I taught my son how to play video games. Now he's teaching me.
I had just finished filming Season 1 of "Game of Thrones." Then I was struck with the first of two aneurysms.
I felt humiliated singing a song about honor when I could only feel shame. As I stood in yellowface, I had finally fulfilled my quest to become white.
Does this make me old and out of touch? Dunno, how about I smoke a modern vape pen and fixate on that for the next few hours.
As my handmade wardrobe grows, my confidence as an attorney grows, too. My pencil skirts buoy me before judges. My knit dresses keep me cozy in the office.
On studying — and coping with — tinnitus.
Should I have stopped breastfeeding when I returned to work in order to demonstrate my commitment to my career? Am I only valuable to the workforce when I've finished having children and they're all in school?
I sit in these luxurious homes with the massive TVs, the weird and inoffensive art, the fanciest baby stuff, the coffee-table books.
The difficulty of cutting ties with a long-time friend, and the easy of jumping into a game of "Apex Legends."
Growing up is fragmentation and reassembly, but now I mourn those things that can never be put back together. I think about the fact that none of the people I now call home will ever know the father I grew up with.
The internet is now the world's largest subduction zone, where an endless column of young, mostly white males are overtaken and crushed by the unstoppable force of far-right extremism.
Even though Karl makes it abundantly clear that he still thinks I'm sexy, me and my soft and worn-out grandma body don't always agree.
This Christmas, like every other, I traveled to northern Wisconsin to stay with my parents on the dairy farm I grew up on. As usual I took the opportunity to help my dad and younger brother with barn chores and milk cows. I didn't help out every shift but I worked more than enough to once again be humbled about the life I left behind and recalibrate my nostalgia.
Book-hoarding is less cute if you think of it as book-privatizing.
At my core, I believe that if you have money, your life is easier. If a person grew up rich, or with relative financial security, then I just can't relate to them at all.
Fifty years after my mother slept with her married boss and got pregnant with me, I’m coming out of hiding.
Doctor Sunita Puri recalls her first days in palliative care.
After the 2011 disaster, which killed his grandmother and laid waste to his ancestral home, an American journeys to Japan to search for what the tsunami left in its wake.
I lived with two maximalist sisters who loved being alive and taught me how to be happy.
In 2017, I became friends with Lewinsky — the person, not the political football. And I have not been able to look back on those days watching the impeachment proceedings the same way since.
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