Jen Graves Profiles the Free Sheep Foundation--the Artists Behind Bridge and the Belmont--As They Move from One Dying Building to Another
"So far, the artists behind Free Sheep have delivered ephemeral monuments to the ephemeral monument we all live in, the city. They've been mythic and short-lived; the challenge now will be to preserve that spirit over the length of a three- or six-month lease. The idea is that once one lease expires, the artists will move to another disused space, or maybe even take over more than one at a time. It's a moveable feast of artists in real-estate purgatory."

Your Heatstroke-Preventing Guide to the Capitol Hill Block Party
Michaelangelo Matos interviews Craig Finn of the Hold Steady. Kelly O "interviews" Jay Reatard. Tim Harrington on the hottest show his band Les Savy Fav has ever played (illustrated!). Eric Grandy on Girl Talk. Megan Seling introduces New Faces. Plus: write-ups of every act this weekend, including Vampire Weekend, U.S.E., Kimya Dawson, Fleet Foxes, and Throw Me the Statue. Details, tickets, grid, etc., are here.

Sean Nelson on the Complex Morality of Loving Roman Polanski
"For this antisentimentalist, in film as in life, 'acceptable behavior' is something for other people to worry about. Which is, of course, the whole dilemma of being an ardent fan of Polanski's movies. Because of what we know and think we know, it's never easy to find the line between the artist and his work. Because there is no such line. Because the Polanski who made so many titanic works of cinema is the same Polanski who escaped from the Nazis is the same Polanski who not only lost his wife and unborn child to the Mansons but was initially accused of the murders in the press is the same Polanski who gave a 13-year-old girl champagne and a quaalude fragment then had sex with her on the floor of Jack Nicholson's living room. If the 20th century happened to anyone, it happened to Roman Polanski. And as a new documentary shows, it's still happening to him."

David Schmader on an Alleged Nazi Living... Like, Right Over There
"Details come from the U.S. Attorney's Office in Seattle, which alleges Herr Egner joined the Nazis in German-occupied Serbia in April 1941, after which he allegedly became part of a 'mobile killing unit' that claimed more than 17,000 victims. Most of the victims were Jewish men, women, and children, who Egner's unit allegedly took from a Belgrade concentration camp, asphyxiated with carbon monoxide, and then dumped in a mass grave. Today, Peter Egner will spend a final day puttering around the Bellevue retirement community where he's lived for the past two years in relative anonymity."

Annie Wagner on the New Brideshead Revisited Adaptation
"It isn't at all a bad time for a new adaptation of Evelyn Waugh's exquisite Brideshead Revisited. The BBC miniseries is over a quarter-century old, and there's never been a proper feature. The homosexual content--never exactly disguised--can be overt now, but we're not so advanced that the crushing guilt that accompanies it seems foreign. Meanwhile, Waugh's simultaneous envy of and nostalgia for the perfumed decadence of the English-Catholic aristocracy between the wars seems especially poignant, poised as we are on the lip of another recession."

Jonah Spangenthal-Lee on the CIA's New Presence at UW
"When classes at the University of Washington resume this fall, some students at the school will be under the watchful eye of a Central Intelligence Agency spook. In fact, some of them will even be learning from him."

ALSO DISCUSSED IN THIS ISSUE: Pink Skull; what the Zombies think of Odessey and Oracle; Implied Violence's new show in a disused City Light warehouse; rural King County; sexual harrassment at the Washington State Department of Natural Resources; the PONCHO shakeup; being ugly; Montreal; taco trucks; Taco Time; Nabokov; French detective novels; shamanism; the Double Beer Helmet™ (see below); and more.

On Digging for Razor Clams
"Copalis Beach, Washington (25 miles north of Aberdeen, population: 489), is known for two things: shipwrecks and razor clams. The most recent shipwreck, thought to be a steamer that had foundered in 1852, was discovered in 1987 where the Copalis River meets the ocean. The wreck has since disappeared and reappeared again several times, swallowed back up and regurgitated by the waters. The most recent razor-clam dig was about a week ago, in late April. The dig began before low tide in the dark around 5:30 a.m., with dawn bringing a highly unseasonable brief snowfall. Those out digging in the cold sand--mothers with toddlers in small-scale galoshes, old men of the sea with crabby expressions, out-of-towners carrying oversize buckets, one tweaker whose feet were bare but whose mind wore a protective coating of meth--took little notice of the snow."

On the Pink Door's 25th Anniversary Party
"A man in a tiny clown hat sliced prosciutto ceaselessly. One partygoer camped out in front of the king crab legs, eating away, prompting a certain city council member's wife to observe, 'It's a buffet, not a trough.'"

