E.J. Graff, the author of What Is Marriage For? The Strange Social History of Our Most Intimate Institution, is a visiting researcher at Brandeis University's Women's Studies Research Center and a contributing editor at the Prospect.
Yesterday the Washington Post published a nice summary of the various federal lawsuits underway in the court battles over same-sex marriage, a piece occasioned by a panel at the College of William and Mary Law School's Institute of Bill of Rights Law. The panel, according to reporter Robert Barnes, was debating whether the government's political or judicial branch should decide whether same-sex couples' bonds should be recognized as "marriage" by federal law.
Here's a follow-up to my mini-review last week of NBC's The Playboy Club: a Daily Beast article, "My Mom's Life as a Playboy Bunny," by Susanna Spier. Spier interviews her mother about what things were really like. Was Hugh Hefner's comment -- that bunnies could be anything they wanted to be -- accurate? Ha.
We had only a handful of options, and being a Bunny was a brand-new one. ... Teacher, nurse, stewardess, secretary. Bunny increased our options by 20 percent. It didn't mean we could be brain surgeons. Hef's dots do not connect.
I've only been here in Boston for, oh, a couple of decades. While I enjoyed the region's collective delirium when the Red Sox finally reversed the curse, I'm an October fan, not a real one.
But my wife is a real fan, dating back pre-natally. She lives and dies with each Sox at bat. She would snarl and growl if a Yankees fan came anywhere near our house. As you can imagine, right now, there is no joy in our corner of Mudville.
Last week, our 8-year-old startled us with this phrase: "It's a pre-2004 Red Sox nightmare!," which would have been, oh, before he was born.
For the big Supreme Court cases -- about abortion, say, or gay rights -- it's a struggle for ordinary reporters (those who aren't the dedicated Supreme Court press) with one-day passes to get into the press gallery. After a maze of security, and if you get in at all, you're herded into the long second-tier press gallery, hidden behind large marble pillars, unable to see the justices at all.