After seven years as Salon's TV critic, I'm leaving. I've thoroughly enjoyed writing for Salon all these years: My very supportive editors let me cover everything and anything, from the seething boozehounds of Drunk Asshole Hotel to the seething boozehounds of "Mad Men." And whether I was tackling dying undertakers, whoring sea donkeys, ambivalent mobsters or aging boomers, I was given an alarming amount of creative freedom -- alarming to readers, most of all -- and took full advantage of it. I indulged in caffeine-fueled digressions and rambling parodies, created TV-themed puppet shows, and crafted not one but two "Deadwood"-speak columns that made ample use of the word "cocksucker."
To all of Salon's readers: You're some of the most engaged and outspoken readers on the Web, and my writing has benefited from both your criticism and your encouragement. I genuinely appreciate your support over the years. Please feel free to drop me a line via Twitter, keep up with my latest work through my website, the rabbit blog, and look for my memoir, "Disaster Preparedness," on Dec. 30 from Riverhead Books.
Few writers ever get the chance to enjoy a job that's as creatively fulfilling as this one, or to write for an audience as smart and as insightful as Salon's. Although it's time for me to move on to new challenges, I will look back fondly on my years at Salon and feel grateful for them.
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