This week, America's poor, a group largely neglected by politicians, was front and center in the national conversation. On the one hand, we had President Obama speaking at the National Prayer Breakfast, invoking "the biblical call to care for... those at the margins of our society" and paraphrasing Luke in support of tax hikes on the wealthy (Question: Why would the Good Book have something relevant to say about taxes only now, but not when the president extended tax cuts for those "to whom much is given"?). On the same day as the Prayer Breakfast, Mitt Romney was accepting the endorsement of the gold-plated Donald Trump -- only one day after saying he was "not concerned about the very poor." Could you be more politically tone-deaf? They probably bonded over their mutual love of pink slips: Mitt: I like being able to fire people! Donald: I tried to trademark "You're fired!" Mitt: Glad you couldn't -- I would have owed you a lot of royalties!
Iran is headed to become for Obama in 2012 what the economy was in 2010: a controllable crisis which, through personal inaction and a conventional acquiescence in failed policies, threatens to pass utterly beyond his control.
"Fame" used to be fused with "respect" in some ways. That's what distinguished it from infamy. But not anymore.
As amazing as this last year has been for the AOL Huffington Post Media Group, we have even bigger plans moving ahead: more sections, more international editions, more original reporting, more ways of making the site -- and the stories we cover -- social.
A week or so ago, we read about what in the Gilded Age of the Roman Empire was known as a bacchanal -- a big blowout at which the imperial swells got together and whooped it up. This one occurred here in Manhattan at the annual black-tie dinner and induction ceremony for Kappa Beta Phi.
Valentine's Day has become a major children's holiday, and is for them, about friendship. So if we parents have to buy Valentines anyway, why not send the money to children and schools less fortunate than our own?
Super Bowl Sunday. For most men, it makes their year. Unfortunately, for too many, the year ends the day after. PFDS, Post Football Depression Syndrome sets in and sets in with a vengeance.
Over the intervening three years, what did Obama do? Well, we got a stimulus package, and then a year later an absurdly complicated new law that addressed everything except the most important issues. And that's about it.
Kids should never have to experience any kind of poverty in this country -- neither the more hopeful kind my mom experienced during the dustbowl depression, nor the kind the kids in West Virginia and Yucca face today. Let's make nearly one in four in poverty become none in four.
Compassion is within us innately as a people and as a nation. So put aside the rhetoric and ask yourself: how much more than enough do you need? Whatever that amount is, there is always a little bit more left over for those who don't have even close to enough.
The news this week that the Susan G. Komen for the Cure Foundation, after years of pressure from political groups, will end its support of lifesaving breast cancer screening at Planned Parenthood health centers comes as a blow to women across America.
Who are the incubators of a real democratic renewal in the Arab Spring? After talking to young Egyptians, among them many intellectuals, who returned to their homeland having studied at prestigious English universities, I feel confronted with a rather contradictory picture.
Here are some recipes for game grub sure to please the football viewers, innocent bystanders or anyone else who -- like us -- may well be found in the kitchen relishing a good ole 'bowl of red.'
When it comes to the Golden Collar Awards race, how could not only Puss, but all felines, be shut out? Cats wear collars too.
The electorate assumes that presidential candidates will embellish, evade, and even sidestep tough questions. But the media must draw the line when candidates rewrite history in order to protect or enhance their own self-image, not based on the truth.
The breadth and depth of the information we're casually volunteering is fueling a burgeoning industry. But no one who's planning to make money off that data seems to be offering us equity in Big Brother, Inc. in exchange for X-raying our identities.
Whether one agrees with the views expressed in Fox's films or not, we should all agree that citizens have a right to know and tell other citizens what our elected officials are doing. We shouldn't be arresting documentary filmmakers in America for filming public hearings.
Acidifying oceans, a result of the same carbon dioxide pollution that is warming our planet, is a problem of multiple dimensions.
The American people deserve to know that their elected leaders play by the exact same rules that they play by and that their lawmakers' only interest is what's best for the country, not their own financial gain.
In a country as wealthy as ours, why do we allow childhood poverty? How can we expect all our kids to succeed when almost a quarter of our kids don't have the basic tools of life, like books to read and food that helps them growth strong and healthy?
Hypnotized by the cost and convenience of the form, I'm afraid Hollywood -- and in response, audiences -- are forgetting that an emphasis on setting and character is precisely the point of the mockumentary. It is, in fact, the only point.
What is it about women that the men of deeply conservative religions find so threatening? What runs so deep that it justifies traumatizing an innocent eight-year-old like Naama Margolese in Beit Shemesh?
Mitt Romney just made it clear: While the president will begin to transition us out of Afghanistan, a President Mitt Romney would keep us there in an open-ended commitment.
The more "talent" shows we get each season, the less "talented" is each slate of competitors forced upon our screens, airwaves and eardrums. We are spreading our talent too thinly across too many shows and it's doing long-lasting damage to the genre.
President Gingrich, as soon as Air Force One touched down on my hot, tropical tarmac I shuddered. I knew that I was lost. As the gleaming jet's door opened and you stood there on the top of the stairs, your ermine robe jauntily draped over your adorably hunched soft shoulders.
One fall, as I was talking with the LAPD and trying to get into their heads, one white cop leaning confidently on his idled squad car took his time explaining to me that the battle for the streets of Los Angeles.