Jody Amable

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

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

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

I couldn’t help but assume the reason these people were telling me not to say even a word to this troll was because women aren’t supposed to fight back. We’re supposed to rise above — to “not stoop to their level,” as my mom used to say.

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

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.

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

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

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