All posts tagged: Margit’s Note

Summer Issue: 90s Bitch

Hanging in my office at the Philadelphia City Paper in the 90s, was a wildly vivid, fluorescent-colored poster that read “Las Lunachicks” and it featured an illustration of a woman with jet-black hair, mouth open in anger, brandishing a gun aimed to rain hell on anyone who got in her way. Designed by artist Frank Kozik for Riot Grrrl band The Lunachicks, the poster epitomized the moment in time, maybe my own internal monologue. A woman at the beginning of her career, screaming against the patriarchy, vying to be heard by any means necessary. Back then you might have called her a bitch, but she was cool as hell to me. The Lunachicks were loud, garish, three-chord punk rock with albums like Babysitters on Acid, Binge & Purge, Pretty Ugly. I liked them just fine; I liked so many artists at the time — as a music editor it was my job. But that poster was everything. I got it in 1993 and it stayed on my office wall for the rest of the decade. …

March Issue: Rise and Shine

At the Oscars Sunday Night, Frances “the fiercest” McDormand asked all the nominated women to rise from their seats. “Look around, ladies and gentlemen, because we all have stories to tell and projects we need financed.” It was an incredibly powerful sight to see multiple women poke up across the vast theater (also disheartening that in that huge crowd, there weren’t more.) We sure do have tales to tell.  This is our moment. Women are rising up and speaking their truths — whether adding to the empowering, system-changing #metoo chorus or depicting women not just in their glory, but in their struggles as McDormand did in Three Billboards. These are not the stories we always want to tell — these are the stories we have to tell, the ones that make us whole. In our issue this month, we explore all the different kinds of power women find when they rise up, from finding a strength after the destruction of a marriage; letting childhood hopes and dreams wash away in rising tides; or even simply embracing …

Winter Issue: Trust

When we started planning this latest issue TRUST months ago, we couldn’t have predicted how relevant that term would be this week. Over the last few days, the #MeToo phenomenon  — women bravely sharing stories of sexual harassment and assault in social media — has been both heartening and deeply disturbing.  Our feeds have been filled with friends recounting — many for the very first time — incidents from childhood, from college, from adulthood.  From belittling innuendo, to a confusing, inappropriate touch (did that really just happen?), to domestic abuse, and rape, one after another, the stories are pouring out of us. My heart breaks a little with each post. Yet, there is strength in numbers and strength in the truth. We are compelled to share and, as women with experience, we trust each other to listen and hold those words sacred. The warm community of TueNighters, whether online or at our live events, continues to be a saving grace for many of us, a place to trust, commiserate, clutch our bellies in laughter and offer a thumbs up when we need …

April Issue: Ready, Set, SWAP!

Oh MY we have a jam-packed issue this week, friends. Because this week, we’re all about swaps — trades, pivots, shifts and changes big and small. And by the time you get to be a woman of certain age, well, you’ve probably swapped a bunch, by choice or otherwise. This week, we’re swapping careers, our age, our clothes, our shrink, our kids’ names and we have a beautiful piece about more of a transition: a mother shares the story of her child’s new name — and gender — on a brand new birth certificate. We’re sending out our issue early today so you can snag yourself a ticket and see most of these stories LIVE at TueNight Live. We’re also planning to have a real, live swap meet. I’m bringing three of my own items to trade — think Kajagoogoo, Shephard Fairey and colorforms. Curious? Come with your own swaps and find out. If you’re not in NYC and can’t make it, we’ll be Facebook Live-ing right here. And in other Facebook news, we’ve started …

Margit’s Note: Choose Your Own Adventure

I turn 50 in June. I’m supposed to be lying to you about that, but nah. How old am I? I’m this many. Five Zero. I’ve earned my stripes. How does one celebrate half a century? I’ve been to a few fabulous 50 birthdays recently (remember, when you turn 50, many of your friends do too) — karaoke in a dive bar; 100 people sweating it out in a studio apartment, witnessing a friend (via Facebook) leap into the sky. My husband reminds me that I partied a little too hard and puked at my 40th. I’d rather not do that this year. For this milestone, I think I’d prefer a few mini trips with close friends. I’m not the sort to heave myself out of an airplane or do a soul-seeking trek to Tibet — I’m a little major-adventure averse. I’m not even keen about driving a car, thanks to a decade-plus of living car-less-ly in NYC. But taking a long weekend to a new spot with one or two really close pals? That seems like a …

