this is what concerns me:

Honestly, I had no idea the economy was so bad as to drive the Mountain Goats and the Weakerthans into the cruise industry. Et tu, Kids in the Hall? Et tu?

“The Federal Reserve is refusing to identify the recipients of almost $2 trillion of emergency loans from American taxpayers or the troubled assets the central bank is accepting as collateral.” –Bloomberg

Things have been relatively bustling in my living room at TIWCM HQ lately. For APE last weekend, I made a lil’ quarter-sized, 24 page self-obsessed mini-comic about my favorite shoes (pictured: page one) and, in typical TIWCM fashion, table-squatted with the thing rather successfully. I swear that one of these days I will pay to play. Stumptown, perchance? Good news: that leaves nearly six months for a couple other stories, including the long FNB situation. Oh, plus my return to regular civilization.

Bad news: the entire miniscule “lit” comics industry may very well have collapsed in upon itself in a small, self-contained haze of inflated egos and semi-toxic inks by that point. Tom Spurgeon shares his cynical old-man wisdom on the subject.

For every new exhibitor at SPX putting their creativity on paper in order to share it with a couple of hundred fellow travelers, two young Hollywood functionaries descend on San Diego for the first time looking for idiosyncratic projects with a hook by which they get to justify their place on payroll.

Me, I’m just happy to get some really sweet deals on my print runs from my friend Henry down the street. Because print shops, those are definitely depression recession-proof…

SPX was sweet. The minicomic I made for it will be going up in part on Flickr over the coming days, plus I’ll even leave my apartment for a time to drop some off at the usual spots. They’re a paltry $2 each — even you can afford that in this economy. And because I like self-torture, I’m going to make a new lil’ something for APE, too, so stay tuned for some preview panels maybe.

In other news, I wrote another one of these political cartoon book dealies, this one campaign specific. The yearly book will be out in a few more weeks, and I’m writing a depressing forward on the state of political cartooning for it, so there’s lots to look forward to.

AND ALSO: I’m the new editor of Curbed SF. What-what? Yeah, about that whole leaving the apartment thing… Only to get more coffee.

Richard Florida says he wrote Who’s My City basically as a self-help tome. There are tons of books on the market that address choosing career and love (oft considered the other two big life decisions on which your happiness relies [no pressure]) — but none, he said, to address where one should choose to live.

I haven’t read the book, just listened to Florida’s longish Talk of the Nation segment, which was pretty enjoyable, though it only added fuel to my Portland fire. (Every other NPR commenter is singing its praises — maybe the city government hires viral marketing shills for this kind of assignment?)

I did, however, check out the Web site, which has some low-rent WMC features, like a pared-down “best cities” grid — which suggests that as a 20-29 year old single person, I should try Los Angeles, Santa Barbara, New York, San Francisco or TRENTON, NJ. Damn you, Florida.

I’ll probably still skim the book some time at the library, though, if only to find out more about Florida’s “five personality types” that dictate city choice better than most other factors, especially after hearing his banter with the aging “progressive” on TotN.

This Bryant Park Project piece sheds a bunch of doubt on my road trip plans: now that gas is topping $4/gallon, used oil from restaurants is nearly as hot of an item. Not only are new greasy corporations signing contracts with most chain retaurants to collect and purify their grease for biodiesel, but there are grease-stealing rings already cutting into those corporations’ profits. I’m not sure where I’d fit into this new oil economy, but I guess I’m still optimistic about the small diners of the heartland.

Every day I spend too much time looking at Craigslist postings for part-time jobs and writing gigs. Most are disappointing and predictable and non-profit-canvassing-related. But today I discovered the Hair Fairies.

We are the only full service head lice removal salon in LA, NY, SF and Chicago dedicated to safely and effectively removing these pesky parasites in a clean kid friendly environment.

The pay is real solid — $13/hour plus tips. But as much as I enjoyed summer camp as a kid (and not being stuck in the nurse’s office with a creepy white-haired lady smelling like my grandma’s fireplace picking through my head with a sharp plastic comb), I don’t think I’ll be applying.

If there were really any question, it’s now been answered: life imitates art imitating life imitating god only knows what. Evidence: Nathan Barley fashion has appropriately hit Manhattan at UNIQLO. The window displays are full of mannequins wearing uberhip candy-colored Japanese sweaters as pants. Terry Richardson would approve. The idiots have won.

The idiots are self-regarding consumer slaves, oblivious to the paradox of their uniform individuality. They sculpt their hair to casual perfection; they wear their waistbands below their balls. They babble into handheld twit machines about that e-mail about a woman being bombed by a wolf. Their cool friend made it. He’s an idiot, too.

Well fucking futile.

Danielle Konya’s Bethlehem, Pennsylvania baked-good operation Vegan Treats gets an incredibly glowing little write-up in yesterday’s Washington Post. “The award-winning bombe, also tofu-based, features subtly flavored peanut butter mousse and is coated with a killer Belgian-chocolate shell.”

As the WaPo points out, Vegan Treats do look really amazing (note to self: buy a pastry bag instead of using repurposed [clean!] plastic bags). This is probably why Atlas is always able to pass off last week’s slices as new ones to unsuspecting customers.

But: there is no mention of the cakes’ trans fats. Unless Konya has changed her recipes, these things aren’t gonna be street legal in New York City in two weeks (and I guess D.C. will be getting the surplus). So eat up, kids!

“These athletic pants boldly proclaim just where she stands by pointing out that ‘True Love Waits’ in a large screen print on the front and back of these pants.” Where it really counts!

But these might actually sell — as Gawker reports, we are statistically in an age of fewer sluts. Is it only a matter of time before they roll out the Abercrombie for Abstinence collection? “Boys want to buy me promise rings” and “My pastor wouldn’t approve of you” stretched across pubescent virgin humps? Yeah, that’ll keep it in their drawstringed “athletic pants.”

I kind of wish true love would just wait for mom to peruse the hair conditioners so “she” can stuff some Kmart condoms into her school bag.