I think it would be safe to say that real estate gurus have had their day. I guess you will always find a clueless group here or there that think they're going to "think and grow rich" their way out of insolvency by flipping houses for quick profit or something, but we won't talk about them.

Let me just say that, in my humble opinion, I put most of the blame for the real estate and sub prime mess on the backs of two individuals: Robert G. Allen, author of Nothing Down and Mark Victor Hansen, the Chicken Soup For The Soul guy, as well as their legion of clones, for making people think there's some magical formula for generating wealth by spreading pixie dust and thinking positive affirmations.

Now I don't profess to know anything about real estate, but it becomes fairly obvious to anyone who happens to be paying attention that if you have an increasing army of wannabe Trumps being cranked out of boiler rooms like the Robert Allen Institute, you're going to run out of buyers.

I remember sitting at a traffic signal back in 04 and noticing for the umpteenth time a hand scribbled sign saying "I will buy your house! Call for a free message" yadda and so on.

I will confess to having actually attended a few of these free seminars that profess to showing you the secret to wealth in real estate, which included this so called psychological trick of hand writing your sign with a marker instead of having them printed. It's supposed to seem less intimidating to people desperate to sell their houses. Does it actually work? Well, as P.T. Barnum knew, "there's a sucker born every minute" - enough to bankrupt our entire economy, it seems!

And what were these people actually selling at these wealth seminars? A "proprietary list" of private hard money loans, and you can attain this list along with their invaluable coaching for a $3000 fee for weekend workshops!

So now the landscape is littered with people licking their wounds and comiserating about another round of stagflation, and just to add insult to injury, the oil companies have put the screws on anybody who happens to own a car.

Oh well, what can I say to cheer you folks up about this sad state of affairs? Well, probably zilch, but that's what cartoons are for (the cheering up part I mean). Wanna few laughs for a change? Tired of phony wealth gurus and life coaches telling you how to live your life? Cartoons would never do that, and there's plenty at www.ginovia.com. So come visit Ginger and her alien sidekick on their next mission to plunder the universe, or read some whacky cartoons on our comics page, we're all waiting for you on Ginovia.com!

You know the old saying, everybody talks about the weather, but nobody ever does anything about it? Of course everyone knows we can’t really control the weather, but there are a lot of things within our sphere of influence, and some of us have more influence than others. That’s what wealth buys us.

As far as wealth goes, one of the easiest ways to show off is conspicuous consumption, flaunting our financial status with big cars, travel or even a large shoe collection. For instance, here in Burbank you can see Jay Leno any day of the week puttering around town in his Stanley Steamer or any other wealth trophy from his monstrous car garage.

One of those items in this vast collection is called a Doble, a more successful incarnation of a steam powered automobile. Another local celebrity, Huell Howser was recently seen driving the Doble on his show, and the auto historian he was with gave some pretty eye-popping statistics about this 1925 relic: Top speed, 80 miles per hour. Range: 1500 MILES ON ONE TANK OF FURNACE OIL! That’s half way across the states for crying out loud!

In a time when there’s a lot of lip service given by the auto industry about their latest gas / electric “hybrid” vehicles, one should keep in mind that the worst part of that equation is the gas part. One begins to wonder that if a power company can drive ginormous steam turbines with solar power, then why can’t Detroit pinch out a light weight aluminum alloyed steam car that solves all the 1920’s maintenance problems with space-age carbon-steel technology?

The answer is obvious, so I won’t need to rehash the intimate dynamics of a cartel. But this doesn’t absolve a country full of wealthy individuals, who might hold off on the purchase of that next Bugatti and instead to reinvest into something that might be more relevant to humanity. After all, if you’re the only one that can afford to drive around in a fancy car on a Sunday afternoon while everyone else is busy trying to feed their families and pay off their sub-prime loans, it kind of spoils the fun of being rich doesn’t it?

So the next time I happen to run into ol’ Jay at the Aero Auto bookstore, this will be my challenge to him: “Jay, if I were a rich man like you with money to burn and a love for autos, the first thing I would do is contact my friend Scott from church, who designs self-regenerating robotic systems for deep space probes at JPL, hand him the schematics for a Doble and a solar / steam turbine and say, have at it.”

Now I know that doesn’t sound as sexy as Brad Pitt standing over some starving kids in Darfur, but if things keep going the way they are with gas prices and the real estate slump, we’re all going to start looking like Darfur.

I found out why I was never interested in contributing to the “starving children” type charities that are all the rage with celebrities - it’s this idea of throwing money at a problem for the sake of a cheap photo op and a feel-good moment. The purpose of wealth has a much broader contextual responsibility for me: It’s to contribute to the sum total of mankind’s knowledge to alleviate suffering and perpetuate civilization. Sometimes it can be huge, like when Percy Julian isolated the sex hormone and invented estrogen replacement therapy, or when Nikola Tesla invented radio and the polyphase alternating current transmission system, or it can be small like writing a blog.

Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do and am damn good at it. The entertainment industry is fun, challenging and financially rewarding and I’m looking forward to launching the next generation of online content for fun and profit, but I just know that if and when that next entrepreneurial venture is successful, that I’ll be having that conversation with Scott, and it will be my money and time that will be reinvested in something worthwhile for once, and Jay can continue to merrily indulge his favorite hobby.

It was a new month, and I’m peddling my Schwinn Spyder down to the Alhambra Book and Newsstand on Main as fast as my preadolescent legs can take me.

She’s watching every move I make, hot on my trail. There she is again, peeking around the romantic novel section! The tension is almost unbearable, but I’m a man on a mission. Two bits is burning a hole in my pocket, I gotta have my fix, and I’ll stop at nothing to get it.

She’s breathing down my neck now, the stench of regular strength Listerine and denture powder is making me dizzy, but I must continue-- must-- get-- to the----- comics!

Yes, I see them now. Bright, shining new covers! Primary colors glistening in the florescent light. The new titles have finally arrived! What are these? Nick Fury, Agent of Shield? The cover art is awesome, almost unbelievable. By a new guy named Steranko. It’s obviously a Marvel publication, the coolest comic book line on the planet earth, but who is this new artist?

A raspy voice startles me out of my bliss-filled stupor, “You gonna buy that?” It’s that Listerine swilling bookstore spy. You bet I am gramma, and no one better get in my way. Twelve cents finds a worthy investment, and the rest of this here quarter is for the most badass quartet around, the Fantastic Four. I don’t even need to flip through it first to know what I’m in for, cause if Jack (King) Kirby drew it, then I’m lookin’ at it.

OMG, The Inhumans escape their watery stronghold when Black Bolt utters a single unearthly note, imploding the force bubble around the city and unleashing a new generation of awesome superheroes.

This was the Golden Age of comics. Those halcyon days when powerhouses Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, Joe Sinnott and Jim Steranko were at the top of their collective game.

There were no multiple collector titles, no action figures, no Comicons, no multi-million-dollar film releases and no such thing as a graphic novel - all there was, was the love of the medium.

These were the days when the nun would confiscate your mags and force you to read “real literature” , where Creepy Magazine was considered pornography, where practicing my drawing licks would be hidden in my biology homework. But we muddled through, we survived. There was something magical about comics, something that burns in the gut of every kid, even the kid still inside all of us adults.

Finally, in 1985, I was hired to work on my first animated show, called the Centurians. The production designer was none other than the King himself, Jack Kirby! I felt a continuity of purpose then, which made Kirby’s death only a few months later all the more poignant for me as an artist. But although I was finally a professional working in a business I aspired to participate in as far back as six years old, I never felt that I “made it”.

The answer was obvious, but it took me over a decade to figure it out. Just yesterday, for instance, I happened to catch a news blurb touting a new medical wing being donated by Haim Saban for breast cancer research. I know what you’re asking, what does this have to do with comics?

Actually everything. I used to work for Haim Saban, Haim Saban happens to be a multi-billionaire. Haim Saban can’t draw, write or sing for his dinner, yet made his second million peddling a cheesy Japanese import called the Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers. The guy got so obscenely rich on it that he was able to buy up “intellectual property” like Howard Hughes used to buy up real estate. One of those little ditties was called the Silver Surfer, ever heard of it? That was in the nineties, right at the tilting point of Marvel’s rebirth into the blockbuster stratosphere. This was at a time when Stan Lee should have been the one donating medical wings. But no, he was hamstrung by legal entanglements concerning his greatest creations, while the rest of us wondered why there wasn’t a Fantastic Four or Spiderman movie.

Haim, always looking for a bargain, was able to buy up the Silver Surfer and turn it around for a quick profit, while ol’ Stan still had a legal boot on his neck. Such is the lot of many artists.

But Haim wasn’t doing anything all that brilliant, he just happened to be more evil about it. I learned a huge lesson while in his employ - it’s what every businessman wants, more liquid than money, more captivating than the news, more addictive than drugs, gushing profits like Saudi oil, it’s what Haim Saban squeezed out of us every day in our cubicles, the ultimate multiple stream of income - creative content.

You’ve seen them, they call them graphic novels these days, every title being considered, then bought up by the major studios. A colleague of mine ran into a scout for Jerry Bruckheimer while he was slumming at Heidi Ho Comics in Santa Monica, and happened to mention his comic book series published by Antarctic Press. The next thing he knows, he’s in a meeting at their production company!

It’s great to be living in this time, a time when comics have finally come of age, and now, in the age of Web 2.0 technology, we are poised to see and possibly participate in a second explosion, where content is king, and stars rise within minutes. A viral renaissance that recently reared its awesome influence with the WGA strike, bringing Hollywood to a grinding halt. Make no mistake, no bucks, no Buck Rogers. It’s a time when we can all step up and be our own Stan Lee, telling our own stories and building our own fan base.

After all, most of you never even heard of Haim Saban, but everybody knows Spiderman.