Margit’s Note: Cozy Up

Slide into the soft pants, wrap up in a blanket, put the kettle on, turn on some grooves and let’s find some comfort. The Danes have it right in their Hygge practice — which is now, for obvious reasons, all the rage. In these times when we feel uneasy about our world, we look for ways to soothe our bodies, soul and surroundings. Yet comfort isn’t just about the tactile — the hot bath or the warm hug — but your environs, your state of mind, your security, your sense of peace with yourself. “The most common form of despair is not being who you are,” said Kierkegaard. To find comfort is also to relax into our truest state — to find home. Music is my ultimate comfort drug. It envelopes me, moves me off my seat, soothes and is an instant mood changer. Scratch that; it’s better than any drug. While writing this, I’m listening to one of my most easy-breezy Spotify playlists. It has a West Coast soul vibe: “Strawberry Letter 23” by …

Margit’s Note: One From the Deck

This week, we’re throwing our cards in the air and running a theme that has no theme: WILDCARD. A wild card is, of course, a card that that can be used in any situation. So, whether you’re looking for a tale about love, loss, fights, kids, pets, parents or turning 50, we’ve got you covered in this edition.  It’s a grab-bag of awesome. A virtual variety pack of yarns. Ok, ok… We’ve even made a zany little Spotify Wild Card soundtrack to go along with your stories! Listen in here or here: This Week: Susan McPherson dates online after 50. (Did he really just text that?!) Ericka Kreutz’s kid punched another kid, and it might be her fault Amy Barr doesn’t want another dog…most of the time Deb Copaken shares the loss of her father with her sisters Nancy Davis Kho has a midlife (whatever) crisis And Dave Statman competes on Joker’s Wild — and wins a career. We’re wilding out, Margit

Darian’s Note: Are You My Mentor?

The word “mentor” used to make me feel uncomfortable. The idea of another person helping to guide my career in a formal way made me cringe growing up — but today I also cringed as I wrote that sentence. Because I realize now that my uncomfortable-ness was founded in nothing. In fact, my entire life, good people have been gracious enough to guide me through my passions, and I see that I wouldn’t be where I am without them. Now that I’ve been working in media for the past three and a half years (which is not long, but the 2016 election makes it feel like a lifetime), I understand how crucial women like Maria Stephanos, who taught me how to survive in a newsroom, or Kela Walker, who I’d Facetime to practice for an audition, are. Or Danyel Smith, who has really become more like a good friend. Or Yvette Noel-Schure, who welcomed me into her home when New York City felt less than welcoming. Quite frankly, there is no room to feel uncomfortable …

Margit’s Note: What Did You Just Say?

There is almost nothing that we can share with anyone — or anyone can share with us — that we haven’t already seen six ways from Sunday on our social feeds, the news, the TV or a phone alert. My husband and I will be laying in bed in the morning with our iPhones (I know) and I’ll say, “Did you see the…” He’ll interrupt, “Yes. I saw the BBC dad, Kate McKinnon as Jeff Sessions and what Trump said about….” Sigh. It’s depressing. Like, I want the glee of being the first to share Tank and the Bangas’ brilliant, innovative tunes with you. “Please, I knew about them, like last week.” Sigh. But there are still a few things in life that get shared the analog way, mouth-to-mouth, ear-to-ear; things people say in private; things we overhear walking down the street. Like the time that random person walked by my husband and me on a Brooklyn sidewalk, leaned in and just quietly muttered, “Asshole.” (We still debate the intended recipient of that moment.) And …

Margit’s Note: It’s a Flop!

It’s really hard running a website. No, it ain’t brain surgery, as a favorite colleague used to remind me at AOL (no comment). But even for someone who has a gazillion years experience running editorial teams for dot coms, there are days when you want to hit the big red “delete all posts NOW” button. It’s especially hard when it’s your baby. Your own creation. Your side gig. Your passion project. Your potential business. Your “Hey!! Look over here! Don’t you want to pay me to do this? You know you do.” Wink wink. Hip flick. Google Analytics tells you no one liked that “PETS” issue, you’re on your sixth Art Director (because your vision, their vision and your micro-manage-y approach has led to you making Picmonkey art at the last minute…more than once) and three people have unsubscribed from your newsletter. I speak theoretically, of course. The grind of a weekly publication is no joke. But then, the next sunshine-y day, you get a traffic bonanza for a meaningful essay, 50 people attend your …

