Jody Amable

Jon Stewart, step aside. Your heir apparent has arrived.

A few weeks back, I got looped into an Instagram chat with some coworkers from one of my gigs, who were snarking about the fact that the

A new feature with music picks tailor-made to ensure your weekend jam sessions are absolutely ravishing.

According to the magazine, women need special help understanding sports. Cue the glorious, hilarious Twitter outrage.

FINALLY someone acknowledges professional boundaries at Hogwarts.

Forget a cute story of wizard wonderment — the real moral of Harry Potter is that life is an endless parade of pain and turmoil where you have to watch everyone you’ve ever loved die.

The neighbors turned their lights off. My dog fell sound asleep. I kept reading. And at 1:03 am, I finished. All was well.

There are a lot of things to hate about the Olympics.

Harnessing the courage within myself—courage I didn’t even know I had—to coolly, calmly call this guy out has made me a better human being.

If I let everyone off the hook for extenuating circumstances like, “He’s over 50, so he probably just doesn’t know any better,” no one’s ever going to stop calling me “sweetie.”