(Originally posted on Saturday and moved up today for our non-weekend readers.)
That was the subject line of the e-mail that Seattle Post-Intelligencer staffers received Friday, at 12:01 p.m., from the paper's publisher, Roger Oglesby. Everyone at the P-I already knew something was up. King 5 television had reported on Thursday evening that the newspaper, which has published in Seattle since 1863, would be put up for sale by its owner, the Hearst Corporation. Afterward, there had been hopeful speculation inside the P-I newsroom that this might be a step toward purchasing the Seattle Times, the paper's longtime cross-town rival. But that was just the hopeful speculation of a group of people who still believed what they had been telling themselves for years: that Hearst Corp., with its deeper pockets, would prevail over the Blethen family, the majority owners of the Seattle Times, in this city's seemingly endless newspaper war.
This week in Party Crasher, Jonah Spangenthal-Lee plans a going away party that begins like St. Elmo's Fire and ends like The Shining.
The last time my high school chums got together to throw a going-away party for one of the members of our former clique, someone got stuffed in an industrial dryer, there were strippers, and a short police chase occurred (true story!). When another member of our ever- shrinking group recently decided to pull up roots and move to Eastern Washington, we decided to throw another epic party.I've already started the night off with the party's honoree: Each of us has polished off a six-pack in my living room, expecting to catch a cab or a bus to the party from my apartment near Northgate.
Then it starts snowing.
Many of us had Christmas parties canceled on us at the end of December. This Party Crasher explains why most level-headed adults didn't try to make the party happen despite the weather. I hope you'll read it.
Just before noon, about 100 people chanting gay-rights slogans began marching from Capitol Hill to a rally at Westlake Center. At the front of the procession, two men carried a sign—fashioned from a sheet and adhered to two sticks with black tape—spray painted with the sponsor organization’s name: “Queer Ally Coalition.” Another banner for the International Socialist Organization followed in the rear.
It was part of a national day of action in 100 cities, organized by Jointheimpact.com, to protest the Defense of Marriage Act, which prevents the federal government from recognizing same-sex marriages. The goal, according to a mass email, was to gather 1,000,000 petition signatures asking Barack Obama to repeal DOMA and show him "how vast our numbers actually are." Here's a picture of the entire march:

Eli Steffen, a member of QAC, said he was “excited for the turnout” and thinks 200 people at the event signed the petition.
“It is fewer people than I would have anticipated,” said Travis McBurney, who runs a wedding-planning company with his with his partner, Jesse Brix.
If the anti-Prop 8 protests in November marked the gay-rights movement’s resurgence—drawing roughly 10,000 people into the streets of Seattle—the march today looked like the movement’s rapid fall. What happened to the other 9,900 supporters? And where were the folks behind November’s successful march, such as Kyler Powell, and Equal Rights Washington?
“Equal Rights Washington didn’t play much of a role,” says Powell, currently an event consultant for ERW, who was at the rally to speak. And he believes the march coordinated by QAC wasn’t beneficial. “The last thing we need are more organizations,” he says. “It shows division within the community.”
But considering this is a national day of action, some group is bound to organize a march. If ERW wants the event to be a success—or even avoid a spectacular embarrassment—then ERW needs to plan it, or provide the resources to make sure it’s not a flop. Likewise, the national organizer, Jointheimpact.com, needs to make sure the groups that volunteer to produce a protest know how to make the event a success. The function of a march and rally is to demonstrate the movement’s gravity in numbers. That requires excellent promotion, credible speakers, banners with a clear message—and the wisdom to not hold an event if you can't draw a big crowd.
“We decided to let every organization have a voice,” says Amy Balliett, founder of Jointheimpact.com. “Queer Ally Coalition wanted to plan this.” While allowing upstart activists to try their hand at organizing is valuable—it’s how movements get new leaders—those new organizations need guidance. ERW, Jointheimpact.com, and other leaders in Seattle’s gay-rights community need to direct this movement. Ragtag events, where the greatest presence is the International Socialist Organization (a parasitic group that shows up at every damn event to sell sanctimonious books), will cause the resurging gay-rights movement to atrophy and die—at least in the public eye.

For the past six weeks at the Central Cinema, I've been hosting From Bad to Worse: A Six-Week Study in Cinematic Terribleness, in which six movies renowned for their horribleness were screened in their entirety before an audience free to sass back and order beer and pizza.
It's been a great, funky time, in part because of how oddly dramatic these past six weeks have been, with the recession and the snow and snow and floods and more recession. But every Monday night, we'd put aside our daily stresses and dive into the crappiest films known to man. I'm tempted to say "I learned a lot!," but I'm actually left with mostly questions. Is it morally defensible to ask people to leave their homes and pay money to watch Leonard Part Six? When humanity faces its ultimate Judgment Day, will Sylvester Stallone's performance in Rhinestone be used to damn the species for eternity? And who knew so many grown men and women would be willing to brave snow and ice and sleet (SLEET!) to see Can't Stop the [Fucking] Music?
Through all of these screenings I've sat in the back and watched both the films and their audiences, wearing a lavender chenille robe exactly like Cristal Conners' above. It has been illuminating. Thanks to all who've participated, especially the small handful of individuals who sat within earshot of me and said things so hilarious I was required to stop the film and share your private wisecracks with the group. (You know who you are).
The final screening in the series is this Monday, when we'll behold the horror that is Gigli.
Two days later at the Showbox, I'll be hosting a one-night screening of the greatest, richest, and most entertaining of all horrible films—Showgirls, which has served as a key referent throughout From Bad to Worse, hovering over the series like a glittery smog. (Showgirls screens at 8pm on Wed Jan 14, full info here.)

