• Archive


  • A beginner’s guide to retirement

    Just imagine.  You wake up naturally every day without the jolt of your alarm.  You no longer have hundreds of daily emails you can’t deal with because you’re in endless, pointless meetings.  No silly office politics.  No more rah rah corporate bullshit-of-the-month strategies to increase...
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  • Science schmience

    Marco Rubio doesn’t agree with 97 percent of scientists who have come to the conclusion that humans are causing climate change.  For the record, Marco also doesn’t believe anybody saw him bob and weave for a water bottle during last year’s response to the president’s...
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  • My (not) to-do list

    1.  Don’t ever assume any topic is safe to discuss with my Tea Party brother.  While chatting on FaceTime last week, I brought up the missing plane. “Just imagine,” I said, “if there were more Americans on that flight, this country would go crazy.” “This...
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  • Fifty is the new f*cked

    It’s not the new 40.  It’s certainly not the new 30.  Being in your 50s is a punch to the gut. Oh sure, the signs of aging are gradual, but the minute your first, unsolicited AARP membership card comes in the mail, a bright spotlight...
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  • You’re a fine man, Howard Fineman

    I’ve had a crush on you for quite some time.  When you appear in your contributor role on MSNBC, I stop dead in my tracks.  My right hand instinctively goes for the “+ volume” button on the remote and I am yours for the next...
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  • Sleeveless in Seattle

    It’s a brand new year and I’ve got the same old resolution – to lose weight.  I can’t remember a time when I was content with my body.  At 16, I wore a size seven bikini and thought I was fat.  Now that I’m actually...
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  • Enough with the Hitler comparisons

    Funny thing happened on the way to the podium at Nelson Mandela’s memorial service.  Barack Obama ran into Raul Castro.  As I watched it in real time, I winced, but not for the handshake.  It was the dreaded bow.  You see, Raul is much shorter...
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  • November 22, 1963

    If you are of my generation, you know exactly where you were the day my mom’s worst boyfriend skipped town. I was nine years old.  My father died six years earlier and my mother was on boyfriend number 53 (or so it seemed.) In the...
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  • 58 and fired

    It’s taken me a year to write about being sacked by corporate America.  Not out of sadness or shame or writer’s block.  No, it was hope. Hope that I would be hired by another company and then fear they might Google me, find this column...
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