“What a week,” Robert Costa, moderator of PBS’ “Washington Week,” sometimes begins his broadcast. But really, he could just say that every week. Another mass shooting. Another celebrity – or 10 – accused of sexual harassment. Puerto Rico still mainly without power. It’s sort of like an evil “Groundhog Day.” ...
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Amanda Hess’ Sunday New York Times Magazine piece about our ambivalence toward anti-aging is but the latest commentary about the disconnect between ourselves and our bodies, and by “ourselves” I mean women and their bodies. It is a disconnect that affects men as well – though not to the extent that it does women.
Hess describes how Allure magazine has declared war on “anti-aging,” featuring Helen Mirren on the cover, draped in a boy-toy – the same Helen Mirren who played Cleopatra, of whom Shakespeare wrote, “Age cannot wither her nor custom stale her infinite variety.”
And yet, Hess notes, the same issue of Allure carried an ad for the new L’Oréal Paris moisturizer, part of its Age Perfect brand (of which I’m a big fan), featuring – you guessed it, Helen Mirren. ...
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She was born at the beginning of one summer and died toward the end of another. And like the season that framed her life – deceptively soft, blinding in its glare – hers was too short.
Thursday marks the 20th anniversary of the passing of Diana, Princess of Wales. Time is a funny thing. It heals, they say, all wounds, carrying us out on its merciless tide. But what it really is is another country. The world is a very different place now than the one Diana left. ...
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Two of the best Sunday afternoons I’ve spent recently found me taking a break from blogging and novel-writing to relish show jumping at Old Salem Farm in North Salem, N.Y. and polo at Connecticut’s Greenwich Polo Club. Both sports figure in the third planned novel in my series “The Games Men Play,” a tale of blood and bloodlines about rival horse families told in part from the viewpoint of a racehorse trying to become the first since Whirlaway to win the Triple Crown and the Travers at Saratoga. ...
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Look for me this summer as I take my new novel, "The Penalty for Holding," on the road. This Saturday, June 3, I’ll be among the vendors at "LOFT Pride 2017" – the LOFT’s third annual Pride celebration – from noon to 5 p.m. at 252 Bryant Ave. in White Plains. This is a fun event, with food, music, a costume contest, a pet parade and more – rain or shine.
Then join me June 13 at Bloomingdale’s White Plains from 5 to 8 p.m. at the "Fashion Food Faire," presented by T. Fraser Productions. I'll be "modeling" an outfit at Bloomie's La Provence restaurant. But also check out my table where I'll sign copies of "The Penalty for Holding" as well as "Water Music," the first book in my series "The Games Men Play."
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President Donald J. Trump campaigned on the notion of a new deal, as it were, for the American worker.
So why is the American worker under siege three weeks into his presidency?
He has threatened to impose a 20-percent tariff on Mexican imports, which would no doubt ensure tariffs on American exports to Mexico like corn and soy.
He has instigated a ban on seven Muslim countries – a ban whose stay the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals has just upheld – which would threaten American universities and a tech industry that relies on the best and the brightest worldwide.
And he has shamed a major retailer, Nordstrom, for dropping daughter Ivanka’s line – Neiman Marcus has dropped her jewelry – thereby giving pause to those who would do business with and in America. ...
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The devil, they say, is in the details. And so it proved recently as I found myself serving and volleying furiously in a conversation with my Republican uncle about Barack Obama and Donald Trump. (If this had been a tennis match, it would’ve been John McEnroe and Ilie Nastase circa 1979, Madison Square Garden – don’t ask.)
Normally, I am the soul of forbearance with said uncle, who is elderly and served in the Korean Conflict – as he often reminds me. And I have a high tolerance for personal insults, being a confident person and having spent more than 35 years in a newsroom. But when someone I love or admire is attacked, my back is up. Uncle disparaged the current president, and we were off, shouting and talking over each other like a particularly maniacal Eleanor Clift and Pat Buchanan on the late, lamented “The McLaughlin Group.” (The idiosyncratic political round table was even funnier than its “Saturday Night Live” sendup.)
Late into the dustup with Uncle, he delivered what he no doubt thought was the coup de grace: The outfit I wore to the family’s Thanksgiving gathering made me look like a bag lady. ...
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