There are moments in history when silence becomes complicated. We believe we are living in one of those moments now.

I had swum my laps and was lying in 90-degree water, with my neck rolling slowly back and forth on the hot cement rim of the pool, my eyes closed, the sun in my face. I was in heaven, or so I imagined, and asked for the sound of Ray’s voice and Sebastian’s bark.

The Super Bowl, the National Football League’s annual championship, is much more than a game. It is, as Kadir Ustun put it, “an expression of ‘American exceptionalism. Transformed into a full-blown consumption feast with family and friend gatherings, parking lot barbecue parties, first-time commercial breaks, and the halftime show, the game has also become a cultural phenomenon where American identity is celebrated.” 

I’m usually glued to the TV when a president, sitting justices, and members of Congress come together in one room — separate branches in one hallowed space, a time capsule played forward from men in powdered wigs.

Tucked gently between the Atlantic Ocean and the Intracoastal Waterway, just off A1A, lies one of South Florida’s most peaceful treasures: Hugh Taylor Birch State Park. For those of us who know it well, it is more than a park — it is a sanctuary. For first-time visitors, it feels like discovering a secret garden hidden in plain sight.

My boss keeps making little gay jokes here and there. Nothing super offensive or anything, but I really don’t like it, but I also feel like we’re living in really weird times and I don’t want to make it awkward or worse end up on his bad side and get fired. What should I do?