THE FEMINISM DEBATE
I’m not sure why there is a debate about feminism right now, but it apparently began on Tumblr with a site called “Women Against Feminism.” Then David Futrelle added a feline perspective (arguably the most entertaining response) called “Confused Cats
YOU LIKE US, YOU REALLY LIKE US
Sally Field may forever regret her Oscar acceptance speech in 1984 when she uttered the now famous line, “You like me, you really like me.” But the rest of us love that she said it. It’s such a convenient line
TO LOVE A DOG
To love a dog is to surrender your heart to a being who can never answer you with words, or help you figure out the best detour around a traffic jam, or cook dinner for you. The surrender is deep
A LONG-AGO LETTER TO MALIA AND SASHA
On January 20th, 2009 I wrote a letter to the new First Daughters, Malia and Sasha. I went through exclusive channels available to previous members of the First Family to ensure that my letter made it to the new members
THE DAY MY FATHER DIED
June 5, 2004 was damp and thick with fog. I drove to my parents’ house at 5:30 in the morning after a restless night — waking up often thinking the phone would ring at any moment with news that my
KARL ROVE
On a recent news show, where Karl Rove’s medical diagnosis of Hillary Clinton was the topic of discussion, I heard this question posed: “Is Karl Rove an evil genius or just plain evil?” I have an answer to that. Who
A NOTE TO SHELLY STERLING
Dear Mrs. Sterling, I would like to address your comment about your husband Donald possibly having dementia. First, though, what happened to last week’s diagnosis of prostate cancer? Neither you nor he have mentioned anything about that. Was he misdiagnosed?
THE FACES OF RACISM
This has been a busy few weeks for racist comments dominating the news. First came Cliven Bundy, the Nevada rancher who refused to pay grazing fees, racking up a debt of a million dollars, and who then called in heavily
MY CHILDHOOD HOME
Months ago, I wrote a piece called Ghosts and Tractor Blades, about the demolition of my childhood home. Since I wrote that, I’ve visited my old neighborhood often, walking past what was once our house, then walking up the hill