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Archives for 01/06/2006 - 01/06/2006

Friday, January 6, 2006

This is No Game

Posted by on January 6 at 10:37 PM

It’s as real as a beggar squatting by the side of the road, begging, and then you realize, Uh-oh, he’s not begging..

Fighting Dems

Posted by on January 6 at 10:19 PM

Hey, Josh: Kos has written a lot about Iraq vets running for Congress—and all the Iraq vets running seem to be Dems. In fact, Kos’ regular posts about this subject are called “Fighting Dems.” Read all about ‘em here. It would be swell if we could find a local fighting Dem to run against Reichert. I’ll write the first check.

Iraq Vet to Challenge Reichert in the 8th

Posted by on January 6 at 10:16 PM

Well, not yet. But I think it’s a great idea. Ever since Paul Hackett almost took out a Republican in Ohio’s heavily-Republican 2nd District, the DCCC has been spooging over the idea of Iraq Vets as candidates. An Iraq Vet candidate in the 8th District (the East Side) would likely get a lot of national DCCC money to take out Reichert.

So, here’s the deal. Back in June 2004, I did a column on an Iraq vet that I met while reporting on a Kerry meetup in a basement conference room at a Doubletree hotel in Bellevue. This Dem Iraq vet took the floor and captivated the room.

His name was Chris Kashfia. He was charismatic, well-spoken, macho, handsome, and 27-years-old. (Old enough to be a member of Congress.)

Chris Kashfia, if you are out there, or if anyone out there reading the SLOG knows how to find Chris Kashfia, tell him he should run against Reichert.

All the Pros

Posted by on January 6 at 5:27 PM

Here’s a couple from my list…I’m for MySpace where for every three shitty bands there’s one that blows my mind. I’m for art galleries like No Space hosting under the radar shows and club nights. I’m for the new club night at Vito’s on Sundays, even though I’ve never been (it just sounds like good people throwing a night in a good space). All in all I’m for music fans throwing shows and club nights in spaces that rarely get used for such endeavors. I’m also for a bottle of wine (or two) and a romantic dinner at Matt’s in the Market. I’m for a sloppy punk show at the Fun House…and I’m for the music industry vet I know who sent me an email saying he’d kicked a nasty coke habit nine months ago and has been clean and sober ever since.

Bradnapping

Posted by on January 6 at 5:22 PM

Watch Brad Pitt get kidnapped here.

What I’m For

Posted by on January 6 at 5:16 PM

I’m for the triumphant return of Neko Case, whose forthcoming release of Fox Confessor Brings the Flood will leave more people swooning in the aisles than her topless appearance at the Grand `Ole Opry. It also features the brilliant casting of our own Rachel Flotard as a back-up vocalist, a role she will purportedly assume when Case hits the road this spring. For those of you who can’t wait to hear this PJ Harvey-channeling-Patsy Cline masterpiece, mark your calendars for March 7th, when Anti Records will release Fox.

Oh, and for the record, I’m actually the sole Stranger writer who is for smoking in some bars (unless, ahem, Bethany and Brad are wisely keeping mum). Go ahead and ban it in the music venues, but not in those lovely blue collar dives (where people go to die anyway). Sorry Dan—please don’t fire me.

What I’m For…

Posted by on January 6 at 5:12 PM

I am with Annie in believing that the law doesn’t apply to me while I’m biking. I don’t stop at stoplights if I can avoid it, I ride on the sidewalk when it suits me, and I don’t care if it gives bikers a bad name.

I am, in the end, in favor of people like Max Hardcore and Mike Hunt, even though I don’t want to be.

I am, like Annie and Dan, in favor of straight guys getting fucked in the ass by their girlfriends, as long as they wouldn’t really rather have someone like me providing that service, in which case I am more in favor of that.

I am for Cyndi Lauper, I don’t care what you say.

I am for driving around with only one working headlight for a year.

I am for carbs.

And I am for ditching the so-called “two-day waiting period,” even when everyone advises you to play it cool and not call him again so quickly.

I’m Pro-That

Posted by on January 6 at 5:11 PM

First, let me explain that I am possibly the squarest individual in the office.

But I am PRO dogs in bars. And cats in hallways, especially the fluffy Mr. Dogg who haunts the hallways of my apartment during the rain, defying the proscription recently written into our lease.

I’m PRO eating food off the ground. And not washing one’s hands.

I am also PRO riding bicycles on the sidewalk, especially when one’s rear red light has been stolen and one must ride in the dark.

I’m PRO bad television featuring hot gay sex, especially the otherwise reprehensible American version of Queer As Folk.

