There’s a whole big thing in the Times magazine today about the name Karen and how it means a white self-indulgent bitch, usually racist and narcissistic, and how the name became popular in the 60’s I think but now is totally uncool.  So I have to make a declaration:  My name is not really Karen.

I know, I’ve written poems about how my name Karen in Hebrew means a ray of light as well as a horn, and when the King James Bible was first translated they mixed up the translations, giving Moses horns instead of light emanating from his head.  But the truth is, I was named after my grandmother, Haya Keila, but the registrar entered my name as Karen Hilary, and that’s what I became. 

So I’m not a Karen, okay?  Well, I am, but not really.