9. Kerry Killinger's still not in jail.
Back in 2002, when Killinger received a Medal of Achievement from the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center for his "inspiration, dedication, and leadership," the Washington Mutual CEO was praised for positioning his bank "for success in a deregulated environment." Well, temporary success, anyway. Six years later, Washington Mutual became the biggest bank failure in the nation's history, thousands of Seattle employees were kicked to the curb, fortunes were lost, and JPMorgan Chase acquired the company for about the same price as a stale ham sandwich. Known back in the bad, old, regulated days for its slogan "The Friend of the Family," WaMu did indeed take full advantage of a laissez-faire environment: Its shoddy lending practices and lust for market share in the subprime mortgage sector helped make the company a Wall Street darling, lifting it to a $50 billion market capitalization. But when home prices sank, so did the house of cards. And while your 401(k) is decimated, Killinger is likely doing just fine. He collected $88 million in compensation in the years since Fred Hutch honored him—plus another $16.5 million in severance when he was finally forced out last year. He's still got his mansion up in the Highlands. He may not have committed Bernie Madoff–style theft, but it sure seems like somebody got seriously ripped off.
10.Ken Griffey Jr. is the Mariners' left fielder.
Some ballplayers manage to play in the field into their late 30s because they have great genetics, watch their diets, lift weights, stay injury-free, are first basemen, and/or take enough steroids and HGH to turn Renée Zellweger into Ron Perlman. Ken Griffey Jr. isn't one of them. He began his career as a lithe 19-year-old and is now a curvy 39. For the past three years he's been "the worst defensive outfielder in baseball," according to USSMariner.com statmaster Dave Cameron. He covers ground like a third-base coach. He fills out his uniform like a manager. His right hamstring features three titanium screws. He hasn't been able to hit left-handed pitching since Bret Boone was a Mariner. What he can still do is hit right-handed pitching—one more type of pitching than most of last year's team could hit—which would make him a great designated hitter against the same. Unfortunately, he expects to be the regular left fielder, and no doubt the M's gave him the impression he will, given that they got him to turn down a starting job with the nearer-his-home Atlanta Braves. Why would the M's do this? They think Junior nostalgia means ticket sales, even if it means losing games.
Pat Moriarity
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Slideshow: A look at Seattle's 22 unfortunate truths.
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11. Mexi-Fries®.
Neither Mexican nor fries, this inexplicably popular item on the Taco Time menu is uniquely responsible for giving local Mexican food a bad name. Founded in Eugene in 1959 by a petroleum-products salesman, Taco Times outnumber even Taco Bells in the Northwest, and Mexi-Fries® have been driving business since the '60s. What makes them Mexican? The plastic freezer bag they're dumped from into the fryer? The "original seasoning" they're flavored with, aka salt? The fact that you can dip them in Ortega-grade hot sauce? We love Tater Tots (which is what these essentially are, in disguise) as much as anyone. But these are so bizarrely bad that the Mexican government should send cease-and-desist letters demanding an end to the prefix. They're an affront not only to two nations but to the potato itself.
12. Mars Hill church just keeps getting bigger.
The Seattle movement with arguably the most enthusiastic adherents isn't locavorism, "green building," or even anti–Prop 8 rallying; it's devotion to a homophobic, misogynist, ranting, raving, and cursing (he's edgy, see) pastor in Ballard. Mars Hill is one of the fastest-growing congregations in America. Last year the church added a downtown campus after purchasing former nightclub Tabella for a cool $3.95 million. And now head pastor Mark Driscoll is being named a theological trendsetter by Time and interviewed by ABC as an expert on Satan. More than 12,000 people follow Driscoll on Twitter. (The semi-national No On Prop. 8 campaign has less than half that many.) That's a lot of fans for a man who spews venom at women, gays, practitioners of other religions, and anyone not hip enough to be down with a pastor who uses the F-word. Driscoll touts his strict Biblical reading, but glosses over the legions of passages on loving your neighbor and caring for the poor. Instead he zeroes in on a few questionably interpreted verses justifying his hostile attitude toward pretty much everyone not exactly like him—straight, male, Protestant douchebag. Somewhere in the Bible Belt, that kind of conservatism might make sense. But come on, Seattle, why is this guy so popular? Is it because his worship band wears skinny jeans and sports tattoos? We're pretty sure what Jesus would do is tell Driscoll to shut the fuck up.
13. The mayor's opponents can't raise a nickel.
This past fall, a prospective challenger to Mayor Greg Nickels commissioned a poll that showed the mayor with a 32 percent approval rating. The same poll also showed that if voters were faced with a choice between Nickels and a nameless, faceless candidate, they'd vote overwhelmingly for anybody but Greg. Since then, things have gotten a lot worse. Seattle's economy has gone to hell, rendering the mayor's "world city" vision moot. And this isn't even taking into account December's "Snowpocalypse," which paralyzed the city—except for the mayor, whose route to work was cleared religiously by an otherwise inept crew of SDOT plowmen. Remember, this is the same guy who was first elected on a back-to-basics, potholes platform. Eight years on, he's become exactly the sort of politician he claimed to loathe, an ivory-tower, bare-knuckles Boss who kowtows to developers and is ripe to be toppled. That is, if someone can actually raise some dough to mount a credible run against him. Sure, 7'2" James Donaldson could ride his celebrity, small-business emphasis, and choirboy demeanor to victory. And Mike McGinn's environmental bona fides are sufficient to make Nickels look like he's blowing diesel fumes out his ass. But the fact that the mayor has sewn up moneyed constituents to the point where his opponents can't rub two dimes together—and that the Steinbruecks and Licatas of the world don't have the sack to take on an infinitely vulnerable incumbent—speaks volumes about the powder-puff nature of Seattle politics. In any other major city, a mayor such as Nickels would have half a dozen credible, well-funded opponents by now. But that's not the Seattle Way.
