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“People call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat or a prostitute” – Rebecca West I am a woman who cannot tolerate being held back, caged in, cornered or abused by anyone or anything in any format. So my skin crawled and my fists clenched this past week as news reports in Cleveland, Ohio, announced that three young women, kidnapped and held captive by a sadistic, skeezy, sexual predator for more than a decade, were finally found and saved. And it all happened in the house next door in the neighborhood where anyone could live, and no one caught

“Do not regret growing older. It is a privilege denied to many”-Unknown This week the actress Laura Linney was on one of the morning shows talking about her final season of “The Big C” where her character is facing the end of her life.  I have never met the actress Linney but she radiated straightforward charm and beauty.  She said portraying a character with cancer facing her own mortality made her understand “the privilege of aging.” The words lingered  in my head. We live in a strange world where a high value is placed on antiques and aged wines and where  in Manhattan

A Teen Idol, A Prep Queen and an Iron Lady Three women died last week who marked different stages of my evolution as a woman. During the 1960s I remember watching Annette Funicello leading the Mickey Mouse Club. After making my stage debut as “Trixie, the No Neck Monster” in Tennessee Williams’ “Cat On A Hot Tin Roof” at the age of five I longed to join the Club, wear mouse ears and perform on TV and film. But I was stuck in Chattanooga attending The Bright School and acting in class plays instead with costumed roles like “The Dancing Icicle” or “The Singing Grape.” When Annette danced with Frankie Avalon in “Beach

As an April Fool’s joke last week Twitter announced it was charging for vowels. This resulted in a barrage of vowel-less chitter. But did it really matter? We live in an world of abbreviation.  Twitter has taught us to communicate in 140 characters. Text messaging forces us to shorten words. Businesses speak in acronyms.   Here is an example: I have an MBA in marketing CPG. My boss needs a PPT report on my SKUS B4 EOD. But my AM is MIA 2day and his AA is OTL. I work my ass off to get the report finished and then find out that the boss will

How many of you remember the “Seven Dirty Words You Can’t Say on TV” by the late comedian, George Carlin? I was still an adolescent when his album came out but I remember the words to this day: shitpissfuckcuntcocksuckermotherfuckertits. It’s amazing the things that stay with you when I can’t seem to remember my passwords to my online bank accounts or even LinkedIn these days. I’ve decided to create my own list of Seven Words I Never Want To Hear On TV or Anywhere. I feel these words are, in no particularly order: overused, misused or abusive. Here you go: Retarded: This

I once wrote the lyrics to a country music song, “Love Don’t Stick To My Teflon Heart.” It’s about dealing with love and rejection and how your broken heart may be fried like an egg but it will never crack. I hope it sells one day and makes me Platinum. (Dolly P., Nashville, are you listening??) The terms “Teflon” and “Tar Baby” have been around in politics for awhile. Ronald Reagan was called “The Teflon President.” Criticism never seems to stick to “Teflon” people.  The term “Tar Baby” has generated criticism for its racist overtones even though it originated from the Tales of Uncle Remus which I read as

Wherever I go, whatever I do and whenever I am faced with major decisions, I rely on two soul sisters. One is the Per-Sister and the other is the Re-Sister. They are a lot like the Doctor Doolittle’s Push-Me/Pull-You, except, in this case, one pushes me forward to pursue my dreams, and the other pulls me back in line when I am about to make a misstep. Together, they give me the balance I need to navigate the course of my life. The Per-Sister is tenacious. She’s like a terrier with a toy that she won’t let go of. When there is a goal in mind,

New York City, where I live, lost a great man this week, native son and former Mayor, Ed Koch.  First a lawyer, then a Congressman, he idolized his city, and as Mayor, led New York through, and out of, some of its darkest days. Even after he left office, he remained an upbeat voice for the city throughout the rest of his life, an ambassador unequaled for the people, the causes, and ideals he believed in. Koch was known for asking people “How Am I Doing?” It did not really matter how anyone responded, because Ed Koch possessed an abundance of confidence, and he believed he was doing just fine. I often

How many times have you complained about the size of your thighs, that extra few inches around your waist or the wiggle under your arms? For many of us after the holidays this can become daily commentary. I confess, I am one of those self-absorbed who is constantly scrutinizing my looks, always attempting to improve and frequently exercising restraint over the dinner plate while ramping up exercising in the gym. I have been that way since childhood for many many reasons starting with being an ugly duckling as a child, taunted as a school girl and then growing up to be a societal- and self-styled Type A

I woke up this morning unable to speak. What little voice I have is coarse and scratchy; my head is spinning and and my body aches. I realized after a few attempts at talking to my husband even in a low tone, it was not worth the effort. I opted to spend the rest of the day being quiet. It is a rare occasion to find me speechless, and it made me think of other ways to express myself. I could have spent the day curled up in bed lost in my thoughts and body aches. But a little voice inside of me said: “Get up and write. Speak out.

Many of us have annual traditions this time of the year. They usually involve special celebrations with friends and family, unpacking treasured ornaments for a tree, and bringing out dog-eared pages from magazines and cookbooks to prepare holiday dishes. My tradition is pulling out a diary that records the year and my perspective of it. I write down where I spent Christmas, New Years and my birthday, who I was with, how the world was doing and how I was doing in general. I have a small library of diaries, five to be exact, recorded over two decades. I have