
David Klinghoffer discovers a shocking truth about my marriage: like Mark Sanford's, Eliot Spitzer's, Bill Clinton's, John Ensign's, Larry Craig's, and several of Newt Gingrich's, my marriage isn't strictly monogamous. But unlike Clinton's, Ensign's, Sanford's, et al., mine is honest. The boyfriend and I are non-monogamous, as as I wrote The Commitment, the book where I cleverly buried this shameful secret about my marriage five years ago, but we're more non-monogamous in theory than we are in practice. So I'm sorry to say that my marriage isn't quite the raging fuck fest that Klinghoffer imagines it to be. (Or Slog trolls, for that matter.)
Hope that doesn't spoil the massive jack-off session you've got planned for tonight, David.
Once again: you don't have to be monogamous to be married or married to be monogamous. Straight people have been demonstrating that for millennia. The Hebrew Bible that David's always humping away at is shot through with examples of non-monogamous heterosexual men. (How many concubines did that King David person have again?) There's an organized movement of heterosexual swingers in the country and plenty of disorganized-but-honest straight non-monogamy going on out there too. So no one has to, as David encourages us to do, "imagine a man and a woman, of impeccably heterosexual tastes, with an open marriage on the Dan Savage model." There are lots of men and women out there with thoroughly heterosexual tastes who are in successful, long-term, open relationships—"marriages on the Dan Savage model"—that allow for varying degrees of outside sexual contact. Straight couples have been doing the legally-married-but-not-monogamous thing for a lot longer than gay couples have, David, so if anyone is modeling their marriage on anyone else's, gay people are modeling their open marriages on the open marriages of straight people.
Sorry, David, but monogamy isn't natural and men are particularly lousy at it—and for most of recorded human history, men weren't required or expected to be monogamous. Sixty or seventy years ago, in a moment of mass delusion, humanity decided to put the monogamy at the center of our marriages and, gee, how's that working out for us? I know this hard for monogamy fetishists to grasp, but here goes: Allowing for some outside sexual contact—being realistic and successfully negotiating some degree of openness—defuses one of the leading causes of divorce. It's pro-marriage, pro-stability, pro-family. It is a good and decent thing, not a threat to all things good and decent.
And my goodness, David, are you really so stupid as to invoke the story of Lot in defense of monogamous heterosexual marriage? You're going to point to Lot as an example of "modesty where private expressions of passion are kept private," David? After offering up his daughters to a mob to rape, Lot flees Sodom with the wife and kids. God turns Mrs. Lot into a pillar of salt for having the gall to take a peek over her shoulder at the fireworks, and then... Lot's daughters get their father drunk and have an incestuous threesome with dad and nine months later they present Lot with two sons/grandsons. My sexual "adventurism" may shock you, David, but I've never done anything so depraved as that lot.
Do open relationships hurt women, as David insists? Not according to the straight women I know who're actually in them. (Needless to say David doesn't know any women in open relationships—he doesn't seem to know they exist at all.) But who should these women believe? Their own life experiences or David "You're Doing It Wrong!" Klinghoffer? "Every woman with a brain in her head knows that in [an open] relationship," David writes, "she's likely to be the one who gets hurt." I guess that means that no one gets hurt in a closed relationship. Let me check with Mrs. Sanford, Mrs. Spitzer, Mrs. Clinton, et al., about that.
Here's the story I wrote for this year's queer issue that David just can't bring himself to link to.
...but I guess I can spare a little time to write this post. There's something of a tiny, furious lynch mob forming, of people who think I should be fired and put out to pasture with all the other ponies who know nothing about film criticism (stupid ponies).
So even though I'm REALLY BUSY (there are a lot of meaningful documentaries out there that need ignoring, you guys!), your persuasive skills have prevailed: I shall now address these concerns.
Alex Williams writes:
LINDY WEST IS KILLING ART HOUSE CINEMA IN SEATTLEDear Editor, why is Lindy West still in charge of your film section? Yeah, she's funny and would probably make a great partner for drunken karaoke, but her lazy lack of interest, knowledge and coverage of what's showing in Seattle's independent cinemas is astounding.
Good point. I am funny; however, though I am great at being drunk, I do not enjoy karaoke.
