This piece originally appeared on The Awl

Disclosure! I will begin by stating that, at the age 31, I currently have no children. Which, in and of itself, will be a driver for many parents to click the “BACK” button on their browsers while muttering that I have nothing resembling a fucking clue about this topic. Click away, self-righteous parents! No doubt you have a poop-flinging banshee destroying your living room at this very moment. Go handle your business. No hard feelings.

Despite not having children, I think about them. A lot. In recent years, the full teeming strength of my biology has been consumed with a single, driving goal: to produce babies. And now that I’ve met the man with whom I will gladly (but not immediately! Don’t freak out, babe!) have said babies, the topic has become even more germane.

Unfortunately, thanks to an entire body of pop-literature, magazine articles, and semi-accurate science, I am also aware that having children will not make me particularly happy. Or, more specifically, it may very well leech every iota of joy from my existence. (But I’ll never regret it! Never! No regrets! Wouldn’t trade it for the WORLD!)

Yes, according to myriad sources, having children is the quickest path down the proverbial Slip N’ Slide to abject misery. No sleep! No freedom! The complete loss of a halcyon lifestyle that we (“we” in this case meaning predominantly “white middle-to-upper-middle-class professionals with college degrees and subscriptions to New York magazine”) enjoy with vigor. Gone are the boozy weekend brunches and “Mad Men” marathons and bi-weekly pilgrimages to
Bruni Sifton-ranked restaurants. Banished are the freedoms and comforts and indulgences of modern life.

And the expense! Let’s not forget the expense! It will cost hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of dollars to raise just one offspring — money that may (gasp) be incentivizing us not to procreate, money that could have been spent on innumerable bounty, like unnecessary Apple products or Brooklyn Heights co-ops or yacht upgrades. Or simply not earned at all, as we enjoy the budding “free time is the new wealth” economy embraced by our generation. Between, ineffective tax breaks for parents and rising inflation, potential breeders are all in danger of seeing their finances slashed and burned by the gestation of a fetus.

Get pregnant, and suddenly so many funds must be procured! Careers and spending habits may be questioned! Mate-gaming may be necessary! All sorts of problems arise that can only be solved by 1) relocating to a developing country, 2) marrying rich or 3) dropping the idea that a child must be a manifestation of upper-middle class angst.

There’s also the enviro-guilt of reproduction. What a carbon footprint it will have! What a tax on our already-gasping planet! You could commute to Taiwan on a weekly basis for the rest of your career, and your carbon output still wouldn’t approach the environmental assault of plunking another human being down on the earth.

And of course there’s the myopic drudgery of caring for said human being, who at the outset cannot see to its most basic needs. Feeding, wiping, washing and burping will replace the serenity of guzzling Starbucks and reading the Arts & Leisure section. Yes, we can all pretty much agree that no one has ever really liked caring for babies — and now in the age of post-gender co-parenting (right?), we can all recognize just how much it blows to spend your hours changing diapers when you could be reading blogs and imbibing organic cocktails. Read the rest of this entry »

In the list of “Things I wouldn’t recommend doing”: After battling the summer flu for a week, which included three non-blissful days of throat-searing laryngitis, I went on Fox Business this morning to talk about finding creative alternatives to the gas tax. (Hell, if people don’t want to pay taxes, just call them another name — like, say, tolls. Or “happy fees.” Or something.)

Maybe so. But I did it anyway.

Yes folks, it’s Nightmare on Elm Street remake time! This morning I went on Mediabistro’s online radio show to talk about the movie with Jason Boog and Kiran Aditham from Fangoria. And a written (and much more detailed) review will follow. Just as soon as I drink some coffee and finish writing it.

UPDATE: Here’s the review. And considering the movie was #1 this weekend, apparently a bunch of other (depraved, likely adolescent) people agreed with me.

I headed back into Fox Studios yesterday to talk with Brian Sullivan on Fox Business — who is a big rail fan. Here’s the clip. According to my mom, I bang my fist on the table too much – what can I say, I’m used to having my hands occupied by a keyboard. Without one I’m lost.

What do you say about the worst horror movie you’ve ever seen in your life? A lot, after a vat of coffee and around 30 Easter chocolates. To celebrate  in the cinematic awfulness with me, click here for the latest Horror Chick column, in which I discuss Birdemic: Shock and Terror. And for God’s sake be sure to watch the clip — there really are no words to describe this thing without seeing it for yourself.

I love traveling. Plop me in a foreign country with a map and a day or two of unscheduled time — there’s your true manifestation of contentment. But one cannot always be jetting around the universe, particularly when one spends 89% of one’s waking hours glued to a laptop and grumbling about how friggin slow one’s Internet connections always seems to be.

