Exercise Is The Yuppie Version Of Bulimia.

My Turn Is The Distilled Bathwater Of Mrs. Reagan's Life. It Is For The Most Part Sweetish, With A Tart Edge Of Rebuke, But Disappointingly Free Of Dirt Or Particulate Matter Of Any Kind.

In A Process That Had Begun In The 1980s And Suddenly Accelerated In The Early 2000s ... [t]he Peaks Of Great Wealth Grew Higher, Rising Up Beyond The Clouds, While The Valleys Of Poverty Sank Lower Into Perpetual Shadow. The Once Broad Plateau Of The Middle Class Eroded Away Into A Narrow Ledge, With The White-knuckled Occupants Holding On For Dear Life.

Sometime In The Eighties, Americans Had A New Set Of 'traditional Values' Installed. ... The Poor And The Middle Class Were Shaken Down, And Their Loose Change Funneled Blithely Upwards To The Already Overfed.

While Everything Else In Our Lives Has Gotten Simpler, Speedier, More Microwavable And User-friendly, Child-raising Seems To Have Expanded To Fill The Time No Longer Available For It.

No Job, No Matter How Lowly, Is Truly 'unskilled.