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I began to write a post for this blog before I arrived in Beirut. And as I look back at it, I realize that there is a factual flaw in almost every phrase. I am relieved that I never managed to finish it nor publish it, for I'm sure I have learned more in the past two weeks than I will ever be fully aware of.

Grammatical sin in the last sentence aside, I am going to attempt to record some of my revelations and observations here, in hope of becoming more aware of my own evolution and largely in a effort to quell some of the stateside voices screaming for constant reports. 

First of all, the title I have chosen for this blog is, of course, a tribute to Joan Didion's famous tribute to W. B. Yeats. Didion said that Yeat's words "reverberated in [her] inner ear as if they were surgically implanted there." And though modern Beirut is about as geographically and socioculturally removed from Haight-Ashbury as possible, Didion's writing and her style of "reporting" have stuck in my mind since an excellent professor assigned the book. 

Didion wrote what she saw, with little judgement and scarce attempt at summation. But at the same time, she managed to translate the behavior of the drug dealers and runaways she met into terms I could understand. I hope to do the same thing for this society into which I have taken a cultural swan dive. 

here goes . . .