Margit’s Note: Discretionary Dollars

We renovated our apartment recently and I look at my geriatric cat who has a penchant for puking or crapping on beloved sections of new carpet and I think why on earth ever spend money on any thing. Things are silly aren’t they? I mean, things do not bring us joy, no matter what Marie Kondo says. These days, I’d rather spend any “extra” cash that doesn’t go towards food, bills, laundry, doctor bills or this website on things that make a difference in my life and in other people’s lives. Experiences, travel, a trip to Austin with my friend Shelly for my 50th, giving back to people who need it. The state of our country has made me — and a lot of folks I know — regularly spend any extra cash on people asking for help, giving back to worthy causes, setting up monthly contributions, subscriptions to endangered newspapers and not as much on stuff. I can’t tell you the last time I bought a cute pair of jeans, and that’s saying something. …

Margit’s Note: Yearning to Breathe Free

We were going to do an issue called Love for obvious (Happy Valentine’s Day!) reasons. But then, as the news about the Muslim ban, immigrants — both legal and illegal — being detained or deported, refugees trying to find a home here in the U.S. started pouring in, we felt we had to do an issue about Immigrants. Plus, embracing those that just want a chance at a better life? Now that’s love. As Americans, every one of us has an origin tale, how our ancestors came to live in America and the struggles they endured — whether it was last week or hundreds of years ago; whether it was native-born, by boat or by force.  It’s not always a joyous story; more often than not dire circumstance brought us here. Thanks to my genealogist mother, I’m lucky enough to know a bit about the first folks in my bloodline who made their way to America, with the sole intention of eventually creating me. Ok, ok, they had other reasons too. There was Mennonite Jacob Detweiler, who was sick …

Karen’s Note: Let Me Sleep On It

Insomnia scenario #1: I’m sleeping, but I can hear the freight train that runs through our backyard blasting its loud, low horn. Why is the freight train making so much noise in the middle of the night? And why is it blasting its horn so rhythmically? And how is there a freight train between two apartment buildings in Brooklyn? Oh, wait. I’m awake now. And it’s not a freight train. It’s my husband, on his back, snoring. I shove him onto his side, grab my iPhone and scroll through Facebook, maybe play some Solitaire and pray to the sleep gods for a few more hours. Insomnia scenario #2: I wake in the middle night of the night to find myself fully clothed on the living room couch, after falling asleep watching Scandal or This Is Us or Mozart in the Jungle or The Crown or The Santa Clarita Diet. (Yeah, yeah, I watch too much TV). I brush my teeth, change into pajamas and put in my TMJ-preventing mouth guard, hoping that the hours I …

Margit’s Note:  Thanks, Sis

It was a chilly 4:30am morning in Brooklyn, and I was bundled up and headed to the Women’s March in D.C. My bus was packed with pink pussy hats, mostly women —  and three guys. No one was quite awake yet. But no one wants coffee yet. It’s too damn early. I knew the organizer Sara and her sister Amy, but otherwise I didn’t know a soul. I’d nabbed one highly coveted seat to get to D.C.; I needed to be there, to represent, to feel connected in a world that seemed more and more divided. For me, this trip was semi ambitious — it was the first time I’d done anything this physically challenging since I’d recovered from cancer treatment. The idea of hoofing it and standing around for eight hours made me a little nervous, but for some reason I wanted to do this on my own, without my husband, mainly in the company of women. It wasn’t more than 10 minutes before I’d met the sparkly Yoon and Kathleen, two moms sitting across from me, cracking open their hard-boiled eggs. We bonded …

Margit’s Note: What Was I Going to Say?

The brain is a weird place. We instantly forget the name of someone we just met, but we remember every damn lyric to “Hotel California.” (“What a nice surprise, bring your alibis.” ARGH!) We rely more and more on our cloud-synced calendars, to do lists and electronic data to keep us current, and if that cloud ever crashed, our whole world would fall from bytes to bits. I am somewhat terrified of losing my memory. I remember seeing my great aunt delicately picking up a spoon to use with her salad and then putting salad dressing on her hamburger and being quietly explained to that she had lost her ability to remember how to do things. (To be fair, given today’s grain-filled salads, she might not have been so off.) As a six-year-old, I was scared to imagine that in the same way I was learning things, I might at some point unlearn them, too. I’ve often thought that there’s only enough genetic data for one sibling to get all the memory juice. For example, my sister has a photographic …

