Over my bed, or the thing I call my bed which used to be a couch but is kinda now more of a cot, suddenly bathed in an unnatural moonlight, is a seven-foot book with arms and legs. It's a hardcover with a shiny commercial trade book cover. The title is set in a silvery font that jags and blurs out a little, like frost. It reads: THE COLDEST NIGHT OF THE YEAR. This was the title of a play the Drama Guild of my high school wrote and performed about homeless people for a one-act play competition. We didn't win, but I always liked that title. I always wanted to use it for a kind of hard-boiled thriller thing. So here it is, looking down at me in the middle of the night as I lie awake worrying about writing it. Except this book is bigger than me and has huge, unblinking "Simpsons"-character eyes. And a vague look of frustrated disgust across its mouth. It even has an arched eyebrow. It lifts a lit cigar to its teeth and squints. READ MORE

Although I’m huge on newspapers, no New York newspaper seems to fit my demographic: aging socialist who only wants to read the Sports Page and Garfield. I give up on newspapers ruthlessly and as permanently as I can. The Boston Globe and The New York Times were the first to go by the wayside. The Globe because The New York Times destroyed it, and then The Times because of their craven build-up to the Iraq War. That, and all their annoying Brooklyn trend pieces. I read the Boston Herald in Boston, minus the entire front section (except the always-enjoyable “The Inside Track,” because I want to know what Matt Damon and Donnie Wahlberg are up to). And I read The Wall Street Journal until recently, when it just got too expensive and too cumbersome to read on the subway. It was like building a tent inside a crowded submarine. I went with the New York Daily News for a while, but their sports page sucks and their politics aren’t much better. So I went back to the Post even though it represents everything I despise in a tabloid newspaper. But such a great sports section. READ MORE

Related: Seven Things You Did Not Know About Ghosts and The Dos And Don'ts Of Time Travel


Jim Behrle tweets at @behrle for your possible amusement.

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with the Great American Novel if your name is George R. R. Martin or Suzanne Collins. You guys are doing great; somebody give them genius grants. I had never before read a 1,000-page book, and now I’ve read like 5 of them. If Westeros had subways things would move along much faster, George. Think about it. (Unless it was a weekend! Then they’d have shuttle buses between King’s Landing and Riverrun like only once every few hours. Ugh!) And obviously Katniss Everdeen should have dated both those dudes in the book rather than suffer the guilt and sorrow of having to choose just one. Let’s stop living in the 20th Century, with all its bullshit morality and monogamy. Hot people can do whatever the hell they want. Those two whatstheirnames would be like, “Aw, Katniss, but I love you so much.” And she’d be like, “If you truly loved me you’d make out with each other.” And then they would and then everything would be awesome. But overall, Martin and Collins get a billion gold stars. The rest of you novelists, who knows what you’re thinking. The entire world economy depends upon the Great American novel to enrich the world with vampire and werewolf love triangles that become giant blockbuster movies that sell popcorn, tickets and movie tie-in gear. Have you ever seen a blockbuster movie based upon a French bestseller? Camus’ Stranger in IMAX 3D? No. And you never will. Only Americans possess the ability to create a breakout crossover global phenomenon. It’s a heavy burden, but there you go. Deal with it, American novelists. They don’t base movies on sonnets, otherwise Ted Berrigan would be the most famous writer of the last 50 years. READ MORE

The epic conclusion to an entire season of poetic football picks. READ MORE

Want to be a pretentious show-off with your friends this weekend when the big game is on? But you don't know the difference between the infield fly rule and a two-line pass (or even to what sports they apply)? Well, it's OK. Sports radio enthusiast and noted laundromat-lurker Jim Behrle, who graced us with his haiku picks this NFL season, has once again written down a cheat sheet of smart-sounding things you can spout during the Super Bowl! Remember, always take a pause in the middle of every sentence for maximum gravitas. Don't choke on a nacho while you opine! READ MORE

At New England -7 Baltimore 50

The Ravens are well known for their defense

First things first: Murder is wrong, OK? But let's say, hypothetically, that you're considering committing one anyway: how would you do it? Practically everyone wants to murder someone. That jerk that got the job you want. That guy who gets all his books reviewed while your books don’t even get published. That handsome, horrible dude everyone loves when only you know he is a complete fraud who must be exposed. Jonathan Franzen. Maybe you want to murder novelist Jonathan Franzen. Let’s say you do. You want to stand over Jonathan Franzen's wrecked body as it bubbles over with his own blood. You’re laughing and he’s just kind of lying there, gurgling. You beat him to death with an iPad and now there won’t be any more sprawling family angst novels from Mr. Handsome Fake Genius Man. Maybe that is who you want to murder. Maybe you would really enjoy wringing his skinny Brooklyn neck. His skinny, pretentious, overrated, Brooks Brothers neck. Hypothetically. Here are some things to think about while you're totally planning the fake murder you have no intention of actually doing and by reading this sentence you hereby absolve the writer of any complicity in the crimes you will in no way go out and commit here comes the period and Jim is absolved. READ MORE

New Orleans -4 At San Francisco 47

The Saints' offense is historically great

Saturday, January 7 READ MORE