This issue was chock-a-block with stuff, including the world’s current favorite bowl of alphabet soup, Bananabread Cinnabon. One could argue Vogue should have put him on the cover, for newsstand swooning alone. Instead, we got Amy Adams — which more than twenty of you guessed would happen, though mostly in February for American Hustle, rather than in December, for Whatever She’s In Right Now Which Will Probably At Least Net Her A Globe Nod – and while I like her, this cover and I are not the best of friends. Although I will take it a hundred times over the creepy-ass thing they did to her inside the book. Come and see. Be brave.