This week: MUNYURANGABO got only rave reviews in NYC and now it's playing in Seattle; any review or recommendation from The Stranger? Nope. Likewise for NOLLYWOOD BABYLON, a 2009 Sundance-featured documentary on the Nigerian film industry that's having its US theatrical premiere at the Grand Illusion. So what films did get The Stranger's feature reviews this week? The new Michelle Pfeiffer vehicle, the latest Cameron Diaz film... and a big front-page piece about the new TRANSFORMERS movie. With editing choices like these, Lindy might as well be film editor at the Yakima Herald Republic. Hey Lindy: YOU ARE THE FILM EDITOR OF THE STRANGER NEWSPAPER IN SEATTLE! Get with it or get out.
Eli Drake writes:
Do you realize that your film section is a joke? Under the helm of Andy Spletzer and Annie Wagner, this part of the paper was a nationwide example of alternative film criticism and the place in Seattle to get the pulse on local work. Lindy West is driving your film section into the ground, and taking the local cinemas with her. Her coverage displays her utter inability to notice trends and achievements in filmmaking both worldwide and in the region. It's not only an embarrassment, but a threat to Seattle filmgoers and filmmakers who used to rely on the Stranger for intelligent, thoughtful and knowledgeable commentary and coverage. Ms. West clearly prefers gossip and pop culture to true film criticism; why force her to cover serious dramas and meaningful documentaries she is unable to appreciate? Bring back someone who cares.
And an anonymous person who has gone so far as to create the e-mail address LindyWestSucksAtHerJob@hotmail.com wrote to complain about the lack of coverage of Treeless Mountain, Munyurangabo, Adoration, and others.
People, you are heard. We don't have unlimited resources here at the paper (this isn't the most fruitful time for newspapers in general), but we cover as much as we have time for. When we don't manage to review something in time for the print edition, I try my hardest to follow up on the web. Some things are always going to go without coverage, and I'm sure we'll disagree in the future about what I choose to include and what I don't (and, like I said, it's not always a choice).
Be warned: I'm not going to stop liking celebrity gossip and I'm not going to stop covering mainstream films. I deny the charge that I have some sort of vendetta against all things meaningful, however. And I'm planning some changes for the section that will make our "arthouse" coverage—which tends to get lost in Film Shorts—more visible. Stay tuned in the next couple of weeks.
Also:
Here is my review of Munyurangabo.
Here are two different reviews of Treeless Mountain, both of which ran in the print edition.
Here is my review of Atom Egoyan's Adoration.
Here is my review of Made in U.S.A.
Here is my review of In a Dream, which played at Northwest Film Forum a few weeks ago.
Here is my review of The English Surgeon, which also played at Northwest Film Forum last month.
Here is Brendan Kiley's review of The Immaculate Conception of Little Dizzle.
Here is a review of Evangelion 1.0, which plays at the Grand Illusion this week.
There's also, you know, our giant fucking 2009 SIFF Guide.
Etc., etc., etc.
Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. In closing, because I do, in fact, love pop culture (till I die, bitchez!), I would like to leave you with this picture of David & Victoria Beckham being absolutely batshit insane, as usual. I fucking love them.
Love,
Lindy
A Federal Way man named David McKenzie has won the 2009 Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, which is a yearly challenge to write the worst first line of an imaginary novel.
Here's McKenzie's winning sentence:
Folks say that if you listen real close at the height of the full moon, when the wind is blowin' off Nantucket Sound from the nor' east and the dogs are howlin' for no earthly reason, you can hear the awful screams of the crew of the "Ellie May," a sturdy whaler Captained by John McTavish; for it was on just such a night when the rum was flowin' and, Davey Jones be damned, big John brought his men on deck for the first of several screaming contests.
That is some fine, awful work, Mr. McKenzie. You have made Washington proud. Seattle is home to a winner, too; our own Stuart Greenman won the Fantasy subcategory of the awards:
A quest is not to be undertaken lightly—or at all!—pondered Hlothgar, Thrag of the Western Boglands, son of Glothar, nephew of Garthol, known far and wide as Skull Dunker, as he wielded his chesty stallion Hralgoth through the ever-darkening Thlargwood, beyond which, if he survived its horrors and if Hroglath the royal spittle reader spoke true, his destiny awaited—all this though his years numbered but fourteen.