I am PRO performance art.

I am PRO strip clubs.

I am also pro straight girls penetrating straight male butts, but only in moderation, and I’m glad my boyfriend never reads this SLOG.

I am definitely PRO massive quantities of white cheddar popcorn, high-fat ice cream, stinky cheese, milk chocolate, and olives.

I am pro radiators, which is radical in this age of dry, gross electric heat.

The Week’s End

Posted by on January 6 at 5:06 PM

At this very moment, I’m listening to a song that has amazed my imagination since it was released in 1985 (and has been the subject of several nightmares), Grace Jones’ “Slave To The Rhythm.” Two points to make: one, those who want to locate the roots of my Hegelisms will find them in that song, in Grace Jones’ voice and words. Two, “Slave To The Rhythm” is the perfect song to end the working week.

Slave To The Rhythm

Work all day, as men who know,
Wheels must turn to keep, to keep the flow,

Build on up, don’t break the chain,
Sparks will fly, when the whistle blows,


Never stop the action,
Keep it up, keep it up,


Work to the rhythm,
Live to the rhythm,
Love to the rhythm,
Slave to the rhythm,
Axe to wood, in ancient time,
Man machine, power line,
Fires burn, heart beats strong,
Sing out loud, the chain gang song,


Never stop the action,
Keep it up, keep it up,
Breath to the rhythm,
Dance to the rhythm,
Work to the rhythm,
Live to the rhythm,
Love to the rhythm,
Slave to the rhythm.

Don’t cry, it’s only the rhythm.

What I’m For…

Posted by on January 6 at 4:30 PM

Neologizification.

What I’m For…

Posted by on January 6 at 4:24 PM

Besides the aforementioned pot smoking/strippers/getting shit-face drunk trifecta (I don’t have a strong opinion on straight women fucking straight men in their straight butts—other than I ain’t eager to partake in it myself), I’m for local sports viewing (which many here on staff would call a transgressive act), video game playing (ditto), and the criminally underrated oeuvre of Rowdy Herrington.

I’m also pro safe kinks (even if I don’t understand them), the legalization of all drugs, and, if it’s regulated (as in Nevada), the legalization of prostitution. In fact, I’m for Seattle having its own Red Light District, which I’ve written about in the past—though I’m not holding my breath for it to happen.

What I’m For…

Posted by on January 6 at 4:20 PM

Regarding Savage’s call for pro-transgression Slog posts, here’s mine.

Recently I was enjoying a beer and slice at one of my favorite local pizzerias Piecora’s when I realized I was in the hands of my new favorite waiter.

Cut from the same cloth of Cafe Septieme’s great, long-lost Stephanie, my Piecora’s waiter was another one of wonderful food-service workers who seemingly couldn’t care less if you lived or died—no niceties, no smiles, no chit-chat, just prompt, rigorously accomplished service.

This bad-ass vibe is amplified by my Piecora’s dream-waiter’s appearance. With his biker’s gut, overgrown goatee, and long, scraggly ponytail, he looks like he regularly eats babies—which only makes his brusque-but-careful service more impressive.

Props to nicety-flouting food workers who get the motherfucking job done.

However, this post shouldn’t be taken as a slam against retail or service workers who aren’t mute and hostile. Case in point: The quietly delightful Far West cabbie who drove me to work today and who—at my urging—chatted me up about the amazing Bhangra-flavored hiphop he was playing. (By Surinder Shinda, if you’re curious…)

What Are We For?

Posted by on January 6 at 4:18 PM

My Fellow Sloggers:

So we’re against smoking in bars, we’re against dogs in bars, we’re against people riding their bikes on sidewalks, we’re against snowmobiling, we’re against public grooming—bitch, bitch, bitch. What transgressive acts are we for, people?

I’m for strippers and straight women fucking straight men in their straight butts and smoking pot and getting shit-faced drunk and jaywalking and stealing stuff that no one really wants (see next week’s cover) and eating way too many cookies in a single sitting and porn playing in gay bars and threeways and, well, a lot of fucked up stuff.

There’s something about this medium that lends itself to griping. This annoys me, that annoys me, look at those asshats over there. Let’s not succumb entirely to the curmudgeonly impulse. Let’s not give people the impression—the false impression—that we’re a bunch of rule-obeying, puckerbutt killjoys. Let’s take a moment to praise rule breakers who break bullshit rules.

Like, say, those straight female buttfuckers out there.

“On a busy weekend we sell anywhere from three to ten harnesses/dildo combonitions to straight couples,” said Ingrid Eyen, Sex Educator at Babeland, when I called to ask how many straight couples come in to the store to buy buttfucking gear. “I think it’s fantastic and we encourage them to go forth and explore with abandon.”

