I just don't know if I can commit to a new lady with a guitar again. I feel so burned, by the Tiffany Anders (she was going to save folk-pop!), the Gillian Welches, the Tara MacLeans, the Marit Peters... My God, Laura Veirs alone! Why did you leave me and go and put out a childrens' album, Laura Veirs? You used to write songs about heroin! So can I really do all this emotional work again, with Sharon Van Etten? Maybe, maybe not. I'll take a long look inside myself and see how strong I really am.

"It says much for McTeer that the obvious question—'What are the chances of two cross-dressers meeting trouser to trouser in late-nineteenth-century Dublin?'—hardly enters our minds. Stately and swaggering, taller than most of the men, and sporting the dark forelock of the natural rake, McTeer, who has been Oscar-nominated for best supporting actress, carries conviction as easily as she wears her breeches and corduroy jacket, transforming Hubert’s rangy physical confidence into a larger embrace of life’s amusements and kicks. She is no perhapser but a thoroughgoing yes-woman, like Molly Bloom." READ MORE

Brace yourself. Caitlin Flanagan has an exceedingly perceptive and well-done essay in the Atlantic! Sure, there is a psychologically deep-seated and somewhat deranged whiff of/riff on gender essentialism (boys like Hunter Thompson and girls like Joan Didion!), but hey, that's at least a little true. For one thing, she draws well the obvious connections that Didion and John Gregory Dunne were the most extreme caricatures of their generation of parents (in short: rather terrible), the parents who made their childrens' generation into helicoptering nightmares. READ MORE

"MARIANNE MOORE IS RELUCTANT TO SAY THAT SHE CAN NOT DO ANY OF THESE THINGS: READ MANUSCRIPT; COUNSEL WRITERS; GRANT INTERVIEWS; PROVIDE PHOTOGRAPHS; RECOMMEND PUBLISHERS; RECOMMEND EDITORS FAVORABLE TO VERSE BY CHILDREN OR WORK BEQUEATHD [sic] FOR PUBLICATION; PROVIDE DATA FOR THESES, LECTURES, SCHOOL ASSIGNMENTS, MEMOIRS; DOES NOT PROVIDE; COLLECTORS OF AUTOGRAPHS WITH CARD, STAMP OR ENVELOPE; DOES NOT READ BOOKS WITH A VIEW TO COMMENTING; ASKS FRIENDS WHO ARE MEMBERS OF UNIVERSITY OR OTHER FACULTIES NOT TO SUGGEST HER TO THEIR STUDENTS OR TO VISITING SCHOLARS AS AVAILABLE FOR CONSULATION [sic]." READ MORE

I would like to pitch some kind of "Bosom Buddies"-type sitcom in which Time television critic James Poniewozik is forced to don drag in order to ply his trade because since we started letting ladies write about the tube, it turns out that they are pretty solid. Probably better than dudes, even. Maybe next we'll let them write about politics and stuff! Or am I just being crazy? Anyway, Awl pals abound in this one, so give it a look. READ MORE

I am totally dying over this thread in which people are mocking the drawing of Spiderman's Mary Jane. (Which, huh, I did not know Mary Jane was supposed to look like... that.) I believe it all started here, four days ago: "Pro tip for comic book artists: No human being alive sits like that as a way of relaxing. This is beyond ridiculous." I'm trying right now!

"Yogurt science has gone too far. We have yogurts that make you go, yogurts from Greece that you cut like brie (mmm, fat), yogurts that taste like enchilada-style burritos. Do you remember WOW chips? What are we looking for from food? Do we really want food with which you can stuff yourself without getting full or without the benefits of energy? Look, like with Diet Cokes, sometimes you want to eat eight pounds of something without feeling like Gilbert Grape’s mom (sometimes I do! Sometimes humans are the shape of our own shame, like a shadow on the ground we need to cover with popcorn and gum wrappers and toast to PROVE WE EXIST), but what did we learn from WOW chips and the dairy-free sugar-free froyo fad from the early 2000’s? I’ll tell you what: nothing, because of these yogurts." READ MORE

Ha, this morning on my way to coffee, I was thinking about writing something about how I was a little incoherent yesterday on the topic of journalism professionals Jay Rosen and Nicholas Carr debating 'Is the Internet Good For Journalism.' Because I was! My underlying criticism being: 1. Jesus, barn doors, horses, fires, etc., come on people, it's 2011. And 2. Who actually needs this conversation to happen? WHY? And 2.5 Jesus, if I have to hear two profesh men debate the meaning of things one more time, I'll sorta scream. (And, unsurprisingly, if there were actually "sides" in this non-debate, obviously I'd be on Jay Rosen's, who actually helps create journalism on the web and encourages such and tries to help the children of the brave new world.) But semi-coherence gets what it deserves, so Jay's dealt with me nicely. He's done me a service really—he's finally convinced me that women don't enjoy rising to the positions that these men hold, which is why there are virtually no ladies in the positions of semi-power (I mean, I know, "power," LOL—mostly I mean paycheck?) in the media talking head arena. I've realized I believe that women, well, yes! They just don't enjoy getting paid and/or debating abstract questions. I've decided to make it official: no more opinions by women here! Please pitch stories about your lady feelings to The Hairpin or something. MAYBE JUST GO HAVE SOME BABIES? Definitely stop reaching for the stars and stuff though.

Late on Friday night, I joined a lot of other white people at the Highline Ballroom to see Odd Future. At the door, a girl in a Juicy sweatshirt handed out paper masks of Tyler, The Creator’s face. The image was borrowed from his self-designed Goblin album cover. There were eyeholes punched out, so that you couldn’t see the milky black irises he’d Photoshopped onto his own face, and so that every person there could resemble Tyler while they chanted “swag,” “goblin,” and “Free Earl," who needs no freeing, at the 20-year-old with a microphone and a record deal who claims not to care for his own music. READ MORE

But this job posting for a "tech-oriented magazine show" is, you see, on the web, ladies. On the Internet, no one wants to see your old faces.