On the Fireside Room at the Sorrento Hotel
"It takes concentration to discern that one side of the octagon isn't a mirror, but a portal to the reception desk. Upholstered chairs wear stripes of varying widths and colors, while already puffy couches bear embarrassments of bonus cushions. Add some amber and white lights and a flock of poinsettias, and it's as if you're somehow wallowing comfortably at the bottom of your great aunt's dish of hard candies on a low dose of a strong hallucinogen."

On Cooking for the Holidays
"I'm not the kind of person who'd serve a pre-made holiday meal--too picky, too poor, and too morbidly curious about what'll happen in the cooking. I first made a Thanksgiving dinner in college with my beautifully named friend Kellie Diamond; we listened to old records, called our mothers for instructions repeatedly, and drank wine from a jug all day, with far better results than anyone expected. I went to lie down postprandially--just for a minute--and woke up the next morning atop the bedclothes, still wearing my shoes."

On the Changing Nature of Georgetown
"Georgetown is now home to both a waxing salon and an art walk, meaning the area has officially crawled out of its incubating murk, grown little flipper-feet, and is locomoting across the shore toward some terrible light. (Evidence directly outside the 9 Lb. Hammer's door: the beautiful brick Rainier Cold Storage building, half-demolished and gaping like a wartime nightmare.) The first-ever art walk--called the Georgetown Second Saturday Art Attack ("I'm wearing a bulletproof vest," someone joked)--was mobbed. It looked like latter-day Brooklyn."

That's not even counting the one that was just accepted for inclusion in Best Food Writing 2008. Many more examples of her work can be found here.

Then have we got a job for you!

The Stranger's news department is looking for a few good interns.

If you have any aspirations to be a journalist, can string together a sentence, and don't mind acting as a drug mule every once in awhile, then send a resume and clips (if you have them) to Barnett@thestranger.com.

Stranger internships: You can't say you hate it if you haven't tried it.

Oh Anderson, with you to juggle the talking heads through November, I know we're in good hands. And that little rat smile you have, like when you told Donna Brazile you wanted to be her 'boo', well it melts my heart and helps me forgive you for having complete ass-chancres like Tony Perkins on your show. Je t'aime, my sly little friend.

Here's my imaginary mother-in-law, glamorous descendant of the original 19th-century robber baron, whose book on collage is in a word, riveting. I picked it up at the Goodwill earlier today, and the photographs of her Southhampton house aswirl in pink gingham were worth the $2.99! I picture Andy and I lolling on the veranda, sipping lemonade from the family crystal and molesting each other through our clothes.

^{Photo by Kelly O}

It's my last day as a guest Slogger. I found I had much less to say than I thought I would. I've also been unusually busy, so that's kept my postings to a minimum. But it has been grand to post my little things for your amusement. I'll see you in comments.

See if you can stay in your seat while you enjoy my final video offering!

Brendan Kiley on Greg Lundgren's Monumental Undertaking
"Lundgren Monuments will succeed or fail depending on how many people seek alternatives to the defaults and clichés of the death-care business. Lundgren's cast-glass monuments adorn cemeteries in five countries and 20 states, but he's had to fight, cemetery by cemetery, to get them in. Most cemeteries only allow monuments made of granite or bronze, which don't erode like marble and sandstone. Glass, Lundgren tells reluctant cemetery directors, is as durable as granite. Lundgren argues that because the technology required to cast thick glass is only 30 years old, people don't understand how tough it is. In his studio, he heats glass to 1,500 degrees Fahrenheit--incidentally, the same temperature at which bodies are cremated--and cools it in computer-controlled ovens, over a period of weeks, so it congeals into a strong, flawless mass. 'Slice granite as thin as a piece of window glass and throw a rock at it,' he says. 'It'll shatter.'"

Dominic Holden on Qwest Field's Problem with Queers
"The staff at Qwest Field had every clue that gay couples would be attending the WaMu Theater on July 1. After all, that night's concert was the Seattle stop on the True Colors tour. It starred Rosie O'Donnell and Cyndi Lauper, the stage was decorated with a rainbow and a pink triangle, and the event was billed as a fundraiser for organizations to 'raise awareness about the discrimination the GLBT community still faces.' But while the B-52s played a slow song, two lesbians who were sitting in the third row say a security guard approached them, shined his flashlight in their faces, and then lowered the beam onto their joined hands. He then gestured with his finger across his throat to 'cut it out' and told them to 'stop it,' the women say."

Jen Graves on Adam Satushek's Photographs, Eric Elliott's Paintings, and the Most Influential Radical Idea of the 20th Century
"On the surface--in fact, especially on the surface--two young Seattle artists, Adam Satushek and Eric Elliott, have nothing in common. Satushek makes big, bright, smooth, ultraclear photographs. Elliott makes thick little gray oil paintings. But it's even truer in art than in life that looks aren't everything. These artworks think similarly, in sculptural terms, about the relationship between innards and skin."

