Sleep is having its moment in the sun -- or, more appropriately, its moment in a darkened room, with blackout shades drawn, the temperature somewhere between 60 and 67 degrees Fahrenheit, all smartphones and tablets banished from the room and mayb...
Yo, you. Get off that park bench. Put your hands in these holes. Dude. Did you just flick that butt on the playground? Aw, stop your whimpering. Public scorn. Now, smile.
Hours before I headed over to my polling place Tuesday, I logged into Facebook expecting the usual assortment of free-floating outrage, sappy uplift and pet photos. Instead, I got status update after status update exhorting me to vote.
"Going to any good Halloween parties?" the barista at my favorite coffeehouse asked one day this week. Dracula himself could not have struck more horror in my heart. Why didn't he ask me something simple? Let him ask who the next governor should be.
Here's one tic I wish I could tame in my writing: colons. I love colons. Because I love colons so much, it pains me to acknowledge that my attraction to them borders on addiction.
Elaine Soloway is not Shelly Pfefferman. Amazon's new TV series "Transparent," praised by some critics as the best new show of the fall season, is not the story of her family. Soloway can't say that strongly enough.