And here is the winner of the Detective Fiction subcategory of Bulwer-Lytton. The author is not local, but I found this sentence to be particularly awesome:
She walked into my office on legs as long as one of those long-legged birds that you see in Florida - the pink ones, not the white ones - except that she was standing on both of them, not just one of them, like those birds, the pink ones, and she wasn't wearing pink, but I knew right away that she was trouble, which those birds usually aren't.
That last sentence is the only one that makes me want to read the rest of the novel. You can read all the runners-up and other categories here.
3.
There are other, and probably far more important, problems with using Group Health as a model for what the co-op compromise could deliver all over the nation.
Among them: the idea that Group Health provides a structure that can be quickly replicated to great positive effect. Don Mitchell, a retired physician and the chair of the Western Washington chapter of Physicians for a National Health Program, pointed out that it has taken "years" (62, to be exact) to get Group Health to its current level of service and national stature. You can’t just create a bunch of federally-chartered, citizen-run health care concerns all over America and expect them to be high quality on day one.
But perhaps the biggest problem has to do with size. Group Health achieves efficiencies and economies of scale—which in turn lead to cost savings, a Holy Grail of health care reform—precisely because it’s not small.
Size matters quite a lot in cutting health care expenses. That, by the way, is the whole point of the public option: to create a government-backed national health care plan that’s so big it will be able to compete nationwide and bargain for lower costs all over the country, all at once. “Because [co-ops] would be at most state-wide in scope and not be national,” Mitchell said, “they would lack the bargaining clout that a national organization would have in terms of driving down costs vis-à-vis private health insurance companies.”
This is why, even though the Commonwealth Fund recently placed Group Health among the nation’s “shining examples of co-operative health care,” Dr. Karen Davis, blogging for the group, nevertheless described the idea of filling the country with Group Healths as a “difficult” and “uncertain” proposition.
Bottom line: Group Health has found a way to work well in the Pacific Northwest after 62 years of operation. But it’s not the small, easily-replicated co-op that Maria Cantwell and others want it to be. In fact, one important lesson of Group Health ends up being exactly the opposite of what advocates of the co-op compromise seem to want to hear: it takes a big entity with experience in the health care market and significant financial clout to push the industry in the right direction.
An entity like, you know, the federal government—which, under the public plan, would be doing just that at the national level.

I wrote this week's feature about Twitter on Twitter, in 140-character chunks. It makes for a read that could be weird if you didn't know about the conceit:
On January 16, 2009, when US Airways Flight 1549 crashed into the Hudson, Twitter was the first to know, and it knew the most for hours.Faster than they told YouTube, people told Twitter what was happening.
In breaking news, eyewitness reports are almost always more valuable and interesting than a journalist's accounts.
Watching New Yorkers tell their stories on 9/11 was more compelling, more real, than anything else CNN could relay.
Most viewers would rather follow the bearded biker who shouts, "It came out of nowhere!" than return to the smiling, phony telejournalist.
It goes on from there. But one of the more unique (and also, for me, mildly embarrassing) things about this particular feature is that you can read the first draft of the essay as I wrote it, over at this Twitter feed. (As always with Twitter, you have to start from the very bottom and read up.) There weren't a whole lot of changes from first to final draft (although I had to make some time-sensitive and topic-relevant additions to the very end of the feed), but there are some. For instance, I blathered on in an extended and highly unnecessary beginning to the story that got cut and rearranged into the piece (I always have trouble with beginnings to long pieces and I almost always have to cut them out when I'm done writing.)
But if you want to see how I use Twitter on a daily basis, my regular Twitter feed is over here. And, of course, a bitter old man has hijackedThe Stranger's Twitter feed and has been holding it hostage for several months now. And now I will shut up about Twitter for at least two hours. You're welcome.
I'm posting this because a) I know a lot of people with student loans (especially now that many people are going back to school after being laid off) and b) because the cartoon monster is cute. Income-Based Repayment took effect yesterday, July 1st.
These are hard times for kids:

This guy gave an amazing and impromptu performance in Westlake Park yesterday. He's visiting Seattle from Ireland with a few of his soccer-mad buddies. He and his friends weren't officially busking—they briefly set out a hat—but he did let me give him money for a beer after he entertained me and my kid for nearly an hour while we waited for the boyfriend.
