Sorry there’s no diary comic today — we’ve been extremely busy planning an irl move.

Due in part to a scandalously sudden & attractive job offer, and propelled by a desire to get out of Hawkeye territory before the next football season, we’ve set ourselves on a dizzyingly curt trajectory straight into that lakeside locale most famous for its many excellent cartoonists and terrible sports teams. Yes, Rahm Emanuel’s police-state playground; the Gritty City, The Place Where Pizza’s All Fucked Up: Chicago!

And if you have to know the truth, we are SOILING OURSELVES WITH FEAR. We’re leaving a very comfortable, quiet Iowan existence of forests, gardens and muffled desperation, and PLUNGING, all by our lonesome, straight into the very intestines of urbanity with nary a futon, lease or dollar to our person.

Many beautiful friends have lent us their gorgeous advice, connections & encouragement over the past week — but until we get settled, the Harsh Realities will continue to hector us with worry, doubt & dismay. Will we secure timely & affordable lodging in time? (Maybe not.) Will we run out of money trying? (Almost definitely.) Will we discover our foray-tarnished wardrobe is just too dad-douchey to bear, and be laughed back to the city limits by thousands of With-It Youths? (Oh, most assuredly.)

This isn’t so much a cry for help as — wait, actually it is a cry for help; but it’s a very inarticulate, meager cry. Just a stifled sob, really. We’re not sure what we’re looking for — perhaps just a firm pat on the head, a swift kick in the ass, some kind of reassurance that Chicago’s not as cruel as it’s looking from out here in the corn fields. Tell us it’s going to be ok! Put a small tip in our gratuity jar! Give us really low rent in Pilsen! Tell us where the good bars & large parks are at! Convince us not to take this cheap room in Rogers Park, an hour bus-ride away from our new job!

Or perhaps just stop in & say hi sometime at Quimby’s, where, starting in mid-July, we will inexplicably be standing behind the counter, all bright-eyed & bushy-eared, as amazed as you that we’ve become Arbiters of Taste in the world of printed matter.

(And don’t think we’re not serious about cheap rent in Pilsen.)