Book Tours Are Such A

Ladies. Large Masses Of Girls Are Often Prone To This Salutation. I Hate Being Mollified With This Unsolicited "ladies" Business. I Know We're All Women. I Am Conscious Of My Breasts. Do I Have To Be Conscious Of Yours As Well? Do Men Do This? Do They Go, "men: Meet For Ribs In The Shed After The Game. Keg Beer, Raw Eggs, And Death Metal Only." I Would Imagine Not.

New Yorkers Have A Delightfully Narcissistic Habit Of Assuming That If They're Not Conscious Of A Scene, It Doesn't Exist.

We've Come To Expect So Little From Online Privacy Measures That Public Displays Of Concern About The Matter Are More Or Less For Show. Being Devastated To Discover You've Been Tagged In Somebody Else's Photo Has An Air Of The Melodramatic About It At This Point.

Air Travel Is The Safest Form Of Travel Aside From Walking; Even Then, The Chances Of Being Hit By A Public Bus At 30,000 Feet Are Remarkably Slim. I Also Have No Problem With Confined Spaces. Or Heights. What I Am Afraid Of Is Speed.

I Was Taught That Candles Are Like House Cats - Domesticated Versions Of Something Wild And Dangerous. There's No Way To Know How Much Of That Killer Instinct Lurks In The Darkness. I Used To Think The House-burning Paranoia Was The Result Of Some Upper-middle-class Fear Regarding The Potential Destruction Of A Half-million-dollar Westchester House The Size Of A Matchbox. But Then I Realized The Fear Stemmed From Something Far Less Complex: We're Not Used To Fire. Candles Are A Staple Of The Judaic Existence And, Like Many Suburban Residents Before Us, We're Pretty Bad Jews.