stories

There's an article in TIME Magazine reporting on the latest hot controversy: Should aging, i.e., senior, women dye their hair? Apparently senior women should be ashamed of "not being honest" if they don't let all the grey hang out.Anybody else (I suppose we could call them "junior women," as if they're still in training to be women) can color hair with abandon. Awwwwwwww.... c'maaan. Anyone who believes this should be a controversy has too much time on their hands.

4:15 pm, August 29, 2007.

I have a cat. His name is ChinnChinn. And that doesn't begin to tell the story. I'm starting this now because sometime pretty soon I must change the tense in that last paragraph: I had a cat. His name was ChinnChinn. Barring another miracle, of course.

Planning a trip this summer? You may want to walk. Drive. Boat. Take a train. ANYthing but fly. So far this summer air travel has pretty much been a recipe for disaster. Crashes are up, service is down. (Don't believe me on that last? Check USA Today's passenger ratings, or JD Power & Associates' 2007 North American Airline Satisfaction Study.) [...]

When Father's Day rolls around I usually wind up wishing I were five years old again. That's because as a five year old I ALWAYS knew what Dad wanted for Father's Day: a macaroni-covered picture of a house, decorated with red yarn. I don't know exactly when I stopped being so sure of that, but that was the point at [...]

When I hit my 20s in California, we knew that you were what you drove. The first question out of a girl's mouth was liable to be "where's your car?" when interviewing prospective dates. Given California's non-existent dress code it was the most reliable indicator we had. Old Beemers and Volvo station wagons were driven by eccentrics who might be serial killers or elementary school teachers, yuppies drove new Beemers, doctors drove Mercedes, guys who were cheating on their wives drove convertibles, and old fogeys drove Cadillacs.