Arminda informs me that on the strength of Monday’s Boondocks, Aaron McGruder is so my boyfriend. I’ve met the guy and trust me, he is going to have major freakin’ issues with this news. And while you meditate on that, read the strip already.

Mother of God, how’s this for a moment of clarity: The LA Times admits that most journalists these days know dick-point-all about the working class and poor, because they are neither. Amen, brother. There’s a certain hush I’ve only heard twice in my working life: when I told an editor that my mom works at Wal*Mart and likes it there fine, and when I told another editor that a friend of mine was in jail for killing some guy. I assure you it was exactly the same silence, quite the same. No difference at all. (pause for more reading) And aw jeez. Bella Stumbo’s outta here. I’m sitting here trying hard to think if I’ve met a journalist I respect who didn’t like her work. This is a loss. Wish she’d finished that memoir.

Quotes so good they hurt, re TIA (Total Information Awareness), from Paul Hawken: “I don’t know how you profile resentment and anger, but I don’t think you do it from how many times someone goes to Wal-Mart.” Word, Wired.