It’s that time of year, folks – the dog days of summer… those languid days that pour out drip by drip like warm, sticky molasses. I have an annual tradition right around now: I call it Writer’s Block.
When you write about politics and culture for a living, it’s sometimes difficult to separate the two, which can be a drag. It’s tough to savor the pleasures of even the most fanciful entertainment – a children’s movie, for instance – when your message meter is always on high alert.
Remember when you were little, and you and your friends played “House"? One of you would be The Mommy and one The Daddy, and you’d dress up your baby dolls and push them around in strollers?
Like many a modern girl, Sex And The City, the movie, isn’t quite sure what it wants to be. You might even say it has a split personality… sends mixed signals… says one thing but means another. Isn’t that just like a woman?
By the time you read this, Mother’s Day will have come and gone. As I write, it’s still a couple of days away, and I’m doing what I do best – endlessly (and, I fear, pointlessly) contemplating something everybody else just gets on with, already. Motherhood today.