Jody Amable

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

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

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

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.”

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.

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

The further I get into this series, the harder time I am having remembering what the eff has happened so far. You see, I am an Old Lady.

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

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

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.