Margit’s Note: Wait! One More Thing

We are in the 11th hour of 2016 with 11 more days left. (I don’t even want to ask, “Well what else could happen in 2016?” because, heaven knows, a ton.) So what’s left to do? Did you send out your holiday cards yet? Well, DID YOU. No judgment. No panic. They can be New Year’s Cards….again. Look, there’s no shame in waiting until the last minute. This column is usually pieced together the day before or very often the day of. LIKE TODAY. You’d never know, right? Don’t answer that. Panic-induced inspiration can be a beautiful thing. Pondering and meandering left behind, you’re only left with the core task at hand and it must be done. And who cares if you bought those gifts on Christmas Eve; no one’s the wiser and you got it done, didn’t you? Good things can happen at the end of the year: You spend money on your health savings account, you give final donations to worthy causes (a few we might suggest), you tip your mail carrier, you …

Editor’s Note: We Raise Our Glass (You Bet Your Ass)

Salud! Sláinte! A votre santé! Gan Bei! L’Chaim! We couldn’t think of a better way to kick off the holiday season than a TueNight issue devoted to toast(s). It has been a doozy of a year. The last month, in particular, has left many of us on the floor, wondering where we are as a country and how we can possibly face what’s in front of us. But in the spirit of brighter futures, we decided to take time to celebrate the good that we have in our world right now. As we looked back on 2016, we thought about who and/or what we wanted to toast the most: YOU. The TueNight community. To all of you who have contributed your own stories this year. To everyone who came to the Pussy Party in November. To anyone who commented on our Facebook and Instagram posts or tweeted and re-tweeted. To those who commented on our stories and responded to our writers. To our survey participants. To every TueNight reader. There are far too many of …

Editors Note: Nasty Women Vote

For a long time, I didn’t want to take a side here on TueNight. Blame the old-school newspaper journalist in me who doesn’t think reporters should take a political stance — or the fact that our site is all about middle-aged lady essays, not politics. But then. I don’t even have to list it for you. You know what it is, what he is. The pussy grabber. A friend texted me that her daughter told her the fourth grade boys at recess have a new game: “Whoever touches the most girls’ butts wins.” I actually texted her back, kind of downplaying it, saying that “oh, that’s the age where body parts are like a hilarious, weird thing, right?” She countered, “I agree, but in this instance, I think it is Trump. You can imagine the scenario: The kid sees the news and then asks the parent, ‘What does pussy mean?’ And they fumble, ’Oh, son, it’s a bad word for a girl’s bottom…’ And then they grab.” Another friend said that as she and her …

Editor’s Note: Buddy, Buddy

This week goes out to our ride-or-die chicks (and dudes). The ones we’ve been sworn to since we were 12 (Hey, Teresa!), the ones we’ve bonded with through recent circumstances and even the ones who’ve quietly, sadly slipped away. How and why we choose our besties is a mystery of time, circumstance and sometimes similar pairs of glasses. (Hey, Stacy!) But we can always count on them, no matter what — even if we haven’t spoken with them in years. We pick up the phone, and there they are, still cracking us up. (Hey, Diane. Love you, girl.) Is it still easy to make new best friends in our 40s and beyond? As our lives become more settled, we’re pickier about what we want. We may think we have less time for spontaneous connections (unless they’re through our kids, our dog or a yoga class), but we’re still craving new, close, dynamic friendships as our lives evolve. And women are particularly good at making new friends later in life. Which, come to think of it, …

Margit’s Note: Orange You Glad Our Theme Is…

Choosing our  TueNight themes is not quite an exact science. We Tuenighters, Adrianna, Karen, Darian, Justine and myself — a handful of Gen-Xers and a couple Millennial allies — meet via Zoom video conference weekly for a virtual brainstorm. What are we personally dreaming, mulling, posting and talking about? What matters to those of us over 35? What have our formal and informal surveys told us that you want to read about? In the last one you told us: Do-Over, Best Friend, First Job, Mourn, Renovate, Siblings, Aging. Check. Check. And stay tuned. Some themes we like to do over and over like Sleep. Or Sleep. Never too much sleep. Occasionally, the spirit just moves us to a word or phrase. Hence Tasty, Prince, Period, Vice, Wife, Boobs and, who could forget, Shart Week — an issue devoted poop. (Maybe we wanted to forget that…) This week we wanted a word that combined Halloween, costumes, the omnipresent waft of cinnamon-and-pumpkin-infused items and, of course, orange-y politicians. Adrianna piped up, “Pumpkin?” We had that collective head nod. And so, Pumpkin was born. (Along with a quick search to realize Trumpkin …

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Margit’s Note: Can I Get a Do-Over?