I couldn’t agree more.

Honest to Christ, Letterman Rules!

Posted by on January 6 at 3:06 PM

I didn’t see this exchange between David Letterman and Bill O’Reilly a couple of nights back, and I know O’Reilly is already basically a joke, but it’s pretty great nonetheless to watch Letterman—who, in his little way, has been the only politically neutral TV figure to consistently call bullshit on the current president—hand O’Reilly his own entire demagogueriffic ass.

It’s also gratifying that video blogs like Hammer of Truth exist for those of us too dumb or lazy to figure out a Tivo.

Hooray for Gratification!

A Pryor Love

Posted by on January 6 at 3:03 PM

Somebody seems to think Seattle can support a new comedy club. Hence The Comedy Shop, which opens tomorrow, January 7, with a live comedy tribute to Richard Pryor. Shows begin at 8 and 10, tickets are $12 advance, $15 day of show, purchasable at 1-800-838-3006 or the theater (4916 Rainier Ave S).

It seems a little inauspicious to kick off a new venue with a tribute to a spectacularly suicidal and recently deceased comic. Anyway: good luck!

As long as we’re reminiscing about yesteryear’s news, you may want to read A Pryor Love, the New Yorker profile from 1999 concerning Lily Tomlin, cocaine, and the brilliance and tragedy of its eponymous subject. (It’s long, so go ahead and print it out on your boss’s tab.)

Chu-CHUNG!

Posted by on January 6 at 2:43 PM

The subject line of this post is meant to replicate the mythic clanging noise that punctuates each and every scene on each and every strain of Law & Order, from Law & Order: Original Recipe (forever the best, thanks to S. Epatha and Jerry Orbach, RIP) to Law & Order: Erotic Asphyxiation Unit, starring Jayne Mansfield’s daughter and Christopher Meloni, who famously displays his actual butthole in season three of HBO’s homoerotic prison series Oz.

But today I’m concerned with my least favorite flavor of L&O: Law & Order: Criminal Intent, an okay show rendered unwatchable by the horrifically mannered acting of Vincent D’Onofrio, who should be ashamed of what he’s done.

However, this week’s Criminal Intent might be the rare episode worth watching, thanks to the “special guest appearance” by Elizabeth Berkeley. According to Tivo.com, Ms. Berkeley (who once starred in a movie I worship) plays a mysterious woman accused of blackmailing men with phony paternity suits—and I can’t wait to see it. Rumor has it that Berkeley’s spent her post-Showgirls years learning to do everything she so clearly couldn’t in that film, and she gave a perfectly lovely performance in 2002’s Roger Dodger. But how will she fare with L&O’s merciless dialogue-in-closeup? We shall see…

Law & Order: Elizabeth Berkeley Edition airs this Sunday at 9pm, on NBC.


Re: In Time, My Brother, In Time

Posted by on January 6 at 2:32 PM

Charles, you have made my day with the big tree you chose for this essay.

Even though you have the location of the tree slightly wrong, and even though the photo crops out much of the tree itself (its magnificent trunk, its soft crown), I recognized it instantly. I grew up in a house next door to this tree, and spent a lot of child hours staring at it from my bedroom window.

If you’re going to be an awkward kid staring out your bedroom window at a tree, you couldn’t ask for a better one.

<BIGTREES2.jpg

On a cheerier note

Posted by on January 6 at 2:28 PM

Partycrasher and friends might take comfort in this.

Having never been a smoker, I’ve wondered if the addiction/hobby could be eradicated completely, or if there will always remain a group of people who would rather die than give it up. If being a non-smoker was a simple as getting vaccinated, would smokers trade their sticks for needles?

Smokers, please help me understand your world.

Bike Etiquette

Posted by on January 6 at 2:10 PM

I have been clipped twice in the past week while walking around town by people riding their bicycles on sidewalks. That’s bullshit. I’m an avid bike rider; the only way I navigate this city is by bike or foot. When I ride, I always ride in the street. I can understand the need for cyclists to ride on sidewalks, especially in the rain (there is no way I’d commute in traffic in a downpour as I see a few brave souls doing), and so I don’t have a problem sharing the sidewalks.

However, the vast majority of people who ride on them don’t alert pedestrians of their presence before they pass. It doesn’t take much. All you have to say is “On your left!” or “Coming up behind you!”.

Where I grew up in Idaho, there were two types of cyclists: Those who had jersey tan lines and legs smoother than mine, and those who were pedaling off DUIs. And even the latter had the courtesy to make their presence known. It’s all I’m asking for.

