Culture

Last week, my grid was swept away: My iPhone went berserk and crapped out on me entirely. What followed can best be described as a tsunami of anxiety. Sure, a tech detox seems great theoretically, but on my own terms. This was 100% involuntary.

Self-care is important. Massages are a good form of self-care. Too bad I keep thinking about what I'm going to make for dinner.

A new feature with music picks tailor-made to ensure your weekend jam sessions are absolutely ravishing.

Forget a cute story of wizard wonderment — the real moral of Harry Potter is that life is an endless parade of pain and turmoil where you have to watch everyone you’ve ever loved die.

After this, I’m not going to be able to complain about Meghan Trainor and having to teach my son that "All About That Bass" is talking about girls with big booties.

This woman has serious swagger. It’s a slightly more subtle swagger than, say, Snoop Lion, but it’s there: in the nonchalant flick of her wrist while tossing garlic cloves into a food processor; in her decision to throw a spontaneous formal garden party just because she made a frittata, and in her firm pronouncements to use only “good” ingredients — without ever defining what that means.

After years in apartments that should have been condemned, even these sad restroom facilities were vast improvements. And so we stayed, the husband and I, vaguely embarrassed when guests stayed over and commented on the bordello vibe of the bathroom.

Then we had a kid. No working bathtub suddenly seemed like a big deal. And the functional bathroom spaces weren’t places you’d want to hang out. There’s a lot of bathroom time once you’ve got tiny humans. (You’ve been warned.)