So for the vicarious thrill of traveling without actually leaving my computer, I read — what else — travel Web sites. Like this one. Jauntsetter.com is an extremely cool site aimed at women who consider traveling a vital personality trait. This week the Jauntsetters That Be kindly asked to interview me about my travel stories — to read it click here. And I stand by my assertion that the best meal in the world comes from a mall food court.

I have a confession to make: Sometimes I write in a state of total rant. This is hardly a surprise to anyone who’s read this blog frequently. These rants are the definition of reactionary writing — that is, they are simply exhalations of pent-up emotion, and aren’t necessarily indicative of any careful logic or reasoning. Do I believe and stand behind what I say in these rants? Sure. But I also recognize that I’m not necessarily “right.” It’s all a big subjective cesspool of human interpretations, this Internet game (and life in general) — there IS no “right.” Plus, being “right,” at the end of the day, really isn’t all that fun. Far more fun is stirring up strong opinions from others, and inciting debate, and getting people to FEEL something. Inspiring people to talk about topics they’re passionate about (even if it’s how much they collectively loathe you) — that really is one of the things I love most about being a writer.

Yes, this is all leading up to something. This. Read and interpret at will. My Godsend boyfriend asked a good question: “How can you put something like this out there, without any control over what people think?” Well, a few years back I had a revelation: People will form judgments and opinions of you. It’s what we inherently do as a species. They’ll judge what you say and do and talk about it with so-and-so and Oh can you BELIEVE she did this and that she is such a blah blah blah and on and on ’til we die.

So given this state of affairs, you might as well be the fullest, most self-expressed version of yourself. And if you’re someone who likes to stir things up every once in a while, so be it. And people will form opinions and talk about how you’re so dead-on, or how you deserve to have your eyes gouged by rabid ostriches and your tongue stabbed with a fork etc etc etc. And it’s all “right,” and it’s all “wrong.” ‘Cause Lord knows, everyone’s entitled to their own opinion.

I’ve made no secret of my feelings for Lori Gottlieb. Ever since my response to her “Settle for Him Girls” piece two years ago, I’ve strapped on the view that her Atlantic article-cum-book-cum-potential-chick flick is nothing more than the fallout of a woman unhappy with her life choices, who felt compelled to mold those crappy choices into a societal trend in order to find some inner peace. It’s a classic case of Misery Loves Company — only packaged into a self-help treatise and marketed to every (upper middle class, white, educated) unmarried woman over 28.

The Book Version of Gottlieb’s soul-stomping “settle” doctrine hit bookstores earlier this month, to torrents of controversy. I’m certainly not the only one brimming with distaste for this self-serving “dose of tough love” from a woman who talks about her past relationships with all the tenderness of a septic tank repairman. Plenty of other writers have taken her argument down with a hunting rifle, pointing out that the analysis is wrong, the “trend” of the unmarried thirtysomething isn’t much of a trend, and the whole thing conveniently fails to take into account that individuals are (gasp!) responsible for their own happiness, married or no.

To be fair, the one male response I’ve seen to the book hailed it as a valuable purveyor of “tough love” for single women (though on that point I’ll say: Why the fuck would I read a “here’s what you have to learn about getting married” manual written by a woman who’s been too critical of every man she meets to ever get married?).

Yes, there are grains (specks) of truth in some of Gottlieb’s analysis — relationships and perfection have no place together, and long-term commitment is not about checking off boxes and creating some childish simulacrum of “The One” you formed while watching Disney movies. And yes, the author has learned a thing or two about how to deal with backlash, such as by writing “Screw you, I’m not embarrassed for wanting a husband” screeds in the Washington Post.

But even now, she’s missing the point — yes, there are women out there criticizing her for seeking to pair up. But such criticism is easily dismissed as irrelevant — human beings seek companionship, male and female alike, and she is writing for a group of women who, by virtue of their reading this book, want to be in a relationship, whether or not it’s politically correct. The real danger in Gottlieb’s so-called “advice” is that is that it’s a call to worship false idols — it’s a relationship guide completely about the “wants” and “needs” of a single individual who has, through her actions, utterly disqualified herself to show anyone else how to beget a loving and functional relationship.

Gottlieb is quick to blame feminism for her relationship woes — it’s a convenient scapegoat. But feminism didn’t fuck up her love life — she did that all on her own. Read the rest of this entry »

I hit the Fox Business studio yesterday to talk with Brian Sullivan about Obama’s plans for high speed rail. Just imagine if we could get around the U.S. without having to sit in some airport purgatory breathing re-processed air and downing earwax-flavored food. Yeah, I can’t really imagine it either.