Booze and Kids.

Tempers and light sabers.

You know nothing good can come of this.

On the sleep-eat-work-sleep cycle 'round the clock these days, so short this post must be.

(h/t to a very cool blog called Very Hot Jews. Because you gotta love a writer -- in this case, Ms. Sera Gamble, one of the two Very Hot Jews who conn this mighty site -- who can tap together a sweet piece of prose like this:

You will be unsurprised to hear that we got tearful not once but twice during the telecast. By the end of the night we were as pliable and emo as a claque of drunken housewives at a Steel Magnolias/Grey's Anatomy cryathon. Simon is fond of remarking, as a trailer for the latest factory-assembled chick flick draws to a close, "My vagina is weeping. Pass me a tissue; I need to dab." But even he couldn't conceal the occasional lump in his throat during the Oscarcast.)

(And a p.s.h/t (tm) to the terrific and carnaliterate Susie Bright for pointing the way to said blog.)