I went to Noise Pop last weekend to report on the festivities, along with some other cartoonists. This is the first page of my piece about the Kid Koala show, which was really wonderful — there are two more pages after this one, all in one long scrolly chunk. It should be up in full at the Noise Pop site soon — I’ll link it here when it’s live.
You can see all three parts of my cartoon year in review over at the SF Appeal, for whom I cartoon on the weekly. There was going to be a fourth but my arm is killing me this week, so we decided to spike it. Here’s to less tendinitis and more comics for the rest of 2011!
I’ve taken the last week off from posting Nine Gallons updates because I’ve been so damn busy. So busy, in fact, that I haven’t had a chance to post about anything here until now.
I’m nearly finished with this massive Pier 70 flowchart graphic that will be the back cover of the next San Francisco Public Press newspaper. (We are still fundraising at Spot.Us, so if you can find it in your heart to spend a few minutes filling out a survey, I get free money!). There are also new Census comics up over at the Rumpus, and over the last 30 hours I’ve been busting my ass almost live-drawing the election for the SF Appeal. You can catch up on the whole series here.
Nine Gallons resumes on Monday! Stay tuned and all that.
I moved from San Francisco to the East Bay last summer, and while I do like Joanna Newsom — and even San Francisco! — I think this is an apt critique of the city and the woman.
San Francisco has a major chip on its shoulder. Anything that comes out of the city (Joanna and Gavin Newsom, for instance) tends to have a cast of staunch, very vocal, overly educated, not necessarily well-informed, yet well-connected supporters who will defend any product of the City by the Bay to the death. So it’s not so much that people like Joanna Newsom, but that they’ve been bullied by those S.F. types into thinking they’ve got something really hot on their hands there.
Truly, I can’t even say “New York” within those 49 square miles lest I be attacked by a roving band of insecure self-described hipsters wearing Williamsburg-like fashions circa 2006/2007. Bitches be crazy with their inferiority and superiority complexes in that place. They probably wouldn’t even attack, they’d just blog about it later like they had, and get tons of likes on Tumblr from all their S.F. friends. Honestly, there doesn’t seem to be a lot of incentive to grow within the positive feedback loop here, and I find it stifling sometimes. Break the cycle, kids!
Anyway, as a side note, I’m great at imitating Newsom’s ‘teething infant’ act; feel free to ask me to do this at a party some time after I’ve had a couple drinks.
I mean Joanna, not Gavin, of course.
I heard this Craig Morgan song for the first time a couple weeks ago in the car; I guess it’s a sensation. I played it for my roommate and she said it reminded her of this MGMT video. So, well, here you go — mashed for your pleasure. YouTube killed it immediately but maybe it will live on at Vimeo.
I’ve been up to a lot in the last month or so, but none of it is currently up to blog snuff, so please accept this Tom Brosseau video in the meanwhile…
I think Rachel Maddow is one of the most talented journalists working today. She has both normal human social skills and sincere reporterly interest, and when combined, she can ask Tom Ridge the sorts of questions we’d like to ask — but she actually coheres her anger into dutiful follow-ups. Plus she looks just like Ira Glass you guys OMG!
When you’re writing a profile of Naomi Klein for the New Yorker, you need to put things in terms your base readership can understand, or at least drop some cultural cues as to why Klein is polished enough for that full-page photo despite her dirty, dirty, plebey politics.
“She was wearing dark jeans tucked into tall brown boots, a crisp white shirt, and a long black blazer. She was dressed for a fox hunt. She looked terrific.”
“[Klein's home] is furnished simply, as though on one quick trip to Crate & Barrel.”
I guess a more cynical reading would be that the author is trying to undermine Klein’s thesis here. But then they really seem to genuinely love the outfits and the furniture over at the New Yorker.
There was a This American Life marathon on television today, I guess to get everyone in the sappy patriotic mood. Now I don’t believe everything Ira touches is gold, but this is… well, just watch it.
