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The season finale of Rock of Love, starring gone-to-pot hair-metal star Bret Michaels, is on this Sunday night. I haven’t seen every episode, and I haven’t played a drinking game since college, but I’ve seen enough to know that this show is crying out to be turned into a drinking game.

One reason for that is Bret is a drinker. I know this partly because he makes a point of mentioning it every 6.2 minutes; and partly because, according to him, the women who have been competing for his affections are “25 of the most beautiful women on the planet,” something a sober person would never say about this crew. (more…)

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I have a love-hate relationship with The New York Times Style Section:  while I read it religiously, I find myself insulted by the way it treats my generation, as though we’re all a bunch of self-absorbed idiots with $3,000 to spend on a handbag.  Take the cover story this past Sunday, on Life Lists.  Apparently, Generation X, of which I’m a member, is fond of compiling lists of things they must do before they die. (more…)

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Like many women, I didn’t change my last name when I got married. It wasn’t an overtly political decision, or at least it didn’t feel like one. I just couldn’t imagine having any other name than the one I already had. My husband didn’t care, so what was the point of going to all that trouble? Getting married felt conservative enough in itself. Besides, my lifelong wish was to be a writer.  When I thought about seeing my name on a book jacket as a child, I didn’t think of my first name plus the last name of whomever I would marry.

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I never wanted children, and neither did my husband. In fact, that was part of why I wanted to marry him in the first place. We spent the first seven years of our marriage in childless bliss.

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From now on, the public will know Virginia Tech as the setting of an inexplicable murder spree, the worst shooting incident in America’s history. I graduated from Virginia Tech in 1992, and despite the media’s best efforts, I refuse to think of it as the new Columbine.   

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We were at Newgrange, a 5,000 year-old tomb designed by ancient engineers to capture the sun at the winter solstice.  Our tour group piled off the bus, awe-struck just as much by the sprawling green pastures and big Irish sky as by the structure itself. (more…)