Archive | Ruby Intuition

The GIF That Can Kill

were-trumpI woke with a voice screaming in my ear and this is what it said:

Oy, oy, oy! Stop treating the RNC convention–the Trump candidacy in general–like it’s a reality show you can rubberneck with no consequences. This is real, and Trump has progressed this far because we’ve treated him like a never-gonna-happen joke rather than the 21st-century Hitler he truly is. He is a danger, he feeds on our smugness, and he tromps over our nitpicking while we pat ourselves on the back. We need to steamroll this malignant narcissist, not make adorable GIFs at his expense. Continue Reading →

The Magic of My Pits

pitsIt’s Tuesday, the day I tape my NY1 show, which means I am facing my weekly dilemma: To shave or not to shave. In all candor, I’ve always hated shaving my armpits though I enjoy smooth legs. And while some are repulsed by underarm hair, I find it beautiful and powerful and the source of some of my best magic (like antennae to other worlds, maybe). I also super-hate that all earmarks of adult femininity–adult female bodies, period–are so scorned and feared. I never, ever shaved when I was younger, in fact. It was only when I served as bridesmaid in a traditional Southern wedding and began working for a mean-girl tabloid that I buckled to pressure. These days I only prune in preparation for TV–which is also when I iron my clothes and hair and apply a whole layer of makeup rather than just lipstick. (I only mind the shaving.) I know there are bigger things going on in our world–like way bigger–but more and more I feel like a sell-out for shearing my precious fur. This does not mean I think other women are bad feminists when they do so; it means I am failing my personal feminism because I am modifying my body out of social compulsion rather than desire. Bottom line: Looks like I’m going to start wearing long sleeves once a week this summer.

Venus Approaches

The_Birth_of_Venus_by_William-Adolphe_Bouguereau_(1879)

July approaches, and peonies still preside on my bedside table though their season used to end in May. I chalk it up to the unseasonably mild weather, and complain not.

The baby doves on my fire escape are not babies anymore but also are still hanging out, peep-peep-peeping while their mother fusses over them like all the other Brooklyn mommies. Every morning as I drink my coffee I watch her nag them into flying a little further while their father observes from on high. Grace watches too, ears flattened, a burr forming low in her throat. Twice I’ve had to snatch her mid-air lest she hurl at them through the screen window; she seems to have located her predatory instincts quite nicely, thank you very much. Continue Reading →

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy