I’d love to see James L. Tiptree’s novella “Houston, Houston Do You Read” turned into a film. Tiptree was a woman (and an FBI agent in the 1950s!) and the novella was about men in space who rendevous with a ship that seems wonderful and strange and I won’t spoil it.

Sounds just caucasian enough for the Hallmark Channel to option your rough spitballing of a script! I approve!

OH MY GOD I HATE THAT CREEPY SONG.

May I recommend “A Baby’s Prayer” by Kathy Troccoli? Not Christmas, but oh, the schmaltz.  

You know who is actually close to Prince in terms of musical ability? An old country music artist named Barbara Mandrell. I was always stupefied by how many instruments Mandrell can play quite fluently.

My spouse’s fave gift was two nights at Los Poblanos Organic Lavender Farm in Albuquerque. I highly recommend it. Sweet little working farm. Animals (including the most smug rooster I’ve ever encountered and a curious peacock named Albert) and gorgeous rooms with kiva fireplaces in them!

My mother bought me a Kitchenaid Stand Mixer for my birthday last month. I love it so much and keep telling her not to get me anything for Christmas! She insists, so I asked for a blow torch. Which I could use.

Tangent: This year, I decided that I’d short-circuit the annual anxiety-fest that is Deciding What To Get For Dad. He’s a wonderful 75yo man who lives in rural America on a small cattle ranch. (It’s tiny. He runs about 150 head of cattle).

Good point. Can’t say I disagree with your analysis.

I might be in the minority here, but there is *some* impact on reading a piece that shows me — not tells me - that racism can persist even among well educated, well-groomed and well-paid people. I know this is nothing new — people rant all the time on Gawker about the boardroom being an anachronistic, preening,…

I am so psyched that someone other than me remembers Marathon Man and the Olivier barb!

Thank you for saying this. That was my experience of Monsters Ball, and after I saw it, I was dumbfounded over the extent of “omigodhalleberriesboobs!” I read and heard.

I couldn’t get through five minutes of This is the End. It was like watching a circle jerk.

Tangent: I stopped taking Mariah seriously when I realized that, yes, fondling her own enormous breasts was in fact the diva’s go-to move.

Baylor University grad here. Class of ‘93 — the year of David Koresh, and yes, we saw the smoke from the burning compound from the fourth floor windows of Caroll Science Hall.

Whew!

I completely agree with the Atlantic article about Bob Dylan being a jerk.

Right? I know it seems super judgmental, but I’ve actually RSVP’d “no” to friends’ second and third weddings and declined to give them gifts. I kinda feel like if you’re getting married for the third time, do everyone a damn favor and go to the justice of the peace - and don’t ask me for an electronic roasting pan,…

What, pray tell, is a consultation prize?

Misogyny and Fundamentalism are the bows of the same yoke when it comes to patriarchy.