Feminism is the hydra-headed monster stalking Hillary Clinton's campaign for president.
Votes are stubborn little things. Votes have none of the sparkle and shine of campaign rhetoric. Votes don't soar; they sink in. Votes are precious to, and deeply felt by, the men and women who cast them, but the candidates stop catering to votes as soon as they're cast.
It's a strange time to be in a blizzard in the birthplace of "New York values." The wind howling through the canyons of commerce like a wolf at a full moon, and for a change the noise is from nature and not from the politicians. The blinding whiteout clears the mind to focus on what's at hand -- and what requires a helping hand.
Donald Trump is the politician who most accurately reflects the rage and anger, the zeitgeist, of our time.
Eight years ago -- that's a generation in presidential politics -- Hillary Clinton expected that as the first woman in the Oval Office she would be making the State of the Union address this week.
"Sexual politics" once described the power relationship between a man and a woman, but that has changed, like everything else, with the changing times. In the age of the Internet, with its blessings and curses delivered at warp speed, presidential politics expands (some say narrows) to include what goes on between a man and a woman.
Changes and trends of the old year now passing in review show women holding, as usual, a mixed bag. Some less sanguine women would call it a Pandora's box.
Measure it any way you like, but this hasn't been that championship season of the "can do" spirit of America. Most of the presidential campaigners spend their allotted minutes criticizing what's wrong with the country, how others have made a mess of things and why voters should put them in charge of changing things.
The Republicans have sucked all the oxygen out of the room with a race that's finally getting really interesting. Bernie Sanders is vanishing into irrelevance and the Hillary Clinton story of the Republican week was about how she is losing traction with the new generation of women voters. Not exactly the attention she and the party want.
When I was a girl, graduating from Old Testament and Hebrew language studies at a conservative synagogue, I wore a white robe, carried an armful of red roses and gave a speech to my family and the congregation.
"First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out -- because I was not a Socialist. Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out -- because I was not a Trade Unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out -- because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me -- and there was no one left to speak for me."
Has anybody seen Norman Rockwell? We gather together for the Thanksgiving holiday and a few days of family togetherness.
Two weeks before the Paris massacre, we took our twin granddaughters, age 11, for their first visit to Paris. They live in Berlin and were eager to see Mona Lisa smile, watch artists paint in Montmartre and take a boat trip on the Seine.
College kids do the darndest things. You send them away to open up their minds and they learn to close them, for themselves and for others.
A mixture of Americans, Frenchmen and Germans, all swimming in the simmering pot of an extended family, got together in Paris one night last week to be entertained by a young American woman studying to be a clown in a school just outside the city.
The PC culture, writing the politically correct rules on everything everywhere from the bedroom to the boardroom, is about to implode.
Harry S. Truman once told a newcomer frustrated with the ways of Washington to expect permanently tough times. "If you want a friend in Washington," he said, "get a dog."
Hillary Clinton listened to her consultants, handlers and other men paid to be wise when she first ran for president seven years ago. They told her to run like a man, make no big deal about the obvious, because her sex -- or "gender," as we call it in our more squeamish times -- was unimportant. She took their advice, and the rest is tortured history.
Hillary then moved away from raunchiness to scripted satire on the season's premier of "Saturday Night Live." Hillary was a kibitzing bartender named Val, talking to SNL star Kate McKinnon, who reprised her impersonation of Hillary. But the scenario was less satirical than self-serving, with both Hillary characters oozing banter about how great Hillary was/is.
What a week for visuals, the holy grail of marketing men, though there was nothing particularly holy about the way politics pursued religious pomp in the slipperiest city.