Why has Stella Artois lost its identity?

We don't drink Stella Artois because of the fancy glass.  We don't drink Stella Artois because of the can based on the fancy glass.  We certainly don't drink Stella Artois because of profoundly embarrassing commercials starring Adrien Brody.  We don't even really know what "She is a thing of beauty" means, in the context of imported beers.

We drink Stella Artois because, and only because, it is reassuringly expensive.  That is its niche.  It can be drunk in a bar without disaster.  It can be served at a party without embarrassment.

They used to know this.  That was the ad campaign--that Stella was reassuringly expensive.  Those exact words.  We chuckled, we nodded, sometimes we bought more.  It was brilliant.

But now...it's like we've never even met.

Why is Frank Churchill such a jackwagon?

Secrecy is, of course, paramount, but he could probably treat his stealth fiancée with something on this side of contempt and not make anyone suspicious.  A hush-hush engagement must be very little fun when one's husband-to-be prances about the place leading people on and treating oneself quite ill indeed.

Mr. Churchill and (perhaps still more markedly) Mr. Elton certainly exist to throw Mr. Knightley's virtues into flattering relief, but this ought to have been done without consigning poor Miss Fairfax to an awful marriage with a selfish louse.  She, at least, has no flaws of character except an excess of reserve, which hardly counts.  Not for her the thoughtless blast radius of Emma's sheltered meddling--no, all she does is treat her aunt with infinite forbearance.  No one has to take her in hand to make her a worthwhile human being, and she's not even a dip like Fanny Price.

To force her to become Mrs. Frank Churchill seems unfair.

Why is the NBA back?

Did you miss it?  No?

Me neither.

Why isn't my classical radio station playing the lessons and carols service from King's?

That is what Christmas Eve is for, people.

Happy Christmas, everyone!

Why are they making another stupid Sherlock Holmes movie?

No, I didn't see the first.  No, I'm not going to.  No, I am also not going to see the second.  No, no, no.

Can these people read?  And, if so, why do they feel a desperate desire to crap all over my childhood?

Look.  The Holmes stories are kind of schlocky.  Conan Doyle himself was vaguely embarrassed by them.  Holmes manages to fall off a cliff to certain death and then come back (by popular demand).  His inferences are often ludicrous, and he manages to keep himself in cocaine and Stradivarius violins even when there's no work coming over his threshold.  There are silly problems with silly solutions and his friendship with Watson is strange but steadfast.  Also he has a waxwork of himself made, but not, we are led to believe, out of rampant narcissism.

However, "kind of schlocky" seems to translate, in Hollywood, into "breathlessly stupid," "Robert Downey, Jr. in drag," "explosions," and "bravado."  Incorrect.  And from what I gather from friends who have seen the movies, the bromance (I apologize for the gross neologism) is just adorable.  Which is also, forgive me, not really the point.

The worst part is that the BBC is, even now, making a truly excellent Holmes series ("Sherlock," for those of you fools who don't know), which changes absolutely everything but the essentials.  It's set now, and there isn't even any cocaine, and text messages are myriad, and there's no portrait of VR on the wall, and it's perfect.  Watson has a migrating wound picked up in Afghanistan, and Holmes is a moderately creepy obsessive with a big silly coat.  Their friendship is subtle, odd, hilarious, and never in the foreground for cheap laughs.  The show is all the things the movies are not, and it is sublime.

I (sort of) miss the days when Jude Law was in everything, too, but if this is the price I must pay, I am willing for those days never to return.

Why does the Met only have a tiny, lame selection of Chanukah cards?

I get all my Christmas cards from the Metropolitan Museum, because they have the best Christmas cards.  They have an enormous range of religious and secular cards, and almost all of them are completely beautiful.

Their Chanukah cards are awful.  For years, they had essentially one design, which wasn't even a Chanukah menorah--only seven branches, not nine.  Now they have four designs, all of which are atrocious, and look like your kid brother drew a menorah when he had 'flu.  (I know, this is a hackneyed and generally untrue insult often hurled at modern and contemporary art, but in this case it is whang in the gold.)

I know that the most famous menorah in western art (that on the arch of Titus) is not really one we're keen to put on Chanukah cards, but there has to be something between the year 82 and now that would fit the bill.  Somewhere in the world, there really, really has to be.

Edited:  I checked.  They have better menorahs in their collection.  Step it up, chumps.

