside life.
Hoping for a winter anywhere but here. Read story.
Thursday, December 22, 2016
And get out of the road, I'm trying to drive here. Read story.
Wednesday, November 16, 2016
The idea of a wall thrills, really thrills some people. Read story.
Friday, April 29, 2016
On the war in Yemen and other things we don't like to think about. Read story.
Friday, August 21, 2015
Stéphane Charbonnier died a hero. He stood against the tyrants of the world. Read story.
Thursday, January 8, 2015
Despite the offer of $80 million and their own “Starship,” the Golden God ripped up the contract right in front of Sir Richard. Read story.
Friday, January 2, 2015
I can remember hearing legends about UCSB and I.V. as far back as my junior high years, which seems like about five lifetimes ago. Read story.
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Curiously, the war on ISIS is funded on both sides by the same Gulf states. Read story.
Monday, September 29, 2014
“I played Brad Paisley!” he shouted indignantly. “I played Brad Paisley!” Read story.
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
“Mike? What in the hell kind of name is that? French?” (It’s a curious fact that in Montana, virtually every male over the age of 50’s name is “Bill.”) Read story.
Friday, August 15, 2014
It was a calm, warm night in Kigali, and I was sitting out in front of the house with the Old Man. Read story.
Saturday, June 21, 2014
One calm morning, a headline on the television news, here in Rwanda, pierced my soul. Read story.
Thursday, June 12, 2014
And now, here I was, in the seat of Beaverhead County, Montana. Read story.
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Truth has been weirder than fiction in Isla Vista lately. Read story.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Pushing through the sweaty hordes into the refreshingly humid and cool African night, I was immediately accosted by an emaciated, disheveled version of Arsenio Hall. Read story.