To bike or not to bike? That is my question.

Tea is the great drink. Of course, I'm prejudiced, writing this under the influence of the beverage I praise.

I'm having a lot of sex but, if I'm not careful, I won't notice.

They found the guy behind the so-called anthrax scare, which closed Congress and killed five people in 2001, shortly after 9/ 11.

The closest I've gotten to sex lately is putting on my black leather motorcycle jacket and parading around, hoping someone will think I'm a sexual outlaw without actually calling me on it. I'm tall, which dissuades people from messing with me, and gray-haired, which makes me look like I might know what I'm doing but am probably too old to care.

The problem with trying to write coherently about a fabulous massage one has received at the hands of a fabulous ex-girlfriend

Margaret Sanger began life as one of 11 children whose mother died young. So, maybe it's not entirely surprising that she began her professional life as a nurse.

I'm writing this in the waiting room of the Women's Clinic on the fifth floor of San Francisco General Hospital. I was 25 minutes late for my 9:20 appointment. There are 13 women ahead of me for the clinic-within-a-clinic I'm going to. The length of the wait is incalculable.