Am I really going to eat roasted chickpeas for lunch for the third day in a row?

BTW, I don't even know why I bother writing about the end of the year when I can just share what my father wrote more than 40 years ago. Final graphs are in the alt text:

First Tuesday of 2026, I'm taking stock of 2025. substack.com/home/post/p-...

Good morning, Bluesky. "You knew I'd write a book about you someday. You said once that I'd dredge up the whole hit parade minus you. I'll never know how you'd tell it. For me it begins here. Like this." --Heart the Lover, Lily King-- (Photo from March 2025)

Good morning, Bluesky. Glad I've been living an almost monk-like, ascetic life since Jan. 1 -- writing every morning, reading student work, working out, walking my 5 miles -- because it means today isn't quite such a shock to the system. Other than whatever hell the government rains down on us.

Rereading Marjorie Morningstar (as I am wont to do) and realizing that Noel Airman would be one of the most tedious men on Bluesky. “Now then, listen carefully. If I were to get technical about what I’m writing . . . “ (Chapter 30, NOEL’S THEORY)

I agree that we all need to call our senators, congresspeople to record our objections to the administration’s illegal actions, but, man, it’s nice knowing that one of my senators has been on top of things for quite some time.

It seems inevitable to me that we're going to find out that the new values rolled out by CBS were developed with input from an LLM.

There appears to be a potential cat adoption happening in Baltimore because of Bluesky and this is just one reason to love Baltimore Bluesky.

Good morning, Bluesky. Rabbit, rabbit, Starting off 2026 awfully smug as I chose to be sensible, go to bed early, and get straight to work on Jan. 1. Book due in 5 months, 12 student manuscripts to read by Jan. 17. Photos from Dec. 31, 2024.

tfw Your flight to New Orleans is delayed 90 minutes and you have a new bestie by boarding.

Good morning, Bluesky. “How long have I been wed to myself? Calling myself darling, dressing for my own pleasure, each morning . . . lifting the veil to see my face. Darling, I say, I have waited for you all my life.” —Maggie Smith— (full text in the alt text)

I am madly in love with the Dec. 12 version of me who made chicken chili with white beans and then froze half of it. You’re a goddess, Laura of 18 days ago.

Isiah Whitlock Jr.? THIS HAS BEEN PRETTY MUCH THE SHITTIEST CHRISTMAS BREAK EVER.

Good morning, Bluesky. “You are my friend— you bring me peaches and the high bush cranberry you carry my fishpole you water my worms you patch my boot with your mending kit nothing in it but my hand.” —Lorine Niedecker— (Alt text day)

How many more times do I have to tell the Internet that I was Billy Zane's swim counselor at camp?

I should probably go check on the chairs on my rooftop deck.

Good morning, Baltimore. Over at Oldster, I’m back on my other bullshit, working through the endless list of things I don’t know. This time, I’m trying to figure out why I’m happier than I’ve ever been despite the state of the world, etc. open.substack.com/pub/oldster/...

I have never loved hate so much.

#IfIWereYourMom and you finally had an appetite after a week of flu.

Good morning, Bluesky. (Gingerly) back on my bullshit, trying not to be bitter about the fact that the flu may have tanked my walking stats for 2025. (I was on pace for a 5.6 miles per day average, it has now fallen to 5.5.)

The crime-writing freshman class of 1997 included Lee Child and, IIRC, Rick Riordan, although his debut might have been the following year. Harlan Coben, who came a few years before us, was four years out from publishing Tell No One. Had dinner with Lehane at first-ever Bouchercon in ‘96.

I worry that in taking medicine that makes my cough more productive that I’m just succumbing to capitalist propaganda.

Good morning, Bluesky. Kid with flu + mom with flu is a heckuva combination, but we’re soldiering on with a little help from DoorDash. Photo from two years ago.

Good morning, Bluesky. Best-laid schemes are aft-agleying here, but we’re trying to have good attitudes about it. Photo from one year ago today.

I think A LOT about the mechanics of getting that horse’s head into Woltz’s bed.

Good morning, Bluesky. I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need . . .

Daughter and I have surrendered to the utter misogynist misery of Love, Actually, which is interesting as she is totally in the tank for Hugh Grant and Alan Rickman, while I am arguing for Bill Nighy’s charms.

