One of the funniest (and not ha-ha) things I’ve heard recently was some talking head saying the economy is actually doing really well, it’s just that journalists are getting laid off and crying the blues. Which makes me think maybe that should have started happening in 2004 — we wouldn’t be saddled with a reprise of the worst administration ever if Americans had been clearly informed that the village idiot they wanted to have a drink with had driven the country into a ditch. On the bright side, though, I am noticing this really interesting break between the bloviators who get so much airtime and the serfs condemned to cover them. For every George Will agreeing with Phil Gramm that this is a nation of crybabies you get a reporter recounting living on a food stamp budget, driving less or otherwise cutting back. And while I am no fan of the Svelte Pantload’s desperately unfunny navel-gazing, his piece on what famous chefs could cook for dinner for $10 put the lie to the notion that this is a recession in mind only. The image of Tom Colicchio having to put back a zucchini because it breaks the bank? Priceless.