Jody Amable

So far, Deathly Hallows is, to me, about the divide between the living, the dead, and the living who have seen death. Harry and I are part of an exclusive club: Those under 30 who have experienced death. And when I say “experienced,” I don’t mean “witnessed.” I mean really, really felt it, all the way through.

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

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.”

No matter how drunk he is, he can’t NOT notice this. His hand is moving. What do I do? What do I do? Do I politely ask him to stop? Do I yell at him? Do I wheel around and whack him in the face? You don’t know what he’s doing, Jody. Calm down. Don’t make a scene.

In this time of toy-giving, I'm reflecting on the impact one doll made on me and, I'm willing to bet, a small subset of other girls, too.

I was waiting to finally not like a Harry Potter book, and folks, I found it. Half-Blood Prince was boring.

I'm 30 years old and stuck in San Jose, the hometown I always wanted to leave. What happened?

Creator of grungy, gritty rock and roll with a poet’s heart, her critically-lauded record, Beyond the Bloodhounds, tells tales of a tumultuous childhood and split geographical identity.

FINALLY someone acknowledges professional boundaries at Hogwarts.

Like most nerd realms, music writing is a predominantly male world. Especially if, like me, your greatest love is classic rock.