In Darling Companion, opening Friday in Philadelphia, Diane Keaton plays an empty-nester whose life becomes revived when she takes in—and falls in love with—a stray dog. A year later, when the dog, now named Freeway, runs into the woods, her family searches desperately for the animal. Keaton and her career-driven, impatient husband (Kevin Kline) even get lost looking for Freeway, but do find each other.
When I read in the New York Times about the trend of so-called “gender reveal parties” thrown by expectant parents, it seemed like one of those Times sort of trends you sometimes read about but never really encounter—like parents sending their kids to camp in private jets or the sudden popularity of hair buns on men.
Nadya Suleman, better known as Octomom, has gotten a two-week reprieve from the auction of her home. She now has a few extra days to look for housing for herself and her brood of 14 kids, all conceived through in vitro fertilization. She has no husband, no job, no money and no expectation of any in the near future. (She's looking for a challenger for a "celebrity" boxing match in Atlantic City.) Apparently, she had none of these normally expected attributes when she was implanted through IVF. The crazy nutcase doctor who pumped her full of embryos, Michael Kamrava, lost his license to practice medicine last July due to his overzealousness. In addition to Ms. Suleman’s case, he once implanted seven embryos into a 48-year-old woman and proceeded with IVF on a cancer patient. Where is the outrage at the fertility clinic physicians who practice this insanity? They claim they are only complying with the heartfelt request of patients. At least, that’s their story. I’m not buying it.
In 1976, pregnant Czechoslovakian actress Blanka Vinicova and her boyfriend, Jiri Zizka, defected from their Communist homeland, eventually landing in Philadelphia. It was here that they married, raised their son, and signed on as co-artistic directors of the Wilma Theater, in the infancy of the city’s live arts scene. More than 30 years on, the son is grown, living in New York, and Jiri is gone, having died of liver failure in January. But Blanka seems ready for anything.
To the Class of 2012, I have a small, but memorable, piece of advice: If you’re offered the opportunity to travel the country in the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile, take it.
 
 
Your bourgeois friends will tell you to get an internship at an advertising agency or a TV station, like everyone else. Your parents may respond with the predictable guilt trip that they’re not putting you through college so you can go gallivanting all over god’s green earth in a hot-dog car. Ignore them all. Just get in that giant mobile meat stick, floor it, and don’t look back. I wish I had.
A week or so ago, Andy Duann, a kid at Colorado University-Boulder, snapped a photo of a tranquilized bear tumbling out of a tree. The bear had wandered onto campus (perhaps hoping to meet President Obama in a bar) and decided to climb the tree, and wildlife agents wanted it out of there before somebody offered it a beer, I guess. The bear fell onto soft, cushy mats thoughtfully provided by the athletic department, and it was reported that after his tumble, he was resting comfortably.
In 1997, Meredith Brooks released her only real hit single, "Bitch."  The Lilith Fair ladies ate it up with a spoon and the song became an anthem of female empowerment. To a pre-teen Catholic school girl in Northeast Philly, this was the most scandalous thing I had ever heard.
My neighbor Joe, a longtime driver for Tastykake, isn't a fan of tattoos. "I don't get it," he says. "They look cluttered and used to be for tough guys. Now, I don't know."
 
 
Joe is in his mid-50s and, maybe not surprisingly, doesn't have any ink himself—and that's despite his wife and two daughters having already gone under the needle for their own mother-daughter-sister set.
On face value, Marvel’s The Avengers seems like a typical superhero movie. It’s big. It’s got flashy special effects. It’s got fight scenes in a lab, a portal between dimensions, and a powerful object everyone is fighting to own. And by using the Hulk, Iron Man, Captain America, and Thor characters whose individual movies collectively made $1.2 billion at the box office it feels like a brand retread or an obvious studio stunt to make money. (Which it is and will. Probably not as much as the other movies combined, but possibly enough to break box office records.)