David Brooks -- Bobos in Paradise and On Paradise Drive -- has written an editorial about the destructive qualities of the last 30 years of "financial decadence," that is, irresponsible amounts of debt.

Of course, the collapse of the housing bubble has this topic is on everyone's mind. This was a boom fueled almost entirely by stratospheric amounts of debt, credit both easy and weird, and also by our collective, nostalgic, frequently misplaced faith in the inherent value of "owning" one's own home.

This bubble is even worse than the stock bubble of the 90s -- when a stock bubble collapses, it leaves people broke and sometimes out of work. But when a housing finance bubble collapses it leaves people broke, homeless, deeply in debt, and eventually out of work as well. It turns neighborhoods into ghost towns of suburban blight.

But, oddly, Mr. Bobo doesn't even mention the housing bubble as a symptom of financial decadence -- perhaps because it would seem to undermine other socially conservative ideas he likes to champion? After all, how does he think his beloved Bobos (his word for the nouveau yuppie, a portmanteau of bourgeois and bohemian) got their sprawling mansions on Paradise Drive? Paying cash?

There was an Internet-wide zombie apocalypse on June 13, in case you missed it. (See: dangers of squirrels, and why I don't generally give money to panhandlers.)

June 13 was also a Friday, which meant that according to Goth House tradition I was obliged to create a nightmare. This particular nightmare came up from a conversation while Paul and I were having dinner on Friday -- at first I made a LiveJournal post, and then I realized it would be better as a cartoon and I took down the post and started working on the cartoon.

The conclusion of the story is an obvious nod to Shaun of the Dead, although the ending of Shaun very similar to a dream I had a number of years ago. It was a zombie apocalypse dream, and eventually all my friends were zombies. But if the zombies were friends with you before they became zombies, they retained enough of their self-awareness that you just had to sort of wake them up and then they wouldn't eat you. I could say, "Joy! No brain-eating!" and she would snap out of it and go back to playing Magic: The Gathering.

Saw The Mist, a 2007 adaptation of Stephen King's novella by Frank "Shawshank/Green Mile" Darabont. Occasionally nice production values, but when the only character with any discernible personality is the crazy religious fanatic (Marcia Gay Harden), you know the movie has problems.

The Democratic presidential primary has been an interesting exercise in exposing the extent to which Americans are ready for change, ready to move into the twenty-first century, and yet are still racist and sexist jerks.

It has been a tight race, with record turnout, between two candidates who both inspire a lot of passion in their supporters, either one of whom would break an important prejudice barrier. Once Edwards dropped out, we knew the Democratic nominee would make history. So the country -- the Democrats at least -- were finally going to nominate either the first woman or the first non-white person as their candidate for president.

The close, drawn-out contest has led to some things that I think are very good: the need for a 50-state (and Puerto Rico!) campaign strategy, excitement (and new voters) surrounding primaries in states that don't typically get that excitement, etc.

But... I dunno, maybe all the excitement is getting to people or something. Jokes about PMS, seriously? Stupid nicknames like "Shrillary"? Nutcrackers in Ms. Clinton's image? Hecklers shouting out for her to "cook my dinner!"?

You are not clever, people. You can hate on her as a politician all you want, but when you tie that hatred to a bunch of creepy and predictable jokes about "powerful women" you are hating on me, too.