August 7, 2014
Shana Shornstein and I often try to beat each other through the open doorway into the kitchen. Every time we race toward it, tripping over each other's paws, I imagine us getting stuck there and squeezing our way through, like Archie Bunker and "Meathead", with Archie all pissed off to the point of red-faced flailing and Meathead resigned to enduring Archie's wrath and frustration. And every time I wonder which of us is Archie, and spend an inordinate amount of time dwelling on it. Even as I sit here, I hate to admit that I may be the Archie here.