Bethany Jean Clement on the Scene at Seattle's Longest-Running Speakeasy (Location Undisclosed)
"The bartender is hands-down the slowest in town. Protocol dictates that, after a near-eternal wait, when he asks you what you'd like, you ask him what he thinks you ought to have. The featured cocktails this evening are the bloody Caesar, the redoubtable Pimm's cup, and variations on Jim Beam (ginger ale is a favorite addition). After brief scrutiny--his solemn gaze through owlish glasses is an apparent assessment of the state of your soul--a prescription is issued, and your cocktail is undertaken. Subjects to raise: his recent trip to London, his sartorial splendor (top hat, bow tie, striped trousers, tails). He doesn't say much, and, as noted, he's not quick with the mixing, but at his bar, all the drinks are free."

Steven Blum Questions David Sedaris
"As he walks out of the elevator at the Fairmont Olympic Hotel, David Sedaris looks up, over his shoulder, down at his shoes, and then sort of spins around. He's looking for me, but I'd rather watch him futz around than introduce myself."

Lindy West Watches Heathers Outdoors
"Hey! Young people! I just thought of the best idea for you. Why don't you move to South Lake Union? Seriously. Move to South Lake Union. Do it. Do it. Come on. Do it! Aren't you having fun? Don't you like it here? Look at all these condos we're building! Aren't they cool and tall? God, it's so great hanging out here in South Lake Union and doing stuff like watching totally cool cinema on a lawn with other young people. Hey, look—the Big Dipper! The stars really are brighter over South Lake Union. Except when the outdoor movie is playing (Paul Allen has the stars dimmed for the outdoor movies). Listen. I'll tell you what. If you move to South Lake Union, Paul Allen will personally guarantee you ONE free hug. Wait, what? Okay, if you'd prefer, Paul Allen will personally guarantee never to hug you. Ever. No hugs. Dooo it."

ALSO DISCUSSED IN THIS ISSUE: Heath Ledger's Joker; Lil Wayne's lil problem; Dan Savage's insomnia; what Mark Arm thinks of the music community ("Fuck the music community"); the Janus-faced marvel that is Strawberry Theatre Workshop's Leni; what Matt Dillon did to two goats over the weekend (sewed them together, stuffed the cavity with more meat, roasted it all over an open fire); why King Cobra's owners are selling after just six months; the ongoing looniness of the 46th District state legislature race; censorship on Craigslist; Michelle Obama; fireworks; anaphylactic shock; and more.

Seriously, Brad. What the fuck?

Brad has always been the quiet, reasonable one in the office, and his departure will undoubtedly endanger many of our lives.

Brad has prevented publisher Tim Keck from following through on his many threats to "fucking gut [us] assholes" for consistently failing to meet deadlines—which is often since we're all a bunch of fucking potheads—and has always been there to pass out vitamin D and orange slices when someone has a bad trip at a staff meeting. More likely than not, by Tuesday, we'll all have gone feral and eaten an intern.

So, fuck you for leaving, Obi-Brad Kenobi. You [were] our only hope.

photo by Chieni, via Flickr.

The alpha and omega of my own personal crush is Brad's performance on an episode of the ridiculous Stranger-staffed game show Whatcha Talkin' 'Bout, Sherman?!, which aired in the mid-90s on public access. Brad was sort of the Vanna White of that show. Except that in at least one episode, viewed by me in a recent VHS-fueled nostalgia trip, Brad was also the Buster Keaton, Charlie Chaplin, and Marx brothers.

The man can pratfall.

I mean, really, really well. Everyone knows he is a funny man. But he also seems to be a gifted physical comedian. Underneath all those torn-up baggy jeans and worn-out plaid shirts is a body just waiting to fall. Perfectly. Hysterically.

Swoon.

A. Birch Steen Comments on Brad Steinbacher's Departure
"Bradley Steinbacher, managing editor of this publication, has tendered his resignation. Unsurprisingly, it was immediately accepted. Word has it Steinbacher has found a more lucrative line of work and is getting out of journalism entirely--the best thing to happen to journalism in years."

Adrian Ryan Returns to His Hometown in Montana to Watch Barack Obama Watch an Independence Day Parade
"Barack Obama is black. Science has confirmed this. Butte, Montana, on the other hand, is white. Lawn-art-and-RVs white. Extraordinarily white, absurdly white, 96 percent white! I was born and grew up in Butte, so I should know. Before age 14, I had never laid eyes on a bona fide black person who wasn't a Cosby. Why did Barack Obama--in the mad heat of a presidential campaign--drag his entire family to celebrate America's most American of holidays in a conservative backwoods with only three sad little electoral votes and almost no appreciable sway in the course of presidential doings?"

