As the proud mommy of a rescued Cocker Spaniel, I turned away from the computer screen, my eyes stinging with tears. So I share the revulsion of many of my fellow readers for what Pete supposedly works against. In particular, I found the Nietzsche quote very apt. Pete's rather flat, affectless recital of what he's done could be symptomatic of work-related trauma, but it could speak of something more profoundly sinister...a sense that he has become detatched and densensitized to the torture he's inflicted.

Much of this (well, beyond the fact that he's participated in animal abuse very literally) has to do with the tone and structure of the article. While Pete's stances as an animal activist and vegan are mentioned, they feel very perfunctory. The author goes for the easy shock-value quotinent, when a richer, more complex portrait of Pete could've emerged. Where did his activist ideologies originate, and what happened to him intellectually/emotionally that he could compromise them?

This is a man who jokes about being a vegan at home, while in his public facade, he's flipping burgers. Yet there is no sense of how he reconciles these two opposing Petes, or if he can't. Right now, from what Mr. Newman has provided, all we really know is what Pete has done. We don't know who he is when the sunglasses come off and the blood has been washed from his hands. In these moments, there is the making of a substantive and truly provacative article.

I'm a little shocked by all the venom directed at Ms. Traister here. While it is glaringly apparent that more violent, oppressive forms of misogyny remain forces to be reckoned with, she isn't pretending that Tom Ford's vacuous doll-babies are on par with genital mutilation or honor killings.

Still, there is something disturbingly pervasive about the compartmentalization and infantilization of these women. The images are galling because they speak to certain standards and practices that, on some level or another, still exist socially. As agents of the culture, the fashion and entertainment industries do subject women to standards of beauty and conduct that are not as pertinent to men. Which is not to say they aren't there for men as well, but I'm remembering an old Janene Garafalo bit where she mused if a female actress as pudgy and settled into her old age could ever have the same acclaim as say, Jack Nicholson.

Tom Ford's antics only exemplify a culture that honors an Eric Bana's sqeamishness about being forced into a speedo and reviles a Rachel McAdams for taking the same stance when being asked to strip for the lens.

While Salon certainly serves a myriad of readers of all ages and stations in life, and should certainly continue to do so, as a 23 year old reader, I'm getting weary of the sudden emphasis on articles about marriage and babies. None of them have been powerful or engaging, just a bunch of narrissistic and very spoiled suburban women feeling the need to lament the sudden changes they have to make after childbirth. I hardly believe that reclaiming one's libido warrants the same attention that, say, the recent elections in the Middle East, do.

Hell, even Oprah freying James is more entertaining than Ms. Williams' posturing as a recovering sex-kitten. Personally, I've never trusted people who need to brag about their prowess, that always makes me think they're compensating for something.

Fluff like this doesn't belong on the front page. Tuck it away in Life, or Families Who Think. Between this tripe and Ayelet Waldman's neurotic ramblings about her offspring (who else needed a good long shower after that last squicky piece about her son?) I am seriously soured on the prospect of ever being a mom.

Please, Salon, remember that not all of your readers are ready for the mini-van yet!