Talking to him I got the impression that he's straight. So ladies? There's an impossibly handsome Asian dude—excuse me: there's an impossible handsome Irish dude of Asian ancestry—with a beautiful smile and an amazing body and an Irish accent (swoon) running around Seattle for at least another week. Go get him.
A few more pictures after the jump.
A very well-groomed woman sits silently behind the desk at Susan Inglett gallery in Chelsea, with a large glass box on a shelf above her head. The box is empty except for a giant lead double dildo, lying on its side like a barely contained animal.
We may as well say that this is Rosalind Krauss's dildo.
Here's the story: In 1974, when the artist Lynda Benglis knew she was getting a review in Artforum, she bought a centerfold ad. It cost her about $3,000. In the centerfold, she pictured herself—now famously—naked except for sunglasses, her body oiled, sporting an enormous dildo (or at least one visible end of a double dildo, that is).
It was part of a game of one-upsmanship she was playing with fellow artist Robert Morris, according to an exhibition at Susan Inglett this summer. Morris had produced a poster image of himself flexing his biceps and wearing S&M gear; Benglis had made other images provocatively using her body as a putative advertisement for her art, too (both at right).
But while Morris's poster hadn't made a ripple, Benglis's ad in Artforum exploded as soon as it hit in the November issue. A man walked into the Philadelphia Museum of Art and hurled one of Benglis's sculptures on display to the floor in protest.
At Artforum, five editors—most prominently Krauss, one of the most respected historians of late 20th-century art—got very, very pissed. They wrote and published in the next issue a letter denouncing Benglis's centerfold, calling it "an object of extreme vulgarity"—not the first in the magazine's history, but "it represents a qualitative leap in that genre, brutalizing ourselves and, we think, our readers."
Krauss and another editor resigned, split off from Artforum to create October, an exceedingly somber and dense quarterly still in print today that, in its first issue, promised to be "plain of aspect" (check) and to "restore (to criticism)...an intellectual autonomy seriously undermined by emphasis on extensive reviewing and lavish illustration" (check, but to what end? Only academics read October these days).
When curator and art historian Robert Storr visited Seattle last year, he accused Krauss of having been a hypocrite for letting Morris's ad pass but flying into a rage over Benglis's.
“Ros didn’t mind when Bob put in a photo of himself all buffed up, because she was living with him and she liked his work, but that a beautiful woman would be sassy enough to show up him at his own game…”
Back to our dildo—it's a work of art Benglis made in the summer of 1974, one in an edition of five casts of a work she made earlier in 1974 called Smile. That work preceded the Artforum episode, but the edition of five was too perfect: Benglis quickly realized that she wanted each one of the already created casts to refer to each of the five offended Artforum editors. Each is made in a different metal (bronze, tin, aluminum, lead, and gold plate); Benglis hasn't said which metal corresponds to whom. So we may as well say that lead is for Krauss—hence, Rosalind Krauss's dildo.
The rest of the exhibition, called Lynda Benglis / Robert Morris: 1973-1974, is made up of the ads by Morris and Benglis, a few sculptures, and videos, and, best of all, letters sent to Artforum in response to the dildo ad. New York magazine has a few choice responses listed here, and here's another one of my favorites:
"I am not a prude, but this is not even 'Erotica,' it is 'Dirty-ca.'" —Art dealer, Israel
What's most amazing about the responses is that several of them came from middle-school and high-school principals: Middle schools were subscribing to Artforum???? There's even a local angle: The head librarian of Mercer Island High School wrote a letter in typical polite Seattle style, inquiring delicately about whether this was merely a "bad error in judgment"?
The artist Elizabeth Murray called the editors' response "fascistic." (I'm inclined to agree with her, minus the hyperbole; like Richard Meyer, I've always been drawn to the ad.) Dorothy Sieberling, writing a piece called "The New Sexual Frankness: Goodbye to Hearts and Flowers" in New York (a caption described the ad as a "bisexual shocker"), explained, "One person's hell may be another person's health." And from the New York Times report at the time: "'What it turns out to be in practice,' John Coplans, the editor of Artforum, said, 'is that the California intellectuals say the advertisement is a woman expressing herself. In New York, the intellectuals are more Victorian."
