Jayson Blair

For reasons that are obvious, I had been asked to speak about deception. I had been recruited for the job because of the lies I told and, interestingly, because the sponsors of the seminar realized that I had spent a lifetime – in both journalism and my mental health work now – needing to understand the motives of those working with me and identifying when individuals were lying. I declined the opportunity to help teach them how to better lie, which law enforcement officers can do in some circumstances with suspects, because I knew it just was not good karma for me to get involved in the making of better liars. After going over the spectrum I’ve found for people’s motives - why they lie and why they tell the truth – I received an interesting question from a member of that group that had been assembled. One of the participants asked whether it was easier or harder for me to do my job when people were lying. I paused and thought about his question. The answer was clear as it was seemingl...

Sitting in a car in a Virginia university town today, a young friend told me the story of her first boyfriend, a 9-year-old boy from summer camp. I can't say how the conversation started - you never can with her - but its worth pointing out that I've known her for nine months and I never heard her talk fondly and in a detailed way about boys. I think her segway was something about a boyfriend she had for a month in high school because she "wanted to know what the big deal was with this whole dating thing," or maybe we were talking about whether if all things come from God whether bad things were apart of his design, or patches in The Sims life-simulation computer game that allows men to become pregnant or pharmacists who refuse to dispense the Plan B pill or philosophy or something. I really don't know how we got there, but I do know that while she is no man-hater, my friend is generally and blithely and genuinely apathetic compared to many the boy crazed girls he...

I confess. In a life filled with confessions, here's another one. I have a crush. A Starbucks crush. I think most of you know what I'm talking about. And if you have to ask, well. It was 180-millimeters of heaven. And I was blessed to just have one. Its something about the foam, proportions, the steam and, well, she could tell you. I just know - its better than any I've tasted. My Starbucks crush actually started with what had to be the tastiest combination of espresso, hot milk and steamed-milk form ever created. The drink was really wonderful, and, really, if I hated her, I would still go back for another and another and another and another. The crush continued in earnest when I started pointing out to what good drink she gave and her colleagues began to catch on to my infatuation with her bar skills when I would wait and let other customers get ahead of me so I could be sure she would be making my drink. A couple of times when she wasn't there after that first Tall C...