Last week, the Stanford Daily posted about new women-focused weightlifting hours in one of Stanford's many gyms. This week, a triggered little boy filed a filed a Title IX complaint to the U.S. Department of Education; a gender discrimination complaint to California’s Department of Fair Employment and Housing, which enforces the Unruh Act; and an Act of Intolerance report through Stanford’s Student Affairs office.

Before #MeToo. Before DeVos and the Education Department formally rescinded Obama-era guidance on how colleges handle sexual assaults. Before trump's oddly hypocritical tweet about due process...

There was Laura Kipnis and her amazing 2017 book, Unwanted Advances: Sexual Paranoia Comes to Campus.

Growing up, I could NOT complain about being bored. If I did, my mom would tell me, "Boring people lead boring lives." It never felt good to hear -- but guess what? I grew up into a person who never feels bored -- and who almost takes concerns like, "It might not be fun for you," or, "I'm afraid you'd be bored," as an insult.

Similarly, as an adult, I sometimes find myself telling people who claim that Valentine's Day is "dumb," "commercialized," or a "Hallmark holiday": "It's only dumb if you make it dumb." 

"If you find it uninspiring, it's only because you​ are uninspired.

"That Christmas dress -- my lord!" someone said recently when I posted this photo on my Instagram. It simultaneously felt nice to get a compliment... and slightly uncomfortable, because for some reason, our culture drills into us that it's bad to accept a compliment. 

​Well... maybe not ALWAYS.

Apparently, it's that time of year again. I know this not because I've seen Girl Scouts out and about, actively developing business, social, and communication skills... but because I've seen parents posting links on their Facebook accounts.

All I can say is, "DON'T DO IT."

Mounting evidence shows that over-supervising and over-scheduling your child stunts their emotional and cognitive development. But now we know it stunts their physical development, too.

Last night, I made the biggest mistake of my life: I watched Open House, a Netflix original movie in which nothing happens for 80 minutes, and then in the last 10 minutes, everyone dies. You never find out who did it. It's literally just some random killer who is in no way connected to the characters or plot (except for when he kills them).

The movie was awful -- to the point that it is actually kind of offensive. But worse is the fact that I can never have that Monday night back. It's gone.

"Eva, just admit it," a guy friend insisted recently. 'You're a flirt."

"What exactly do I do that makes you think that?"

He pondered for a moment, before sheepishly answering, "You smile... and make eye contact.​

It was simple, really.