Two of Benglis's pieces are at Seattle Art Museum in Target Practice: Painting Under Attack, 1949-78, a gaudy, glittery knot hanging on the wall (above left, titled Chi), and a dried puddle of poured paint on the floor. She was originally scheduled to be here to talk about the show last week, but had to cancel, and the museum is still trying to pin her down for a visit. Maybe we'll hear more about this, or simply more about where the dynamic artist's head is today, if she does visit (no luck yet, according to SAM).
Anyone in New York this summer, don't miss the show.
As you know, I bring lots of free books to Slog Happy every month, with the request that people write book reviews for all of us here on Slog. As you probably also know, many people haven't written book reports for us to enjoy lately; you people should be ashamed of yourselves. But Geni—wonderful, brave Geni—has stepped up to the plate and delivered a Slog Commenter Book Report of a book titled Love Will Tear Us Apart, by Sarah Rainone.
As always, you should remember that any errors or inelegancies you may find in the text are not Geni's fault. They are the fault of the editor. I am the editor.
OK, I'll admit it. I grabbed the book because a) I was at Slog Happy and it was free, b) I was at Slog Happy and the books went fast, so I grabbed the closest one, and c) the hubris of choosing that particular title intrigued me. I thought, if nothing else, it should provide good material for supercilious mockery.
Little did I realize, the title was only the beginning. Each chapter of the book is named for an 80's pop song (some classics, some, thankfully, near-forgotten). In some cases, the chapter title works with the storyline; in others, the author has gone to some near-prepubescent-Chinese-acrobat-type contortions to squeeze it in there.
The structure of the book is slightly irritating; it's written as first-person entries from the perspective of several different self-absorbed 30-something yuppie brats. The setting is the wedding of two persons, Lea and Dan, who do not narrate any of the chapters. The narration is done by the wedding guests: Ben, Cort, Shawn, and Alex, all of whom are so fucked-up and narcissistic as to make one wish to beat them with sticks. As the narration continues, one realizes the six all met in the "gifted" program back in their hometown as kids, and each bemoans their subsequent ostracism by the small-town '80s caricatures inhabiting their respective classrooms.
Strangely, I actually kind of enjoyed the book. Granted, my expectations were pretty low; this was an unsolicited manuscript received by a book reviewer at a free newspaper, given out free to drunks. However, there is something deeply satisfying about reading about characters who are more fucked up than I am. I was never actually convinced any of them belonged in the "gifted" program, though—the writing is so self-consciously imitative of Bret Easton Ellis and the like as to seem utterly devoid of any vestige of literacy.
The story itself isn't bad. The problem is that there is no sympathetic character in the book. I thought initially that maybe the sweet little gay boy, Shawn, would prove to be the exception, but no, he turns out to be as selfish, vapid, and shallow as the rest. The most interesting theme running through the book is cocky, overcompensating, jock-archetype Ben's inability to orgasm without picturing Shawn, but sadly, that promising avenue is not explored, only hinted at. One tantalizing vignette featuring the Lost Dead Boy (every novel of this type requires a dead character who's more interesting than all the rest combined - why is that?), Jason, Alex and Shawn edging toward a three-way gets completely dropped. Meh to that!
I'd be interested to see what the author, an editor at HarperCollins, can do when she stops imitating Ellis and McInerney and writes in her own style.
Thank you to Geni for the very entertaining review, and I hope all you other Slog Commenters will send me your book reports soon.
...the Seattle PI's Levi Pulkkinen for his reporting on a federal operation to bring down a methamphetamine distribution ring in Tacoma, Vancouver and Olympia:
Announcing Operation "Arctic Chill" Thursday, federal law officers offered no claims that the arrests or the seizure of about 19 pounds of meth had a lasting impact on the Mexico-based drug trafficking organization supporting the Western Washington effort. Nonetheless, Special Agent in Charge Arnold Moorin of the Drug Enforcement Administration argued that the operation and others like it can aid U.S. law enforcement in bringing down the Jalisco, Mexico-based cartel apparently directing the ring.
The Seattle Times apparently also asked federal agents about the impact of the raid, but their response is buried at the end of the story.
2.
A few things to know right off the bat:
Group Health Co-operative is not, technically, a co-op. It is instead a consumer-governed non-profit corporation (a distinction with important tax differences), and a large one at that. It currently covers about 600,000 members, and last year took in $2.7 billion in revenue while paying its president and chief executive officer, Scott Armstrong, a $1.2 million salary. Its main competitors are familiar private insurance names—Regence Blue Shield and Premera Blue Cross—and its rates have risen over the years just like those of any other health insurer.