Yesterday was one of those days. I’d overslept. The cat had pooped just to the side of her litter box. (But it’s right there Alice!) I tried to put on a jumpsuit and it took me five minutes to realize my arm was in the leg part. I was not going to make a podiatry appointment because traffic uptown was 100 percent blocked due to the UN General assembly, so I cancelled it (after fighting about a “rescheduling fee”) and hobbled to work. I’d double-booked meetings with two different friends and left one standing at my doorway texting me frantically while I had coffee with the other. Finally, in the afternoon while I was at work, the shower in our apartment leaked into the neighbor’s below and into her electrical box. The super called, needed our key, and when he couldn’t reach us he busted the lock to get in. The kind of day when you yourself would like to poop on the side of the litter box. Can I get a do-over? Please? But, …

Margit’s Note: 50 Ain’t Nothing but a #

A few weeks ago, I attended a 50th birthday bash replete with beer, karaoke, ‘80s music, wigs (of course) and a freshly minted AARP card. As a drunken reveler wrapped me in crepe paper while singing “99 Luftballons” in German (don’t ask), I realized that my friend’s party was the first of what promised to be a slew of half-century parties over the next few years as I, myself, will turn 50 next year. I needed to pace myself. Nurse a seltzer. Fifty? Seriously? I’m in this strange mash-up of a grand denial and a “no kidding; I’m 50, kiddo” kind of headspace. Many days I wonder when I stopped being 22, and other days I feel like, oh have I been there and, oh, have I done THAT. Many lives have been lived. As I live out this final year of 40s, it has already been a scary mix of illness and renovation. (Literal and figurative – we’re renovating our kitchen! Right after cancer! I am crazy!) My body is recovering, my mind is …

Margit’s Note: Who Are the People in Your Neighborhood?

Take a stroll around your block (or your subdivision, or your farm). Or drive. What do you see? Whether you’ve chosen to live here — or your environment chose you — your neighborhood is a key piece of who you are. And you are an integral part of shaping its ecosystem. Like when my neighbor spilled white paint on our sidewalk the other day. Yeegads. Now think about the neighborhood you grew up in. I’d reckon that few of us live there anymore — and even if you do, time has left its mark. They changed a street name, they put in a Starbucks, but, ok, the kid who used to eat glue still lives next door, now with his four kids. A neighborhood is not just an assemblage of houses, streets and cul de sacs, it’s people and relationships. There are legendary lives that existed before you lived there, and there will be lives after. Your neighborhood is an organic, dynamic thing and, paradoxically, a memory. It is a place fixed in time and …

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Margit’s Note: Career Criminal

Our first jobs teach us the value of a dollar and the crap we have to put up with to earn that dollar. Punch a time card. Be nice. Don’t steal the candy. We start to amass data about what we do and don’t want to do when we grow up. Watching the world share their #FirstSevenJobs has been thoroughly entertaining and enlightening — so many VPs were once babysitters, waiters and paper kids. By and large, my first jobs were menial — meant to show me the value of hard work, a way to afford my Tiger Beat addiction and often, stamp-lickingly dull. As I counted, I realized all of them occurred before I’d even left college. There was no rhyme or reason to the mix of gigs, but they probably influenced me in ways I still don’t fully understand. The things I recall about my #FirstSevenJobs have little to do with the job itself and more about the ways I avoided those jobs and/or found little deviant distractions in a strange new adult …

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Margit’s Note: The Summer of Side-Eye

I see you there. You and the mini casualties you’re creating on Facebook. Judging the way she parents, the guy she’s dating, the purple pants he’s wearing, the politics she espouses. You’re judging me right now aren’t you… Or wait, is that me? Am I doing the judging? Being judgy is dirty. It’s mostly wrong, casting stones and such. (Wait, did I just judge there?) But it’s as easy as a raised brow, and we all do it. Maybe it’s, unfortunately, part of being human. Is judging ever a good thing? Sure, in life we have to assign values to things, gather data so that we can carefully to select the right path to take — it helps us create intuition. “Use good judgment!” my dad has told me since the day I could open a can of beer. But judgy is more about the lack of data and personal bias. The world works the way I see it. Period. It’s a “should” on steroids. It’s not open-minded, and it doesn’t listen. AT ALL. And …

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Margit’s Note: An Affair to Remember