Even a bell would even do the trick. Anything.

The first time I was struck this week, I had stepped to the left of the sidewalk to pass a woman and her dog, and was clipped by a young man on a bike. The rider didn’t hit me hard enough to slow down his momentum, and yelled back at me, “You think you own the sidewalk…”

To which I absurdly screamed, “Jay Leno!” because it was the first awful thing that popped to mind, and I don’t react well to stress.

It happened again last night as I was headed home from a bar. A chick on a bike nearly took me out on Broadway, and she wrecked herself (her head was cushioned by dreadlocks rather than a helmet). This time I was able to speak with relative composure, mostly because I’d been stewing about the first incident all week.

“You should really say something when you’re passing people, just to let them know you’re coming up behind them,” I said sweetly.

“Huh. Thanks,” responded the uncommunicative hippie. She then rode off and managed to pass two rather startled couples, again, without saying a thing. Perhaps if I had beaten my message out on a pair of bongos in Morse code, it would have sunk in.

Now, has anyone else experienced this, or do I just have hippies gunning for me?

And You Thought Seattle Critics Were Assholes…

Posted by on January 6 at 12:57 PM

Yao Wenyuan, the last living member of the infamous Gang of Four, died today, possibly of diabetes, but nobody’s sure. The GOF (just a pen stroke away from the GOP) launched and directed the Cultural Revolution, the national pasttime of beating, killing, and harrassing anyone who wanted to talk about botany, sex, classical music, or anything that wasn’t in the dreary Little Red Book.

Yao was a literary and drama critic and kicked off the famine, bloodshed, and terror of the Cultural Revolution with a vitriolic theater review, calling the play a “reactionary poisonous weed.” Look for that phrase in next week’s theater section!

In Time, My Brother, In Time

Posted by on January 6 at 12:25 PM

Xala is the Wolof word for a form of impotence caused by a magic spell. I suffered a something like Xala last year because of a certain pretty filmmaker/artist who cast a spell on everyone at Sundance. I will not get into the nature of this spell. But I will point the readers of this blog to the present issue of the leading American film journal, Film Comment, whose editor, Gavin Smith, picked Police Beat to be in his top 10 films of 2005. That pretty lady who stole my thunder failed to make any of the critical lists in the preeminent journal of American film criticism. I will not bring this up again, Annie. Time was on my side.

Those who are interested in reading my series of short essays on the big trees of Seattle can go here.

Smokin’ ‘Em While I Got ‘Em

Posted by on January 6 at 11:58 AM

My name is Paul Constant, and I write the Party Crasher column for The Stranger. Also, I’ve smoked a pack of cigarettes a day for the past twelve years. But that’s going to change this weekend.

Paul Constant

On Sunday, January 8th, I will begin to quit smoking, and I will be Slogging the entire process. Every obsessive thought, mental breakdown, and disgusting bodily secretion will be recorded daily, for the education and edification of our readers. In addition, I hope to quit smoking while simultaneously losing the ten or fifteen pounds of holiday weight that I have gained this year. I also hope to gain the powers of flight, super-hearing, and the ability to breathe underwater like Aquaman.
My method for achieving smobriety is Bupropion (byoo-PROE-pee-on), commonly known as Wellbutrin or Zyban, an anti-depressant that has shown considerable success in smoking cessation studies. It also has side effects as varied and unpleasant as insomnia, strange body odor, the development of body hair in weird new places, painful erections, and the disturbingly vague “unusual ejaculations.” So check back in on Sunday, when I begin to document the amazing, undignified journey to the mental landscape where people don’t have to pay six dollars a day in order to not feel cranky. And if none of this interests you and you’ve read all the way to the bottom of this post, here, for your trouble, is a photo of (allegedly) Paris Hilton scratching at a particularly difficult crotch-itch. Thank you for your time.

Props to ‘Prada’