Meaning it’s not a small, average-citizen-controlled health care co-operative of the kind that Maria Cantwell and other Senate leaders seem to be suggesting would appear all over the country through passage of the co-op compromise. It's also not jaw-droppingly unique (and certainly not as unique as it used to be). “To the average person or the average enrollee there’s not a lot of difference between Group Health and the average health plan,” said Stephanie Marquis, spokesperson for the Washington Insurance Commissioner’s office. She added, in reference to the co-op compromise proposal: “When I first heard it, and I thought of a co-operative, I have to be honest, my mind did not go first to Group Health.”
Certainly Group Health does have some attributes worth noting in the health care reform discussion. It runs its own facilities; employs salaried doctors (rather than contracting mainly with “preferred providers,” as other insurers do); and has been a leader in web-based medicine, electronic medical records, and the effort to promote contact with primary care physicians (rather than the see-a-specialist model that has helped drive up costs around the nation). Its quality of care is well-regarded, and the number of complaints about it to the Insurance Commissioner's office is far lower than the number for its competitors.
Diana Birkett, director of federal relations and policy for Group Health, said these are the attributes that naturally bring Group Health attention. “We’re being looked to as a model because we’re an integrated organization,” Birkett explained. “We’re not just an insurer. We’re not just a member-governed organization. We’re not just a provider. We’re all of those things.”
Notice what she didn't say: that Group Health is a small co-op of the kind that some in the Senate seem to want to create in communities all over the country. That's because, as far as can be determined from the still-sketchy details of the co-op compromise, it's not.
Previous part here, final part later today.
As everyone knows, Frank Frazetta is the greatest artist in the history of the world. Consider his painting to the left, "Cornered." It has it all: A half-naked buff man, an even-more-than-half-naked woman bent in such a way that her caboose is hanging out, and a motherfucking dinosaur. I'd like to see Jackson Pollock beat that.
Slog tipper Lara informs us that Meat Cards (the only company in the world that prints business cards on beef jerky) had a Frank Frazetta-themed contest to give away their first few business cards ("you will be one of about twenty people in the WHOLE WORLD with your own business cards made of meat and lasers.")
All you had to do was re-enact a Frazetta painting in real life, with no Photoshopping allowed, and the judges determined a winner. The winner earned free Meat Cards. One of the winners, who reproduced "Cornered," is at the right. There are many other photos, some featuring fine women with their cabooses hanging out, at the Meat Card site, and you should check it out.
Jamie Pedersen and his partner Eric are expecting—triplets, all boys.
King County prosecutors have filed hate crime charges against a 47-year-old Seattle man for allegedly threatening to kill a gay man and a grocery store employee in Downtown Seattle earlier this week.
Prosecutors say that on June 29th, Michael A. Grundstrom approached a gay man outside of Site 17 Grocery on Western Avenue and Wall Street and began harassing him.
According to a Seattle Police Department probable cause document, the man was talking on his phone about a pink bandana he owned when Grundstrom approached him and asked "pink bandana, what, are you some kind of fag?"
The man told Grundstrom he was gay, the document says, and Grundstrom responded by stating that "all fags are child molesters and if I had my way I would kill all of them" and told the man that "if I ever see you with a child I'm going to kill you."
The gay man believed he was about to be attacked by Grundstrom and pepper sprayed him. Grundstrom then fled into the Site 17 grocery store and attempted to wash the pepper spray out of his eyes with a bottle of water.
Documents say Grundstrom then demanded an employee in the store give him some napkins and threatened to kill him. The employee refused and told Grundstrom to leave the store. Grundstrom again threatened to kill the employee and called the employee, who is Asian, a chink, and fled the store.
Grundstrom was arrested minutes later.
Court records say Grundstrom—who is being charged with Malicious Harassment, the state's hate crime statute—has previously been charged with multiple counts of burglary and drug possession, as well as theft, two DUIs and a hit and run.
According to reporting by Karina Brown:
PORTLAND, Ore. (CN) - A woman says Major League Soccer player Nate Jaqua sexually assaulted her when she was attending the University of Oregon on a soccer scholarship [in 2007]...At midnight, she headed home alone, but says Jaqua insisted on walking with her for several blocks.
