New York Magazine 3/5-3/18/18

1 For New York, Jill Abramson presented a case for impeaching Clarence Thomas (“Do You Believe Her Now?,” February 19–March 4). Caroline Heldman, a politics professor at Occidental College and the co-author of Women, Power, and Politics, responded: “Abramson lays out overwhelming evidence that Thomas repeatedly lied to the Senate. Will we finally care about the experiences of black women now that a white woman has come forward to report the same? And now that we believe survivors in the era of #MeToo, will we hold a Supreme Court justice to a lower standard than Bill O’Reilly or Al Frank-en? Impeach Clarence Thomas.” Angela Wright-Shannon, whose harassment allegations against Thomas were detailed in the story, wrote in the HuffPost, “We can hope that the congressional balance of power shifts this…

But Enough About Us Cynthia Heimel, who died on February 25 at 70, was probably best known for her books of funny, sparky writing, much of it done for The Village Voice, especially the hilarious “Problem Lady” advice column. But from 1978 to 1983, she wrote some of the wittiest party stories and profiles in New York. We offer here a too-brief selection of her work. At a Party Full of Celebrities “Don’t be scared,” Debbie Harry said. “Help me, Rhonda,” Richard Price said. “There’s Richard Gere,” Diana Ross said. “Who’s that blonde girl?” Gloria Vanderbilt said. Paul Schrader looked helplessly around the room. “I knew the invitation should have read, ‘Bring somebody who will listen to you,’” he said. “But no one did.” He was right. Nobody was listening…

IN THE MOMENT, the kids looked to their phones for comfort. Sam Zeif was in Algebra 2, in the freshman building on the campus of Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School, when the shooting began. His back against a wall in a darkened classroom, Sam was silent, as he’d been instructed to be since elementary school. He was texting. Sam is a guard on the basketball team, and he and his teammates are tight—like brothers, he says. During the shooting, their basketball coach, Manuel Oliver—whose son Joaquin was the captain, a badass from Venezuela whom everyone called “Guac” and who dyed his hair blond like his idol Frank Ocean—kept interrupting their group text: “Has anyone heard from Joaquin? Has anyone heard from Joaquin?” Sam used the group chat’s location-sharing to search…

It’s hard not to notice that the world is now run by the aggressive and the bullying. WHEN You Don’t Know What toThink About What Your Dad Taught You WILL LEITCH SOMETIME AROUND 1987, my father tried to teach me how to shoot a gun. It was a Winchester Model 37, a 20-gauge that had been in the family for years but had been untouched until a fellow electrician, whose son was also about to enter high school, encouraged my father to unpack it. It was agreed upon by all that Bryan Leitch’s bookish son needed to learn to hunt. I’d never seen my father hunt, he’d never talked about hunting, and he’d never handled a gun in front of me before. But one day I came back from school…

ONE NIGHT LAST FALL, when my 11-year-old son and his younger sister were supposed to be getting ready for bed, I heard a thud. Then Theodore started hollering. When I got to the top of the stairs, he was cupping his hands under Louisa’s chin as blood gushed from her mouth like some nightmare fountain. The story trickled out: Theodore had gotten the hilarious idea to hide at the top of the stairs to ambush his sister, throwing a Moroccan pouf at her. He’d spent the summer playing on a Little League team and had underestimated the strength of his throwing arm. Now Louisa looked like a victim of domestic violence: bruised—and bewildered by the betrayal. “Why would you do that?” she kept wailing at Theodore as he looked on,…

Verse 1 I beat yo ass if you tell them social workers he live here / I beat yo ass if I beat yo ass twice and you still here / Seven years old, think you run this house by yourself? / Nigga, you gon’ fear me if you don’t fear no one else INNER-CITY TEENS DON’T GET psychotherapy, which is cruel because if there is a sector of American youth that deserves the comfort of a psychiatrist’s ear, surely it is the one that grows up shouldering the twin burdens of metropolitan poverty and violence. Mental health takes a back seat when your family’s prosperity is not promised; parents struggling to secure your next month’s food and shelter lack the time to check in on how you’re feeling. If anyone…