I’ve got nothing. Sunday was a bummer. First, there was the dismal article in the Times about the sick science behind junk food. Then the forlorn, forced, and funniless Oscars. Finally, cold pizza topped with odd-tasting, listless pepperoni. By the end of the day I’d had all of the joy–not to mention optimism, love, and hope for mankind–sucked out of me.

Here’s how I know I’m getting old. During the Oscars my most frequent comment was: “Why doesn’t she just brush her hair?” Second most frequent: “Who is this guy that’s hosting again?” And I should emphasize: I was watching by myself.

On a totally unrelated note? I thought of a great name for a manicure salon: Mortal Nails.

Morbid Monday indeed. But don’t worry. It’s nothing that episode 7 of “Girls” won’t fix.