LET’S say you have what you believe to be a healthy marriage. You’re still friends and lovers after spending more than half of your lives together
Dov Charney's office, in the corner of the top floor of American Apparel's factory headquarters in downtown Los Angeles — like American Apparel retail locations around the world, like Charney's house in nearby Echo Park and his apartment on the Lower East Side of New York, like Charney's mind itself — is a colorful, cluttered, retro-themed and stimulating place.
Bruce Bartlett, a domestic policy adviser to Ronald Reagan and a treasury official for the first President Bush, told me recently that ''if Bush wins, there will be a civil war in the Republican Party starting on Nov. 3.
The city is full of people we can't reach. We pass them on sidewalks, sit across from them in the subway and in restaurants; we glimpse their lighted windows from our own lighted windows late at night. That's in New York.
In most public accounts of divorce, there is no confusion as to why the couple is splitting up. The reasons are so sound -- the trails of manipulation, exploitation and betrayal so thick -- the only mystery is why the couple were together in the first place. Is it possible to imagine that Ronald loved Patricia or that Donald truly cared for Marla
If you wanted to pick the moment when the American news business went on suicide watch, it was almost exactly three years ago. That’s when Stephen Colbert, appearing at the annual White House Correspondents’ Association dinner, delivered a monologue accusing his hosts of being stenographers who had, in essence, let the Bush White House get away with murder (or at least the war in Iraq).
The suitcases were loaded onto pickup trucks and driven hundreds of miles north into the Sahara, where the bearded fighters, who would soon become an official arm of Al Qaeda, counted the money on a blanket thrown on the sand.
David Dunning, a Cornell professor of social psychology, was perusing the 1996 World Almanac. In a section called Offbeat News Stories he found a tantalizingly brief account of a series of bank robberies committed in Pittsburgh the previous year.
One October afternoon three years ago while I was visiting my parents, my mother made a request I dreaded and longed to fulfill. She had just poured me a cup of Earl Grey from her Japanese iron teapot, shaped like a little pumpkin; outside, two cardinals splashed in the birdbath in the weak Connecticut sunlight.
Almost anyone who loves tennis and follows the men’s tour on television has, over the last few years, had what might be termed Federer Moments. These are times, as you watch the young Swiss play, when the jaw drops and eyes protrude and sounds are made that bring spouses in from other rooms to see if you’re O.K.