Erica C. Barnett on a 9,000-Word, Three-Part Editorial in Crosscut Decrying Light Rail
"The pieces prompted a rather overwrought bit of damage control by Sound Transit, which mistakenly issued, then withdrew, a response replete with phrases like 'That's naive,' and 'Hello?' The agency issued a calmed-down version on July 2. Not that there isn't plenty in MacDonald's argument to criticize, starting with the utterly unsupported claim that people will love riding the bus if we just make them nicer. As the Seattle streetcar has demonstrated, what you're riding matters—not just whether, as some have derisively claimed, the train or bus or streetcar is 'cute,' but whether you know where it's going, whether you're sure it'll get there on time, and whether you'll be surrounded by people for whom transit is a rolling homeless shelter. Rail offers certainty--and certainty means people use it as transit, not a convenient place to sleep or shoot up."

Paul Constant on Dash Shaw and His 720-Page Comic Book Bottomless Belly Button
"Even to look at the thing, one can tell that it's the sort of dense brick of a book that causes book critics to become insensate and throw around words like tour de force and magnum opus in a drunk-on-criticism daze. The feverishness will only get worse once the besotted literati fly through the thing. It's enough to make a grown-up reviewer swoon."

Jen Graves on the Art of Doing What You're Told
"For the first few cranks, you absorb how the machine works. You watch the exposed gears turning beneath the little stage, puppeteering the papier-mâché figures. You take in the actions that repeat as you turn the crank: An Iraqi woman is raped, a hooded Iraqi prisoner is strung up by his arms, a college student is pushed down and Tasered. On one level, you know these are news events that you had nothing to do with. On another level, you're the one standing there, turning the crank."

Bethany Jean Clement on Spring Hill, West Seattle's First Destination Restaurant
"Mr. Fuller and his staff move silently and smoothly around each other in choreographed harmony in the kitchen. Nary a word is spoken; pots do not clang. One man's job is to stand still with his brow furrowed and his chin sunk to his chest, concentrating deeply on endless prep tasks. It's professionalism incarnate, of the opposite sort from red-faced, plate-throwing TV chefs. The precision and intensity are presided over by shining ladles and tongs hanging in order of size, and it's all reflected in a stripe of mirror along the opposite wall. Watching the lining-up of each stalk of asparagus on a plate makes a certain kind of person feel a little choked up."

Lindy West Tries to See a Movie about Beavers at the IMAX (Ends Up Seeing a Movie about Car Racing)
"I didn't want to see the stupid race-car movie. I wanted to see the movie about the beavers. I'd really been hyping up Beavers in my brain: thinking about beavers, talking about beavers, performing an original one-woman preenactment of Mr. Beaver and Mrs. Beaver talking to each other in British accents. ''Ello, Mrs. Beaver!' 'Good morning, 'usband! Would you loik to chew on sticks and wood for breakfast?' 'Capital! Cheerio! Oi'll do the 'ishes!' 'Oi love living underwater with you as mammals, Mr. Beaver.' Kersploosh!"

ALSO DISCUSSED IN THIS ISSUE: How the Vaselines feel about reuniting for Sub Pop's festival this weekend; Sub Pop's reasons for having the festival in Redmond; No Age getting flipped off and called "faggot queer" by a passing car while giving an interview from their minivan; the last surviving (but perhaps not for long) street newsstand in Seattle; more details about the Russian clown impostors; the difference between flashing and exhibitionism; and (say it ain't so!) the last installment of Sonics Death Watch.

^{*A note about this cover. Brad Steinbacher has worked at The Stranger for 14 brutal years and done just about every job here at one time or another. He's also written for almost every section. For years we've had this running idea that one week we'd all take the week off, Brad would write the whole paper, and we we'd call it The Steinbacher. That never came to pass, so for his last issue on staff we decided to finally change the name of the paper for a week. But we didn't tell him. As managing editor, Brad sees all the pages right before they're sent to the printer, but we wanted The Steinbacher to be a surprise, so our art department had to create a fake "final" cover for Brad's approval. We also ended up changing another item of cover text in between creating the fake final cover for Brad and the actual final cover for the printer, and when Brad first looked at this week's issue, he noticed that cover text had changed and wanted to know why. Meanwhile, he completely failed to notice that it said The Steinbacher in huge letters across the top.}

Did you see the glossary on Gawker yesterday? When do we get one for Slog?

I'll get right on that, PopTart, as soon as I complete my flowchart of Slog commenter relationships and feuds. Here's a flow chart to keep everybody busy in the meantime.