Slytherin, according to him. Which is hilarious.

I dunno if I’m jealous of his wife, because I’m pretty sure he’s so busy that she only sees him for about half an hour every fortnight. I mean, there’s being a worksholic, and then there’s Lin Miranda. Even God is like: Dude. You gotta rest sometime. I know I’d have a hard time coming to terms with his overwhelming…

I know. I know. Everything you say: me too. All of it.

I didn’t see Pain and Gain, but I do understand the deep, existential anguish of loving one of Michael Bay’s films. It’s miserable. It’s like loving Sarah Palin’s taste in clothes: you feel so dirty, but there it is. It’s the fucking pits, but whaddya gonna do?

It’s kind of an interesting question: what movie do you love that everyone else haaaaated? I have two. The first is Michael Mann’s Miami Vice, which I’m pretty sure is a perfect movie—moody and lush and menacing and gorgeous—but which everyone else (i.e. woefully wrong people) think is ludicrous garbage. They are…

I know. Me too. Lin-Manuel Miranda makes me want to love my own life more. I don’t think I’ve ever encountered anyone who exudes more irrepressible joy. He just bubbles over with it. I want that. I want every bit of that fizzing, incandescent cheerfulness. What a way to live a life.

I know. It’s sick, right? No one person should be so good at so many things and still be likeable and funny. There’s got to be something that he sucks at. There has to be something.

For context on the Hamlet/Hamilton silliness:

I think Lin Miranda was on the shortlist for Person of the Year. Which he absolutely deserved, but not for Hamilton, which was ok I guess, if you like transcendently beautiful pieces of art that make you question what you knew of joy before you saw it. No, he should be Person of the Year for this stupidly great…

Me too. My name has lots of soft vowels and baroque consonants, and is starting to become more common in the US with its growing Latino population. But growing up in London in the 80s and 90s, I had never heard of anyone else who shared it. It’s not wholly unique—my parents didn’t invent it—but it feels very…

Yeah, but all names are made-up names. All of them. The only difference is the number of years they’ve been in circulation. Personally, I’ve got no problem with new names. There’s something kind of beautiful in giving your kid a name that’s never been used before, that’s as clean and un-fingermarked as a new piece of…

Yes. That’s what Luckier was referring to. The name is St John. In the UK, it’s pronounced, with the purse-lipped, marble-mouthed upper-class accent we’re sometimes known for, as ‘Sinjin’.

Awww, it’s always so lovely to hear that people you admire have nice folks. Was she as hilariously extroverted as Lin is? (I’m not sure that’s psychologically possible, actually.)

Honestly, Hamilton has genuinely thrown me into a kind of existential despair. It’s just so sublime that it unhinges me. Like, reaches into some locked box in my brain that I didn’t even know existed. It honest-to-god causes me literal soulpain to know that I will never, ever, in an uncountable number of universes,…

Perfectly put.

Forgiving individual misstatements is fine but they still have to be called out because taken together, they ARE the patriarchy.

I can barely keep myself from saying criminally stupid shit from one minute to the next, so the idea of being in the public eye gives me the heaving collywobbles. I mean honestly, even whenever I see a little blue notification on the upper left hand corner of my screen on Jezebel, I think: oh shitting Christ, what…

Yeah, that was definitely my take on it too. Seemed like a fairly reasonable idea. But I have no idea about anything, really, and other folks seemed super-pissed, so I figured I was just missing something. (This is my default mode for life, basically. I pretty much always figure I’ve been napping during the important…

I think one of the shittiest consequences of that is that when someone says something truly despicable, there’s nowhere left to go. We’ve already worked ourselves up into a bug-eyed, frothing rage about Brad Pitt being a bit dumb by describing his family as migratory workers, and there is no more language left. We…

I wish there were more room in the modern media world for a bit more easy generosity between folks. It’s wearying to always be demanding apologies, you know? People goof. They say stupid shit. They get tired. And it sometimes feels like we’re all just waiting for someone to piss us off so we can purge some hateful…