So if you’ve been following this blog of late, you know I’ve written quite a bit about Tatiana Tanya Ibrahim, the batshit crazy Carmel, N.Y. parent who is all about so-called Critical Race Theory shaming and MAGA and barking and yelling and screaming and making people who disagree with her
An update on Tatiana Tanya. Today she appeared on the Texas Latino Conservative channel. She mentioned COVID, and called the vaccine a “mandated poison.” A mandated poison. As the delta variant ravages America. She then called the Black Panthers “evil.” Because, of course, they’re evil. Tanya knows. Because, um …
Dear Tatiana: First off, your name isn’t “Tatiana.” It’s Tanya. I just wanted to make you aware of that, in case you forgot. You’re Tanya. You’ve been going by Tatiana for, what, a month now? Six weeks? Half a year? It sounds real classy. Stick with it. Second, you’re full
It’s July 4. How should I feel? The cliched answer is, “Grateful.” And maybe that’s the correct answer, too. Grateful to live in a democracy. Grateful to live in a place that’s provided immense opportunities. Grateful to be in beautiful Southern California, miles from the coastline. But … I dunno.
So this morning, for the first time in 1 1/2 years, I returned to my local basketball court to play Saturday pickup. I didn’t know what to expect. Truly, I didn’t. My last game was played in February 2020—a long stretch for a normal body, a loooooooong stretch for a
I share no political beliefs with Wyoming’s Liz Cheney. I share no political beliefs with Ohio’s Anthony Gonzalez. They are conservative Republicans who believe things I don’t. Who stand for things I don’t. Who support things I don’t. But sometimes, life is bigger than singular issues. Sometimes, it’s about righteousness.
So last night—for no particularly good reason—the son and I watched “Flashdance,” the 1983 cinematic hit that grossed more than $200 million worldwide (keep in mind, this was nearly 40 years ago—that total is enormous) and had every American woman (and some men) craving black legwarmers and an off-the-shoulder sweatshirt.
So a week ago I wrote about arriving in Atlanta, proceeding to the Thrifty counter and the attendant telling me, “Sorry—we have no cars.” When I told him, no, I have a rental—he pretty much repeated what he’d just uttered. “No cars.” It was midnight-ish. I was stranded. I needed