My four-year-old son Liam, like so many children his age, has every toy vehicle imaginable—construction trucks, garbage trucks, trains, semi-trucks.

The expanding global microchip shortage affects consumers around the world.

Transparency is gone. Trust is broken. And $777 million meant to support our children hangs in the balance.

The images conjure up a time that we are repeatedly assured has passed; a time, way way way in our past, of course, when human beings hunted down other human beings as though they were chattel, not human at all: Cowboys on horseback, smiles on their faces, guns and handcuffs conspicuously on their hips, lassos high in the air, ready to strike the fleeing men, women, and children (the BLACK men, women, and children – this is important) who themselves were barefoot and carrying the entirety of their worldly possessions in little plastic bags.

I'm not sure when the circus last came to Pahrump, but the Nye County Commission’s increasingly strange dog-and-pony show promises to continue this week.

Last week, President Biden issued executive orders requiring certain federal employees and contractors to be vaccinated.

In the end, California Gov. Gavin Newsom made it look almost too easy. Facing a recall election that only a few weeks ago appeared uncomfortably close, Newsom on Tuesday stiff-armed a crowded field of challengers topped by libertarian talk show host Larry Elder.

As it turns out, getting policies passed into law is difficult enough during the best of times—let alone in our current era of political division and partisan tribalism.

California is not a well-governed state. I know — I know — this is the hottest of takes and the spiciest of opinions.

A few months back, I wrote about the opportunity the Board of Regents had in hiring a chief of staff and special counsel.

Last week, the Biden administration announced sweeping new vaccination mandates affecting huge numbers of Americans.

In many ways, Nevada is ground zero for showcasing the full effects of climate change. From rising temperatures to the record-breaking drought we’ve seen ravaging Lake Mead, we now appear to be paying a price for decades of avoiding what it really means to transition to a clean energy economy.

It is my sincerest hope that, with its twentieth anniversary behind us, the insufferable annual ritual of navel-gazing about 9/11 can finally, mercifully end.

On the morning of Sept. 11, 2001, daughter Amelia awoke nearly breathless from a sleep so troubled she couldn’t wait to talk about it.

Like the Kennedy assassination, the bombing of Pearl Harbor or the murder of John Lennon, most of us remember where we were on September 11th with unrelenting detail. 

Today marks the 20th anniversary of the terrorist attack on America. Nineteen al-Qaeda terrorists hijacked four commercial planes, deliberately crashing two into the World Trade Center in New York City and the third into the Pentagon in Arlington, Virginia. The passengers on the fourth plane fought their captors, and the plane crashed in a field in Pennsylvania, 20 minutes outside Washington, D.C. The 9/11 attacks killed 2,977 people from 93 nations, the most horrific terrorist act on American soil.

Where were we on 9/11? We were living in the Middle East, recently posted there with my husband’s job. It was early evening in Kuwait, and I was cooking dinner. Thrilled that our daughter had arrived for a visit the day before, I was preparing a celebratory meal when the phone rang. My Texas brother, sounding out of breath, and near hysteria, was on the phone screaming at me to get out of Kuwait.

The call came sometime around 6:40 a.m. Arizona time, waking me out of a sound sleep. My dad’s voice on the other end of the line told me that airplanes had crashed into the World Trade Center and that the Pentagon was on fire. I jumped out of bed and turned on the television set in my college dorm room. Smoke billowed out of the World Trade Center.

I lived and worked in Midtown Manhattan on 9/11 and watched the entire attack unfold right before my eyes from less than four miles away. This is my story.

Our family reunion in July 2002 in upstate New York was like previous gatherings of my large family. In many ways we tried to be more jovial and the games were more competitive as we tried to keep busy so we didn’t dwell on what had happened 10 months earlier. The FDNY and NYPD cousins were there physically, but I could tell they were broken from what they had experienced since we last met.