Susan Orlean (born October 31, 1955) is an American journalist. She has been a staff writer for The New Yorker since 1992, and has contributed articles to Vogue, Rolling Stone, Esquire, and Outside. Read full biography of Susan Orlean →
I've always been afraid of video games - not afraid that I wouldn't like them, but that I would like them too much, and that after mere... →
I would like to make sleeping my new hobby, except that I'm too tired, really, to have a hobby. But a girl can always dream.
My ace in the hole as a human being used to be my capacity for remembering birthdays. I worked at it. Whenever I made a new friend, I made a point of... →
I was never any good at remembering dates, but now I hardly have to. When the first bulb catalogs get delivered and the hens start laying again... →
I had forgotten how thrilling a snow day is until my son started school, and as much as he loves it, he swoons at the idea of a free day arriving... →
Winter in the country is very white. There is black grit on all the shoulders of the roads and on the big mounds from the plows, and all the cars are... →
The iPhone calendar isn't bad, but it isn't great, either. It only offers a day view and a month view - it doesn't have a week view... →
I love tearing things out of the ground. I love digging and discarding. I love pruning. In fact, I love pruning so much that I once gave myself... →
Places like Hilton Head, with water adjacency and nice climates, are in high demand, and land values are insane. In the case of Hilton Head, which... →
I think of myself as something of a connoisseur of procrastination, creative and dogged in my approach to not getting things done.
One of my favorite activities as a teen-ager was to watch television over the phone with my best friend.
Dogs really are perfect soldiers. They are brave and smart; they can smell through walls, see in the dark, and eat Army rations without complaint.
I remember, when I was a kid, watching my mother jam herself into her girdle - a piece of equipment so rigid it could stand up on its own - and I... →