That's when Jaqua attacked the plaintiff and "subjected her to a brutal, forcible sexual assault," the lawsuit claims. Jaqua allegedly penetrated her vagina and anus with his fingers and penis, and then ejaculated and urinated on her.
The plaintiff says she had to quit the soccer team because of her memories, is afraid to be alone and is scared of men.
Can't find any original reporting on this anywhere else—just pieces linking to the Courthouse News Service (not a news outlet I'm familiar with). I have a request in with the Sounders for a comment on the allegations.
Crain's reports that 279 magazines have closed since the beginning of 2009.
In the first half of 2009, a total of 279 magazines ceased publication, according to a report from MediaFinder.com, the Oxbridge Communications-owned online database of U.S. and Canadian periodicals. An additional 43 titles, including Crain Communications’ TV Week, shut down their print editions and continued publishing online...In the same period, just 187 new magazines launched.
In happier news, the New York Observer reports that Mark Sanford's upcoming book on fiscal conservatism will no longer be published by Sentinel, which is the conservative wing of Penguin. The book was going to be published in 2010. I bet some smaller press will swoop in and buy the book for $2.79 and a bus transfer, so if you had your heart set on reading Sanford's economic treatise, you'll have your day eventually.
Only in America... specifically in Clackamas County, Oregon. And he *still* thinks he did nothing wrong.
Until recently, I thought paragliding was holding onto a kite and jumping off a cliff. It's not. It's holding onto a parachute and jumping off a cliff. The instructor, Steven Wilson of Parafly Paragliding (the company's motto: "You can fly!"), kept saying, "See, people think we strap ourselves to parachutes and jump off cliffs, but we don't!" And yet, that's kinda sorta exactly what we did. It wasn't a cliff so much as a mountain we ran off the side of, and it wasn't technically a parachute but a paraglider (difference explained here). The mountain looked down on Issaquah and beyond.

Wilson donated the tandem paragliding experience to last year's Strangercrombie charity auction (description in the Strangercrombie catalog: "Go paragliding with the editor of The Stranger, who’s never gone before and is more terrified than you. Maybe you’ll throw up together!"). The woman who won the auction has always wanted to skydive; this was a step in that direction. As we stood there on the sloping mountainside, Wilson handed us a form that said, You will die, you will die, you will die. (I'm paraphrasing. The only thing I remember verbatim from the form was the line that defined a "landing" as "including but not limited to crashing.") Then Wilson gave instructions about how to run off the side of the mountain while he got the paraglider up, and we watched a couple people do it, and he said some stuff I didn't understand about wind currents and thermals and how to ride them, and then he told me to run, and then we were up in the air.

Wilson's been doing this for years and years. His friend Todd Henningsen, who also runs a tandem paragliding company (his is called Airsquared), and was strapped to the woman who'd won the auction and has also been doing this for years. They say they're addicted. They call it "going flying," and on the way up the mountain had been telling stories about flying eye-to-eye with eagles, who have grown up around the paragliders in Issaquah and are completely unfazed by them. Among flying creatures, eagles are some of the laziest, Wilson says. They don't flap their massive wings. They just open them, lay back, sip some gin and juice, and let the wind do everything. It's a technology not unlike paragliding—the paraglider is essentially a human-proportionate wingspan, and currents alone keep you up. You just sort of sit there. Literally. Once you're airborne, the harness cradles you a bit. You fly in a sitting position.
That means you have to find currents to keep you up. And, of course, currents are invisible. Finding them is more or less intuitive. You just guess where they might be based on land formations and where the sun is (warm air rises). You do a lot of turning this way and that looking for thermals. As soon as you think you've found one you turn into it, and then you either start to ascend (you found one) or you keep slowly descending (you didn't). The great thing about going tandem with someone like Wilson is you don't have to pay much attention. You can trip out on the carpet of tree tops below you (impossible to describe how cool it looks), or the nudist colony that's slightly too far away to see anything good, or the way Mount Rainier looks from the air. A ride can last 15 minutes or it can last hours, depending on your luck with thermals.
