In 2016 a sharp divide emerged in the US in baby naming, and this divide sheds light on why the Democratic Party is failing.
From the 1980s to 2015, androgynous names for girls surged across America. Taylor Swift’s mother perfectly captured the reasoning when she explained giving her daughter an androgynous name in 1989: “so she wouldn’t be held back if she went into business when she grew up.” This was hedge fund manager Andrea Swift applying the logic of her generation: if the world is rigged for boys, give your girl a name that lets her compete.
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One of my kids’ credit cards is maxed out. I planned on paying it, and then I didn’t have the money.
I have mastered dissociation in the face of not having money for very important things. I mean, that’s been going on for twenty years. But this feels different. Worse.
I’ve never had a steady income. I surprise even myself with the ways I make money now: managing IEP meetings, getting kids research positions. Maybe we are all surprised by our work. Because it’s not just our earnings that top out at age 40; so does our sense of control over our career. If I’m being honest, I already knew that, but who wants to be honest about career erosion? Read more
Every single college-aged kid I know has a LinkedIn profile. You’d think: what’s the point? They have no career experience. But Gen Z treats LinkedIn like an extension of their college application, which makes sense since they worked hard to frame their accomplishments within compelling personal narratives for admissions. Gen Z sees that it doesn’t make sense to throw that effort away. And what’s a better receptacle for those carefully crafted stories than LinkedIn? Read more
Sean “Diddy” Combs with his mom as his plus one
There’s widespread anger that Sean Combs was only convicted of prostitution charges, not the more serious trafficking counts. But our outrage is misdirected. Yes, the law fails domestic violence victims, but before that, the law fails to protect children from the conditions that produce both predators and victims. And if we don’t hold parents accountable for violating ethical obligations, we can’t protect children at all.
My to-do list when the kids were home was divided into A’s, B’s and C’s. The A’s were emergencies — like ordering a SpongeBob cake. The B’s were waiting to become emergencies, like seeing if swimsuits still fit. The C’s were things I couldn’t admit I wasn’t doing. It was like my off-site storage for wishes.
Once both kids were in college I did what everyone does with off-site storage: ignore it. But after a year, I took a peek. And this jumped out at me: attack people who think there’s virtue in conscientiousness. I felt an urgent need to do this because people think I would have more money saved—any money saved—if I were more conscientious. But I know the truth: conscientiousness has no impact on success except being a gateway drug to perfectionism. Read more
I had to retrain my brain to be a parent. It took a decade because I was going through the five stages of grief. For me, the longest stage was denial, because as long as I kept working full time I didn’t have to deal with the reality of my new life. Read more
It looked like a touching moment. Isaiah Hartenstein, fresh off an NBA championship win, carried his sleeping infant onto the podium to celebrate. Cameras panned. Fans cheered. But the sound levels on that stage were louder than a jet engine—reaching 120 to 130 decibels. That’s the threshold where irreversible hearing damage can happen in seconds. And millions of people watched, thinking this was what fatherhood should look like.
On top of that, Hartenstein held his infant with one hand around the middle while gesturing wildly with the other—a position that left the baby’s head and neck completely unsupported. Even teammates reminded him to support the baby’s head, but Hartenstein ignored the advice entirely. Read more
No Artificial Coke (2016) by Clara Hallencreutz
The Poem of the Day was Having a Fight with You. I click.
is like being burned up
in a twelfth-floor elevator.
Or drowned in a flipped SUV
My heart starts to race. I know those feelings—of not being able to breathe, not being able to move. In the corner of my bedroom on the floor while my mom stood over me, hitting me. Or trapped and naked on my dad’s lap while his hand spanked and slapped. Read more
For the past 30 days, millions of people have watched the Karen Read trial live. I tuned in three weeks ago on a whim. At this point, I’m relieved the closing arguments are tomorrow because I’ve even changed the dog-walk schedule to accommodate voire dire.
At first, I kept watching because I could imagine myself as Karen Read.
She was a financial analyst and former professor dating a cop named John O’Keefe in Canton, an insular Boston suburb full of peopple in law enforcement. Karen’s in her forties with no kids, and she loved John’s kids. If I squint, I can see that being my life. Especially the part about how she didn’t know the townies disliked her. Read more