Posted by on January 6 at 11:15 AM

Over the holidays I actually managed to find time to finish a couple good books. Still Live With June is a quick read by Darren Greer about a gay fiction writer who mines stories from the lives of “losers” at the Salvation Army treatment center where he works for ideas. It’s nothing earth shaking but is a fun study of writing about the process of writing without getting pretentious about the subject—I’m so tired of authors who make you hyper aware that they’re writing a novel; just give me the story already and skip the intellectual masturbation. I really flew through The Devil Wears Prada, though, a “fictionalized account” of working at Vogue, which here is thinly disguised as Runway magazine. Author Lauren Weisberger writes about slaving as an assistant to a crazy bitch editor at the world’s most prominent fashion magazine. This is a world where designers send clothing worth the down payment on a new home to Runway’s queen bee for free; where getting the wrong latte or eating lunch at your desk can get you fired. Weisberger stirred up a lot of shit when the book first came out, as it became clear very quickly that she was describing Vogue’s Anna Wintour—who the author worked for as an assistant before writing this book. I’m sure tongues will wag all over again when Prada becomes a movie (check out this Radar item about Wintour attempting to control participation in the movie). Having worked at glossy pop culture magazines nowhere near the prestige of Runway/Vogue but with every bit of the insane prima donna boss running things, I loved Weisberger’s depictions of getting lured into a world spiked with superficial rewards that simultaneously saps your soul at an alarming rate. If you love Vogue, the high stakes fashion/print world, or just reading a really juicy, gossipy novel, grab a copy of Prada for yourself.

The 25’ Rule in Non-Effect

Posted by on January 6 at 11:08 AM

Last night on Pine St. in Capitol Hill, about 15-20 smokers were puffing outside of Man Ray, Bus Stop, and Cha Cha. None was observing the 25’ rule. Then a police car rolled up and parked by Man Ray… and nothing happened. No order to observe the law was barked, nor was a measuring tape brandished. Unheard, also, were complaints from non-smokers about this situation. The non-drama of it all was remarkable.

Pamberi!

Posted by on January 6 at 10:55 AM

Bush is very confident about the economy in 2006. What a relief. I will sleep mo’ better. As we say in Shona: “Pamberi ne Republican Party, Pamberi na Comrade Bush” (Shone is Zimbabwe’s main language, and Pamberi means forward).

Big Brother Bush

Posted by on January 6 at 10:42 AM

I wanted to bring your attention to this article in this week’s paper…great writing by Nicholas Wind about Bush’s spy tactics and the New York Times coming in late in reporting the facts. Writing this sharp, acerbic, and thought provoking is hard to find.

Last Day to Apply

Posted by on January 6 at 10:38 AM

Today is the last day to apply for the city council seat left vacant by Jim Compton.

Dan? Erica? Nipper? Kelly O.? Come on. Time’s running out. Provide letter and resume to Jan Drago (Attention Position No. 9), Seattle City Hall, 600 Fourth Ave. PO Box 34025 Seattle, WA 98124-4025

Salary is $97K.

Application Details.

Dump a Smoker?

Posted by on January 6 at 10:27 AM

This just arrived in my Savage Love mail…

My girlfriend of three years is a smoker and I am not.  In the beginning of our relationship her smoking did not bother me.  I come from a family of smokers and even I used to smoke years ago. 

But now her smoking is a huge turn-off. I’ve also started a new job where I work with cancer patients and I see the deadly effects of smoking everyday.  I’ve tried everything under the sun to get her to stop, all to no avail.  She says she’ll try, but never makes much of an effort.  I don’t like to kiss or be near her when she smokes.  It ruined our sex life because she comes to bed smelling like cigarettes.  Everything she does revolves around cigarettes and I hate it!  I would like her to stop for the sake of our relationship, but even more I want her to stop to save her life.  If she doesn’t stop I want to move out.  I’ll sacrifice the relationship before I succumb to cancer from second-hand smoke.
Is it fair to give her an ultimatum or do I have to continue to lie in the bed I’ve made? 

Non-Smoking Section

Regular readers of the SLOG will no doubt be able to predict what I would advise NSS to do. But what do you people think?

Lou Rawls…

Posted by on January 6 at 10:11 AM

…has died of cancer. Which is especially sad when you look at this website.

“When The President Does It, That Means That It Is Not Illegal”

Posted by on January 6 at 10:08 AM

Check out this tough new web video from the Democratic Party, in which the Dems savage Bush on domestic spying.

Flash 8 version here, and WindowsMedia version here.

Bird Flu

Posted by on January 6 at 9:16 AM

For those of you who missed it yesterday, NPR’s All Things Considered projects what an avian flu pandemic would look like in King County.

Cheers!

It’s Happening…

Posted by on January 6 at 9:08 AM

Remeber a few years ago when “convergence” was the big prediction in media circles? Well… Yesterday The Washington Post got a radio station, and today Google announces a move into video (while Yahoo extends its video reach).

And now I’m going to listen to my morning NPR podcast. Which all reminds me of this.

That Sucking Sound

Posted by on January 6 at 7:02 AM

Welcome to the world, baby boy! First we’re going to cut the tip of your penis off, then this old guy here is going to suck the blood out of the wound, and there’s a smallish chance you might wind up with herpes—maybe even brain damage. Mozel tov!