As the auction winner wrote in an email to friends afterward (the photos are hers, too):
I don't know how long we were up there, but we finally started drifting down. As we approached the landing zone, I put the camera away and Todd went over the landing procedures again. The speed we seemed to be coming in at was somewhat intimidating, so to boost my confidence, Todd told me he was going to charge me $150 if I didn't do it right and wound up on my face. I asked if he took plastic.We were going fast at first, as I said, but as we got close to the ground Todd braked the wing and the landing wasn't bad at all. He released me from his harness, and I turned around and gave him a big hug. With the adrenaline rush I was riding, I'd have turned around and given Dick Cheney a big hug if he'd have been standing there.
It was awesome. And awesome of Steve and Todd to donate their time and equipment to the Strangercrombie cause. Steve Wilson's number is 425-497-9048. Todd Henningsen's number is 253-226-3357. A tandem flight is $175. Most recommended. Especially in weather like this.

I review Woody Allen's new comedy:
Allen, obviously, maintains his old talent for acidic quips, and Larry David is unparalleled in delivering them. Boris calls Melody "a character out of Faulkner, not unlike Benjy." When she says, "Most colleges just turn out mindless zombie morons," parroting one of Boris's standard lines, he lobs back, "You could benefit from some classes." And he's passable with ye olde Allen neuroses: When someone accuses him of not having an ulcer, he responds, "I said they can't FIND an ulcer—not that I don't have one."
It's not great. But I DID have a dream the other night that I was in a hilarious Three's Company-type roommate situation with Woody Allen and Larry David. The dream was awesome.
Read the full review HERE.
...might as well tag it.

Funny, I don't remember ever seeing graffiti—or garbage—on or near the Wall of Death back when it was a skate spot. It still looked pretty pristine when I took this picture just days after the city decided to ruin the Wall of Death. Now there's graffiti on the columns and on those pointy conical posts and garbage strewn all over the place. Mission accomplished, SDOT.
Slogtipper Andrew sends in this photo of a sign posted near the American Apparel on NE 45th St and University Way NE.

Of course, anybody can put up a sign—911 records do not show a medical response in the area at 2:00 AM on Wednesday—but I've got a call in to SPD and the UWPD to see if they're investigating any recent assaults in the area.
1.
There’s a lesson to be learned from Seattle's Group Health Cooperative, but it’s not the one Senator Maria Cantwell has been offering.
To hear Cantwell and other moderate Democrats tell it, one of the best ways for Congress to fix the nation’s broken health care system this year would be to create a bunch of Group Health clones all over the country. “I think Group Health has done well in the Pacific Northwest,” Cantwell said on June 22, pushing the idea that all of America should follow the Seattle-based health care provider’s lead. “It’s a tested system.”
The Senator has fuzzed-up her position somewhat since that day, but she still supports the idea that the Group Health model could work nationally—and it's not hard to guess at the political reason for this.
In promoting the Group Health model, Cantwell is toeing a line laid down by senior members of a powerful Senate committee on which she sits: the Finance Committee. These political heavies, who are going to play an outsized role in the way Congress tackles health care reform this fall, have recently latched on to the so-called “co-op compromise” as a way of gaining enough votes to pass some kind of reform bill. Naturally, a place called Group Health Co-operative is being used to make their case.
When you step back, it’s a bit bizarre. Suddenly the idea of locally-run health care co-operatives, which sounds pretty damn socialist, has come to be seen as less socialist than the idea of a nation-wide health care plan” run by the government?
But that’s politics.
The real question: Is Group Health Co-operative, founded in 1947 and currently the second-largest health insurer in Washington State, really the national model that supporters of the co-op compromise think it is?
The answer, in parts, as the day goes on.
It’s hot outside and the sun gives you cancer. But inside The Stranger offices, it's cool and 99 percent cancer-free*. Do you want to work in this protective bio-dome? Then intern for the news section.
Qualified candidates will enjoy flinging sensational dirt and following the minutia of local government's day-to-day grind. For instance, an intern must have stamina for meetings at city hall, droll candidate speeches, and trudging through campaign finance records. So fun. But there’s also a downside: You don’t get paid. However, I’ve been known to reward diligence and enthusiasm with pizza and beer—moreover, your end-of-life moments will be air-conditioned and cancer free.
If you’re interested, shoot me an email.
Image via OrangeSmell on Flickr.
* Who knows about that cell phone antenna on the roof.