appy new year. I wrote a story yesterday for Salon. It's a satire about "year of" books. It's called "The year of 'Living Oprah.'" Also, I moved. Also, I'm tired!

wrote this story about older women addicted to "Twilight." Then I put together Salon's Sexiest Man Living feature. (Spoiler alert: James Franco wins!) Then I had the greatest Thanksgiving ever. (Spoiler alert: Girls won Trivial Pursuit. Suck on that, James Franco!) Then I got sick, quite sick. And that was three days ago. And I sat down tonight to write about it, about the absurdities of living on Dayquil and dumb DVDs, but I got sleepy, quite sleepy. So I guess what I'm saying is: Maybe next time?

can only vaguely remember how I learned about the miracle that is Spanx. Years ago, a good friend of mine showed up looking fairly smashing one night, and when I expressed my admiration, she said to me, with a conspiratorial wink, "Spanx."

I'm sure there was nuance and complexity in there. Because, honestly, if I saw that commercial on TV, I would call total bullshit.

But anyway, Spanx went from something that women whispered about to something "Oprah" and "Tyra" and a dozen glossy mags trumpeted with giant features, and now I am proud to have written what I hope is the first major Spanx makeout story.