Bigger question?

Why aren't we all fat -- and finally it's addressed.

Enviable

Memoir & review both. 

Not fud, just funny

A "voracious reader" upchucks for big bucks.

Read

the fine print. And to think writers have their Twitters in a knot over the Reader's Digest plan to "repurpose" editorial from magazines in other countries. 

Not fud, unless you count

my endlessly repeated story of the editor at the NYT in 1982 who went bonkers over a story already on the desk about Capitol Hill volunteers passing out sandwiches to the many homeless in DC -- he was bellowing, "We can't run this! It makes Washington look like Calcutta!" Facts really are stubborn things.  

Not fud, just excellent

Would a few tons of coal ash shut up Turd Blossom? 

Missed

this, although a very cross editor would have helped here, too. 

The book

is even better. 

Not fud, but great

A fresh look

at an old story. Amazing to think how much the food world has changed since the dad story came out. And how little it has in other ways. 

Not fud, just laughable

A library full of pet goats.

How did I miss

avocado pits on the front page, for guacamole's sake?  

Well, there's always a sequel

In my first copy-editing job, at the Louisville Times, we always had to insert this sentence into stories about lawyer-enriching tiffs: "Claims made in the filing of a lawsuit represent only one side of the case." But it sounds as if women are not the only troublemakers here.

Cliffsnotes 2.0

As I was saying . . .

And I am so glad I sprang for the best of the lot on Alibris a couple of years ago. That wonderful old saying, "Drinks at 5, dinner at 6 and to be immortal you have to be dead," really rings true for Dad O'Martin, whose spawn became the second-best chronicler of the hangover. Dominique is right, though: Hitchens almost redeems the new book -- and himself -- with his "booze as muse" intro, no cutting and pasting required.

The one title still available as a URL

Having gone to the Evelyn Wood School of Cooking, with absolutely no regrets, I have a total appreciation of book reviews as CliffsNotes: Skim them and you can skip slogging through the real deal. But a supremely smart review will send you straight to Borders with 30 percent-off coupon in hand. I used to think "The Woman Who Mistook a Dinner Party for a Career" was a memoir to be written. Now I know a party acquaintance has gone and done it.

More evidence you become what you eat

Scott McClellan would now have us believe he was the original mushroom, kept in the dark and fed manure. And of course a particular pundit has the only reaction you need to read.