If you tell me you have a child, I’m probably going to ask what his or her name is, mostly because I want to discern what type of person you are based on the name you picked. I find name choice a fascinating little corner of the attic that is the human mind.
If I was born a boy, I would have been named Alexander. But by the time my brother was born, my parents were on to John/Jack. Would Jack have been a different person if he were Alexander? I put a call out on my Facebook page last week for people to reveal their “other” name, and got some pretty fun tales in response:
Anne Elizabeth Moore: Guess what. Buffy. For reals. My parents expected me to be a red-headed boy, and would have named that boy Buffy. Thankfully by the time they did have a red-headed boy, I had talked them out of that insanity.
Alissa Rowinsky Wright: Adam. But, initially, they were going to name me Black Elk. A totally appropriate name for a Jewish kid about to be born in Topeka, Kansas. Thanks, hippie parents, for coming to your senses!
Jessica Grose : Zeke.
By this point, I'm loath 
This weekend, Rachel Shteir published a piece in the New York Times called “
You'd think that with the It Gets Better project and a lower tolerance for bad behavior, bullying would be on its way out as a social phenomenon. Unfortunately, it seems like every day another story comes out about someone who took his or her own life due to torment they received from their peers. Today's interviewee has been very busy discussing what she learned while researching her book
No big deal. It’s 9:45 on a Tuesday night and I’m just laying, completely naked, on a massage table in a line of other massage tables also covered by other completely nude women, none of whom I know.
I come from alone time stock.