It's "Mortara," and it's not a novel, it's a historical account of an actual thing that actually happened.

I dunno, maybe I'm just permissive when it comes to Prince, but Under the Cherry Moon is definitely worth a few genuine giggles. Wrecka Stow! (Although Prince + Jerome is not nearly the comic duo of Morris "Lezz Go!" Day + Jerome).

In the Platonic drunk story forever being told at the perfect center of the universe, there is always a guy named Ricky drunk off his ass in the backseat.

Alright, you stupid bitches (I include myself, because that song certainly resonated with me), time to 'fess up: what have you done to bring more people to this show?

For Rebecca, a furious screed on the potential abuse inflicted upon an old woman in poor health (and her beloved characters) through the release of an unpolished and poorly received novel constitutes an additional comment.

Sorry man, I've been translating this dissertation on Schelling and ground and stuff so I can have money for downloading CEG episodes and for my future Rachel Bloom Dream Mansion (food is a distant third), and the diction is starting to bleed over. In normal life, I mostly just try to swear creatively.

I think you're right that she's insecure, but I'm not sure how aware of it she is. I read her reflexive territory-marking as just that: a kind of learned behavior instilled by being (as she basically says) loathed by women and lusted after by men since puberty. She does admit that her friends abandoned her when she…

I was once hit by a hurricane of self-actualization. Had to live in a FEMA trailer for months, but I have to admit, I felt pretty good about myself the whole time.

Is Jess-free New Girl going to be nothing but a series of classic Winston-Cece mess-arounds? Because if so, I vote Jess makes an overly dramatic gesture in court only to be shot down by an overzealous bailiff.

The Jews, everyone! *jazz hands*

Roe and Wade.

Potential Names for Ovaries, Mark 1:

Pssh, if Mr. Gregor got decimated (reduced by 1/10th?) by a boulder, go ahead and feel terrible, because I've got it all figured out. I am on it. Go to Rachel Bloom's shul, offer to say Kaddish for her boulder-decimated dead husband for all eleven months, bring homemade bagels and lox AND Zabar's cream cheese to her…

Taking the trash out is the worst. Those trash collectors…judging you for what you have in your trash. Counting the empties. Noting what things you threw in that are technically recyclable. Noting that you've been living on like a single can of soup or packet of ramen a day for a month.

I feel you. Two weeks ago I was lying in bed all day (in a sexy French depression, of course) and randomly bursting into tears. Plus drinking myself into stupors (not on dessert wine, though, I have a *little* class), having panic attacks when forced to go to the grocery store, convincing myself that when my best…

Plus I've just this week gotten out of a months-long depressive episode and have been thinking a lot about butter.

I've been cooking a lot lately to work out my Passover menu (my friends and I do an insane blowout for the seder each year, I'm the only Jew and they're way more into it than me, it's a lot of fun), and I ordered a sack of unsulfured apricots to use in a recipe (sulfured apricots have an unappealing smell and taste…

No. You're hella sane. That was my sole criticism.

I love Cece in the role of the child-averse person dragooned into watching a friend's children. The unaddressable bawling, the frantic bargaining to for the love of God just stop the bawling for five minutes I will literally buy you anything and put ice cream on top of that thing sure go ahead and watch My Little Pony…

Dude's wife is crazy. Seriously, Naomi haunts my dreams. Maybe it's my own issues, but there's something about girls who look like they could kick your ass in seventeen ways without working up a sweat and/or interesting noses.