Why doesn't Clara mind being the queen of a candy-floss world populated entirely by racial stereotypes?

Even if you get to listen to Tchaikovsky all the time, that's not much of a kingdom.  Other aspects include: a (rather wooden) boyfriend in tights, gigantic rats, and a complete dearth of conversation.  Those could be positives, if viewed in the right light (well, not the gigantic rats, and depending on the quality of the boyfriend's legs), but would probably pall after about, oh, say, an hour.

Why are you always supposed to sing "Silent Night" quietly?

I mean, I get it.  It's a silent night.  Babies and livestock need not to be woken.  I get it.

But.  "Silent Night" has a really enormous range, and some of those notes are high, and you have no chance of hitting them if you don't support them.  Which is hard to do quietly unless you're actually a good singer, which most people in your bog-standard group of carollers are emphatically not.

So what you end up with is some nervous keening and cracked notes.  Which I'm sure the Christ-child forgives, but he shouldn't.

Why is Diane Keaton shilling for Chico's?

It gives the impression that Diane Keaton has become her character from Something's Gotta Give, which is tragic, because that movie is awful and no one sleeps with Jack Nicholson who could sleep with Keanu Reeves.  Especially if Jack Nicholson is a jackwagon (which is always) and Keanu Reeves is nice if dull (which is pretty much always).  Come on, Diane Keaton has seemed to be awesome forever, and she can really pull off a dinner suit.

Sure, Julianne Moore is doing the Talbot's thing, and Demi Moore is in the new Ann Taylor campaign (Yes, you are officially old; a member of the Brat Pack is in advertisements for mom clothes.), but those are both stores that have clothes you might ever, ever wear.  Chico's sells caftans and chunky jewelry for fashion- and evidently vision-impaired matrons.  They think that zebra prints are fashion forward.  They are currently selling a crinkle skirt!  In 2011!  I am not making this up!

Annie Hall isn't exactly a fashion icon (except for a blessedly small subsection of society), but she could do better than this.

Why are we excited about "chocolate" diamonds?

On a regular basis, it occurs to me that we don't have enough brown gemstones.  Oh, wait.  No, it doesn't.  Because we don't need any brown gemstones, because it's not a sparkly sort of color.  If you want brown jewelry, you can get tiger's eye or wood.

The best part here is that the ad campaign itself acknowledges the problem, and can't call the diamonds "brown" with a straight face.  It just sounds awful.  So they go with "chocolate," which really isn't better.  Unless the diamond is not, in fact, a diamond, and is actually made of chocolate, I am not interested.

Why is it now impossible to care about anything at all without being an unwashed jackass sleeping in a park?

That's right: if you're not currently in a tent somewhere, you don't care.  Nope, you don't.  It is literally the only acceptable way to be politically active, or even human.  Voting is passé.  Writing to your congressman is laughable.  Working in a soup kitchen?  For fools.

If you're not occupying something, you are almost certainly, right now, eviscerating a kitten.  Not even to eat it!  Just for fun!  You ate a baby already.

Why can't vegans admit that they are implicated in the wholesale slaughter of yeast?

Sure, cows matter to you, and chickens, and bees, but not yeast?  Do you even know how many yeasts have died for your carbohydrate consumption?  And they are kept in foil packets in deeply inhumane conditions, only to be dumped unceremoniously into a bowl where they have a few brief minutes of glee before they are set on fire and eaten.  They have also died for your beer and your wine.  And don't even get me started on the bacteria you eat--alive--in your soy yogurt.

The hypocrisy!

Why do runners have a death wish?

Well, obviously they're runners, and they like pain, so there's that.  But honestly.  Here are some tips for when you run at night:

1.  Don't.

2.  At least wear a white shirt.  And that's only if you literally cannot afford a reflective vest or some sort of weird miner light.

3.  Wear a reflective vest or some sort of weird miner light.  Is your life not worth fifteen bucks?

4.  Run as close to the curb as is reasonable.  The road is better on your legs, but it's also for vehicles, and not really for you.

5.  For the love of all that is holy, run against the traffic.  If you run with the traffic, you cannot see the cars that are nearest to you.  If they don't see you, you're dead.

So stop running at night in the middle of the road with your back to traffic in your black workout clothes with your headphones on.  Unless you actually want to die.  In which case, I guess it's fair.