Y’all this is young Tessio, there is no way he turned into Abe Vigoda.(Don’t @me I did an exhaustive search for images of young Abe Vigoda and, hey, not bad, but not this.)

Good morning, Bluesky. “Nephew . . . Keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine!”* *Long walks, stuffed stockings, red beans and rice for dinner, a workout or two, at least one cinematic version of A Christmas Carol, probably Scrooge followed by Scrooged.

Love this thread. Not even sure how to describe my 2025, which started low in the wake of my mom’s death, then built steadily*, but I think making lists of what we’re grateful for is always valuable. *piece of writing coming soon about how happy I am

WTF? (The Giant today.)

Good morning, Bluesky. Things you learn during insomnia: The cast of To Live and Die in LA is so stacked that Gary Cole plays “Man Chased by Richard.” Photo from one year ago today because sleet.

Update: Timothee Chalamet in Lady Bird appears to be aiding my daughter’s recovery from the flu. Am now fully committed to taking her to see Marty Supreme this week. (She has seen Lady Bird multiple times. She thinks A24 is her personality type.)

My kid has the flu (already trending better) and in between caretaking and obsessive hand-washing, I gave her this stocking gift early to cheer her up (hat now adorned with pom-pom). But what to name her? Please think on this while I take a walk and the kid watches Challengers for the 2nd time.

Me: Yes, yes, yes. Man: No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, why are you dominating the conversation?

Good morning, Bluesky. “I’ve never met a guy who talks as much as me.” —The Holiday— (Actually, I’ve met A LOT of men who talk as much as I do, but they weirdly tend to think they’re Gary F’ing Cooper?)

Was out running errands and returned home to the news about Ransone. I met him only a handful of times, but he was such a sweetheart. Especially enjoyed spending time in Africa with him, comparing notes on our travels in Zimbabwe.

Good morning, Bluesky. Back on my bullshit.

Returned home to a favorite tradition — love my HarperCollins/Morrow crew.

Good morning, Bluesky. And goodbye to my darlin’ New Orleans. I’ll be back very soon.

Good morning, Bluesky. “Come and trim my Christmas tree With some decorations bought at Tiffany’s I really do believe in you Let’s see if you believe in me.” (I really have been very, very good in 2025. A veritable angel, in fact.) Photo from 363 days ago.

Good morning, Bluesky. “My mother made tongue. She was a terrible cook. She was a terrible person.” The things you text yourself when having dinner with other writers and everything sounds like the potential opening of a book. Photo from 12-2021

Good morning, Bluesky. “Maybe I’ll learn to sew Maybe I’ll just lie low Maybe I’ll hit the bars Maybe I’ll count the stars Until the dawn Me, I will go on. Maybe I’ll settle down Maybe I’ll just leave town Maybe I’ll have some fun Maybe I’ll meet someone and make him mine.” Alt text recommended.

Good morning, Bluesky. Edited bio to include "muting mansplainers since 2010," which is when I joined Twitter. Please don't interpret this as a challenge. Photo from 12/18/2024

Yes, New Orleans is 20 degrees warmer than Baltimore today, but at certain temps I simply cannot get the house here above 64 degrees, I’m going to have to put my coat on just to hang out in the kitchen.

Good morning, Bluesky. Remember the olden times, when television was all reruns as the holidays approached? The Sugar House (actual name of my corporation) is in reruns this week. We will return to our regular programming soon. Photo from 12/15/2023

R.I.P. the mass market paperback, which his how I got started in publishing. Favorite story: I had pizza with the truck drivers who filled the racks. One driver asked me: “Is this your first book?” Me, blushing modestly: Yes. Him, in world’s best Baltimore accent: AND YOU’RE ALREADY $5.99?

Good morning, Bluesky. “She’s having trouble with her husband, him being a man and all.” —Meet Me in St. Louis— Photo from 370 days ago because — SLEET!@#$!&#!

“When I’m driving Mr. Swann, he’s chief of the car. And when the chief says he wants to make some stops, Alfie Bumbacelli makes the stops.” Settling in for 92 minutes of perfection.