A fling means nothing. A dare. A tossed-away kiss. A happy mess you got yourself into. Temporary and mindless. It’s just a fling, after all. In the very last year of the 1980s, right after college was over, I had a purposeful fling — an oxymoron, but so it was. C and I stuck around State College. He waited tables at Ye Olde College Diner (that’s really the name); I worked at the college paper and the local department store — and we had no idea what we were going to do for the rest of our lives. We were both in the mood for temporary. Somehow we knew we weren’t made for each other, but a fling is a chance to be someone else. What a delight! Several mix tapes, deep kisses, boozy nights at Zeno’s and a month-long bout of mono later… A fling is exciting until it’s not exciting. And then, yikes. But even if the result of a fling is feeling a little too flung, the lasting memories  — and at the …

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Margit’s Note: Ms. Independence

Writing about independence is no easy task. I’ve written this little note to you three or four times, scrapping each edition and littering the page with words like “Liberty” “Freedom” and “Inalienable Rights.” It’s like Thomas Jefferson is all up in my grill. Come on Tom, back off. I’m trying to explain to my readers about we women of a certain age and independence, that the word means something particular to us because we’ve cultivated it over the years — and we fight for it every damn day. We can’t take it for granted. The point is, we need to light the sparklers and fist pump to Freedom — the freedom that a woman earns over the course of her life, that guides her decisions and allows her to forge and determine her own crazy, sexy path. As we see this week on TueNight, our path might be on a boat, on a motorcycle, in a van or even in a wheelchair. Yeah, I found independence in a wheelchair for a day. Go figure. I …

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Margit’s Note: Take a Bite

The word “Foodie” is super annoying, right? You imagine a person obsessed with the cultivation of cuisine — how it looks, smells, is plated, is grown, is sourced, is, of course, chronicled for social media. A foodie doesn’t eat to live; a foodie lives to eat… that avocado toast donut mash-up. (It’s a real thing.) Credit for the term is hotly debated, but most cite Gael Greene as first to coin the term in a 1980 New York Magazine article. She writes of a character who “slips into the small Art Deco dining room of Restaurant d’Olympe … to graze cheeks with her devotees, serious foodies.” Since then, the word has spawned three million Instagram accounts and a smattering of Portlandia episodes. Is there room for a much less discerning foodie? I’ve been known to entertain that day old slice of pizza or the questionable street cart egg sandwich. I was in Philly this past weekend, and whenever in my hometown, I must acquire a hoagie. A Wawa shortie to be exact. A true foodie …

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Margit’s Note: Tattoo You (Not Me)

I’m on a fast track to 50 and yet… when I half-jokingly ask my mother, as a preface to this issue, how she would feel if I got a tattoo she swiftly responds with a “No.” Okay, Mom. What about a commemorative, post-chemo… “Nope.” Despite Mom’s protestations, I’ve considered it. I just have zero idea of what I’d get. What’s worth a perma-doodle for my forearm? What witty, sums-it-all-up phrase could I see peeking out of a backless dress? (If I wore backless dresses.) There are plenty of tattoos I see and think, “Now why didn’t I think of that??” See this week’s theme image for the perfect example. Yet, nothing has me rushing to get needle and inked. More than likely, I’d get a tattoo, tire of it and end up with a Johnny Depp “Wino Forever” travesty. I have a poor track record with body modifications in general — a heavy, dangling feather earring in 10th grade resulted in a torn earlobe. I’ve been a clip-ons wearer ever since. But never say never. “Never.” …

Margit’s Note: Are You Up?

I am too tired to write this editor’s note for our second SLEEP issue. So I decided to delegate. You fancy folks call it “crowdsourcing.” To that end, I posed seven very important questions on Facebook: The respondents numbered 50. Forty-seven women and three dudes. I cut it off there because it’s a nice number and time’s a-ticking. You snooze, you lose. To outsource this even further, I enlisted FancyHands.com to turn my Facebook post into a spreadsheet so I could easily sort the data. Perhaps this issue should have been called LAZY… Nonetheless, the answers were fascinating-ish. Here’s what we uncovered: Favorite Sleeping Position: Thirty-three (66%) of you are side sleepers. Six (12%) of you noted “always on the left,” and four (8%) of you noted “always on the right.” You four might want to read this article because apparently you’re doing it all wrong according to this very reputable site called OMGFacts. Seven (14%) of you are back sleepers, and one of those described her prone position thusly: “Flat on my back arms …