I’m reading Courtney’s enthralling new book, and while I think she’s spot-on with her analysis of women’s issues, I think the male mind works in different ways than she recognizes. She writes:
Sex drive, like hunger, is not easily circumscribed….A guy can’t make himself like a round belly if all he’s stared at for months on end is flat-as-a-board tummies…Guy after guy has told me that he feels as if he possesses two totally separate sexualities, the one in front of the screen and the one in front of the girlfriend. I’m skeptical. I know that when I get a pop-up ad for Häagen-Dazs while checking my bank account balance, I end up craving ice cream, not the frozen yogurt already sitting in my freezer.
Well, speaking as one of those guys who expressed this paradigm to Courtney while she was writing her book, I respectfully disagree. We males grow up with a powerful emotional disconnect, which can sometimes be very hurtful to those around us, but can also be downright useful.
In Arianna Huffington’s latest book, 
I take a lot of pictures of myself. A lot. Whenever I am bored, anxious, sad or alone, I position my cell phone in front of my face and snap a shot.
I’m in the heartland this week, hearing one of the greatest love/war stories ever told– at least to me. I’m interviewing a nearly 90-year-old woman who left Austria to visit her mother in the U.S. just before WWII broke out. She went back to Europe as a translator, serving in the Women’s Army Corps, all the while looking for the great love of her life who she hadn’t heard from in years. She didn’t know that he’d been imprisoned for his involvement in a pacifist movement to resist the Nazis or even if he was alive. 
Last month, billionaire Genshiro Kawamoto, a Japanese real estate mogul and billionaire, 
So I’m having dinner with my incredibly smart and kind Harvard Med School buddy the other night and she tells me about one of her most mysterious cases as of late. A woman came in with a very strange discoloration on her right forearm. No one could figure out what had caused it–psoriasis, skin cancer, alien kiss? Not in the least. It turns out that the woman had severe tendonitis from scrolling through her Blackberry so obsessively, so often. A previous doc had given her a shot of something to relieve the pain and she had gone right back to scrolling, creating an even more serious reaction.
I noticed the familiar grey box peeking out from J.T.’s half-closed chestnut entertainment center. It looked out of place among the Thai lamps, sleek electronic piano, and exposed brick walls of his penthouse loft, but there it was: a Nintendo Entertainment System—the original.
Describing my book party turns out to be one of those rare occassions when words seem inadequate to me, but I’ll still give it a try.