Since everyone’s suddenly inclined to write a blog about Presidents’ Day, I thought I’d weigh in too. I love writing about business, especially here on Zoodango where no one has an opinion about anything all that relevant or challenging. Hell, the place doesn’t even qualify as a second-rate chat room to justify its existence most of the time. Nevertheless, I enjoy giving my opinion a workout, even when the gym is empty.

Back in the eighties, before most of you kids were even in diapers, America was feeling really xenophobic about a small little island called Japan. Those little Nipponese dynamos were handily beating the crap out of Detroit and the rest of our economy, and Americans, in response, took sledgehammers to Toyota Corollas and even killed off an Asian American or two. A judge even pardoned a couple of out of work auto workers for murdering a man named Vincent Chin (note the name, a CHINESE American), excusing their vicious act as “understandable stress”. Ahh, those were the days.

In response to their embarrassing success in world markets, one Japanese auto executive stated that the only reason the Japanese were so successful is because the Japanese were industrious, hard-working people, and the United States was filled with “lazy, fat, stupid Americans.” Needless to say, when that comment, whether real or not, was broadcast all over the local six o’clock news, millions were offended, and one or two probably waddled off a couch long enough to smash a couple more Toyotas.

Nowadays Toyota has become the second largest auto seller in the United States, displacing Ford and embarrassing Detroit yet again. (We won’t even talk about the electronics industry for now.) Chrysler is so pathetic that it keeps getting passed around like a cheap whore to any auto maker who’s dumb enough to take the loss.

Which brings me to the holidays. I can say with confidence that if anyone has an inkling of doing any serious business between the months of November to February in this country, they’re, pardon my French, shit outta luck - or as the kids like to abbreviate, SOL.

It used to be that, even for the laziest people, January 2nd was the absolute cut off day to where folks would start to actually feel guilty about not working and trickle back to the office. But now, with January 17 being a fairly new national holiday, Martin Luther King day, Congress doesn’t make it back into session until the 18th of January. (Actually, the longer congress is absent, the better I feel that our Constitution isn’t getting trampled yet again, but I digress.) But here’s the kicker: Then everybody works for a whole month, and surprise, it’s President’s Day! Time for yet another three-day holiday. Now make sure you guys don’t work too hard, you might break something.

The dollar continues it’s downward slide, Ben Bernanke frantically cuts interest rates faster than Americans can continue to NOT SPEND, gas prices are through the ionosphere, the sub-prime fiasco continues to wreak havoc, real estate is devaluating in historically greater proportions than the Dust Bowl. I got an idea, let’s take another well-deserved vacation!

Things are so pathetic that the government is giving us money to spend like a favorite aunt telling us to go out and give the economy a boost. But instead of business-related expenses, people are using the money to buy gas and pay their rent, feeding back into that vicious rat wheel that Americans seem to love to tread, and going right back into the pockets of Bush's oil buddies.

Today our boogey man isn’t from Japan, but from a totalitarian dictatorship called China, and judging from the map, it ain’t a small little island. We think we can tame it’s totalitarian ways by introducing China to a free economy, but much like Russia’s former KGB agents, the only ones getting rich are the bureaucrats, and we’re changing more to suit them than the other way around.

I had a friend who escaped through barbed wire from the former Czechoslovakia back in the days of the cold war, and she gave me a chilling perspective on America: The amount of surveillance Americans put up with on a daily basis thanks to pieces of toilet paper like the “Patriot Act”, could only be dreamed of by the former government spies for the Czech Republic.

But you know what I think? Bring it on. We love giving up our rights. Look at shows Like Big Brother. People have become so narcissistic that they actually WANT to be watched, thus explains the success of You Tube.

When our economy reaches parity with our amigos south of the border, we can be as lazy as we want, and just have the government take care of us, and I think China best suit’s the type of government this generation’s willing to accept. China is hosting the Olympic games this time around and that’s really after all, all that we care about: Bread and Circuses.

To commemorate the Presidents’ Day holiday, I’ve just come back from a meeting with a newspaper editor to discuss ways to drive traffic to the website and increase circulation, ad space, banner ads etc., involving coupling web 2.0 technologies and a product placement strategy I described in my first Zoodango blog. After that, I took a meeting with my financial partners, creating content and merchandising strategies concerning my work on Flash animation projects. I’ve given myself till Wednesday to finish those. I haven’t checked with my agent yet, and since it’s already ten o’clock, will probably save that till tomorrow.

I think both Lincoln and General Washington can appreciate the fact that wars do not take holidays, so why should I?

I can keep on slapping you around all night long with unpleasant facts, but I think you get the point. I’m pretty sick of reading platitudes and phony business-speak, or listening to another generation of vacuous rhetoric from candy-assed politicians about “change”. Real change happens when you get a shovel and start digging yourself out of this mess. Some of the wealthiest men in the world struck it rich in the midst of the worst financial depression in history, and they didn’t do it by listening to a bunch of self-help lectures.

Whew! I’m sure wiped out from all this typing. Time for another vacation.