• DRINK TO THE LASSES: Notes from a Woman's College Womb
    DRINK TO THE LASSES: Notes from a Woman's College Womb
    by Mary Beth Ellis
  • Twentysomething Essays by Twentysomething Writers
    Twentysomething Essays by Twentysomething Writers
    Random House Trade Paperbacks
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The Butterfinger in the Dryer

New on RN: "Whatever It Takes


When That Which Must Not Be Discussed May Be Discussed

Hostessing all who err over on Redleg Nation 


Who's More Melty? 

Everyone from Canada knows each other, right? Latest post on the satellite


I Published This About Not Getting Published

Live from the Sugar Shack: "Bullpen carts are about as dignified as a dachshund with its leg in the air."


I Will Eat My Popcorn Outside the "Avengers: Endgame" Screening Room, Thank You Very Much

Social media is already awash with raves for Endgame, but you know what? I'm good. I'll pass.

This film is unnecessary for those of us who are largely in a happy place after the last Avengers movie, which ended with mostly all my favorites still walking. I’m not into the whole Marvel Universe thing at all, but I’ve seen several of these films to stare alternately at Thor and Captain America and listen to Iron Man. And Thor’s there, Iron Man is there, and Captain America is there, albeit on extremely rocky ground ever since he started acting like a Intersectional Avocados Studies major with a craft beer beard.

Yes, I sat in the gentle quiet with Thanos at the end of Infinity War, because nearly all the aggravations vanished: Twelve-year-old Spiderman, that stupid walking tree thing, the guy with the rhinestone in his head who for some reason accessories it with a sweater, and Ant-Man (his super power is getting really really tiny? Shut up.) I sat there watching annoying character after annoying character disintegrate, waiting with great anticipation for the obnoxious raccoon to also go unto dust, but if hanging onto Thor means suffering his presence, I’ll take it.

Black Panther Guy and Loki, Lord of the Snark, will be missed, but on the upside I’d spent zero wonderful minutes suffering under Gwyneth Paltrow’s permanent expression demanding to see a manager. Best of all, Robin from How I Met Your Mother was cast into the digital hinterlands, hopefully never to ruin a sitcom again.

It was lovely and quiet. May it remain so.