Puking on Palin in a race through the check-this-out aisle
How about that Sarah Palin? Dude, she micromassages more target markets than a genetically spliced fusion of Oprah, Dr. Phil, and an octopus Smurf. She's ready for the covers of Time, People, and every other rag favored by the They Live set. 'Scuse me while I hurl.
I'm not alone in the vomitorium: pepe, andy, bret, and landwolf all puke in Matt Furie's boy's club #2. That's what a champagne-and-SpaghettiOs diet will do to you. Furie and his fearsome foursome avoid the sophomore slump with face-melting funnies about yoga and Alanis Morissette. They're an iridescent, not iri-decent, flavor blast.
Elsewhere on the strip, Ed Luce's Wuvable Oaf #0 is out, and men are lining up to pledge their love. Tips for the smitten: you better like kitties, and you're doomed unless you have a thing for Morrissey.
The new issue of Fader sports the Tough Alliance Sweden's 21st-century answer to the Happy Mondays, albeit cuter on the cover and an ad for recent cover star Aaliyah's memorial fund inside. Dazed and Confused says good-bye to Polaroid Instamatic with help from David Lynch and David Armstrong. In the Believer, Franklin Bruno pays homage to Joe Brainard through semi-imitation.
Artforum's spring preview issue revealed that, for the love of god or money, the art world was more gaga for skulls than Ed Hardy. No obvious trends leap from the same mag's brick-thick fall preview. But I like the look of Kent Monkman's ironically idyllic pastoral paintings and a Michael Jackson sculpture by John Waters called Playdate.