This week in The Stranger's book section, Dominic Holden invites some Mormons over and talks about the Book of Mormon.
The Book of Mormon is available for free, and fleets of dashing young men commit up to three years of their lives to delivering it. So if you want retribution for the Mormon-funded Proposition 8—the bigoted measure that banned same-sex marriage in California—requesting a copy is one way to burn some Latter-day dough. If the government won't tax the church's pyramid tithing PAC, at least you can tax its resources.At Mormon.org, anyone can sign up for a free Book of Mormon. I thought they'd mail me a copy. But when I filled out the form, up popped this message: "Thank you for requesting the Book of Mormon from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. You should be contacted by missionaries in a few days."
Actual missionaries? It sounded too good to be true.
Oh, but it wasn't too good to be true. It happened. I'm always pleased to get Dominic in the books section, and this is a great story about the hottest little book delivery service to hit Seattle since Amazon.com. You should read the whole thing. And don't forget to make some time to read the comments: Angry Mormons a-plenty!
The pub crawl—or at least five out of the 11 bars, which was all I was man enough to make it to last night—was mobbed. As the doorman at C.C.Attle's succinctly put it, "Yeah, everybody's out tonight. They're like, 'FUCK YOU, RICIN MAN!'" Most crawlers did not estimate the threat to their lives to be a serious one. "I think it's bullshit," said C.C.Attle’s patron John Zima ("like the drink—they discontinued it, so hopefully people will forget soon").
The defense of the lifestyle was adamant: "Nothing scares us," said a gentleman named Francisco at the Madison Pub. "We're gonna go out and spend our money and get drunk!"
The doorperson at the Wild Rose, asked for thoughts on the threat, said curtly, “It’s a full moon and a lot of people. That’s what I think.” (There was no line at the time.) A patron named Megan (beautiful in her eyeglasses) was more forthcoming, expressing serious concern about homophobia in general but, again, assessing the actual risk to personal safety as minimal. “I think you’re more at risk from your drunk friends”—one of whom was play-punching her—“than you are from any situation at the bar.”
Purr and the Cuff both had many signs posted about not leaving drinks unattended. Purr's read "For your safety, we will pull all drinks that are left alone." (A left-alone drink sounds so sad. Don’t do it, people!) At the Cuff, a handsome older fellow in leather chaps said thoughtfully, “I think it’s good to be safe, but I don’t think he’d send an invitation [like this]. It seems silly for him to try it when everyone’s expecting it.” The Cuff’s signage urged you to have a friend watch your drink or to just finish it (sound advice). Another, more permanent sign warned of “CHICKEN X-ING.”
Everywhere, people danced and embraced and made out with abandon. Everywhere, everyone planned to be back out at the bars tonight, in defiance of the demented, would-be ricin poisoner’s claim in his letters to the 11 bars that he would strike on a Saturday night in January.
At the end of the night, Kevin York of Pizza Fusion—which gave out free pizza to bar crawlers all evening, no proof-of-gayness required—said they’d had their busiest night since they opened a few months back.
Mr. Pickus, wouldn't that be "Sleeping with the sea kittens"?
And in morning apparent non-national-news: Ricin bar crawlers last night at the Madison Pub and Purr said CNN had been around with a camera crew; one patron at the Wild Rose said she'd seen them filming inside the Eagle earlier in the evening. Nothing can be found on CNN's website at present. But here's KING 5's video.
I'm old enough to have seen this air as a kid. It was fine and unremarkable until one day, all of a sudden, it wasn't.
Thanks for the time capsule, Slog tipper Elsa.
Film
Two reasons to watch this movie about a washed-up professional wrestler: its first 30 minutes and Mickey Rourke. Why the first 30 minutes? Because they are not chained to the machine of the Hollywood plot, but loosely explore the day-to-day world of a man who wrestles for a few bucks and who drinks—not to forget his glorious past but to enjoy the present. Why Mickey Rourke? Because no other actor could better understand the soul of a person who had a spectacular rise the '80s and a spectacular fall in the '90s. The wrestler and the actor are one and the same. (See movie times, thestranger.com, for details.) CHARLES MUDEDE
Posted by News Intern Aaron Pickus
Sleeping with the fishes: Five Somali pirates drown.
In other pirate news: Somali pirates free more ships.
Fighting continues: In Gaza.
Next stage in war: Israel to begin "deeper ground force operation."
Statehood for NYC: Once advocated by Obama's nominee for director of the CIA.
Inside Pakistan: US loses ally in the Middle East.
Best headline: "Comeback for Pooh after 80 years."
Gas deal: Russia and EU sign deal to end gas crisis.
Freedom Institute: To be founded by President Bush.
Bridge over troubled waters: Vancouver-Portland bridge discussed.
Sound Transit: Asks for stimulus money.
Risks of deflation: According to Krugman.
A lesson in science...
*I know, I know. It's 10:30 AM. A time, arguably, that rational people would no longer call "morning." But I am not a rational person. I spent the past eight hours rescuing crystal artifacts from the mud pit of doom that is my basement.
A whole lot is going on today.
First up, at the Seattle Mystery Bookshop, Kevin O'Brien reads from Final Breath, which is about a Seattle woman being pursued by a serial killer who keeps on sending her junk mail.
At Third Place Books, Mary Diedrich reads from Healthy Family Favorites, which is is probably a cookbook of some sort.
At Elliott Bay Book Company, Craig Arnold, who has written poems about incubuses and invisible birds, reads from his new collection, Made Flesh. Then, later in the day, Leslie Carol Roberts reads from The Entire Earth and Sky: Views on Antarctica. Antarctica is just about the saddest—and bestest—continent on Earth.