Gold Bar’s Mountain Meltdown
“For several years, ever since the contentious Crystal Hill-as-mayor days in Gold Bar, there’s been a strange, dark, cancerous mass of venomous antimatter bubbling up in the weird undertow of Gold Bar’s civic life. There are those in Gold Bar—seemingly perpetually angry people who drool snake venom on cue who aren’t satisfied unless they’re launching lawsuits or banging out so many public-records requests that it costs Gold Bar tens of thousands of dollars it does not have—that seem to just love that foaming-at-the-mouth, Mel Gibson-as-Antichrist approach to civic life and politics.”
The City’s New Gambit to End Homelessness
Jay T. Morris is a 52- year-old man
with a pit bull named Moose and a history of causing headaches along the Seattle waterfront. Earlier this year, Morris and his champagne-colored four-legged friend unwittingly became the poster children for one of several new approaches launched under the Center City Initiative, a program championed by Mayor Mike McGinn as a way to solve Seattle’s problems with street disorder and reduce the number of homeless people on the street.
Fisher Mill: Industrial Collapse Is Fun
“What did that guy say?” they ask, having seen me chatting with a shipping employee out front. He’d spotted me wandering aimlessly around the adjacent shipping yard, and promptly told me I should leave. On my way out, I find Fone and Aser, exactly whom I was looking for in the first place. The two are excited that I’m interested in talking to them about their art, and quickly introduce themselves before making quite possibly the least stealthy maneuver I’ve ever seen—strolling right past the worker in full daylight, heading for the mill’s fence.
The Tweeted Life of Freddy E
That afternoon, during the time investigators now know Buhl left the Renton home he shared with his mother, father, and sister Katherine to borrow a bolt-action rifle from a high- school friend, the Twitter feed never went silent for too long. He kept talking about the unbearable pain that comes with young heartbreak. Then the tweets became morbid:
It’s . . . all . . . bad . . . y’all. *puts finger around trigger*
Love you mom.
Love you dad.
Love you Katherine.
After that, the unstoppable chatter of Freddy E stopped. He had killed himself in the parking lot of his family’s apartment complex. His final message, “I’m sorry,” was retweeted more than 10,000 times.
The CrossFit Diaries
As Martin runs through the 10 CrossFit fitness “domains,” my mind drifts to
The Hunger Games
(or if you want, the original it was stolen from,
The Running Man): strength, power, speed, flexibility, cardiovascular and respiratory endurance, accuracy, agility, balance, coordination. Then we did some burpees.
Inside Al Rosellini’s FBI File
Ex-Seattle Police Chief George Eastman told an agent he was still suspicious of Rosellini and once wanted to indict him (but had no proof), while then- current Chief Frank Ramon supported him. He’d checked into some of the many rumors about Rosellini, Ramon said, and found them to be false. But it’s the nature of such profiling to gather everything thrown on the walls whether it sticks or not. Thus Rosellini’s file includes allegations he was the silent owner of Seattle bars, was in business with a prostitute, and that the Catholic governor lied to the Pope.
How Jamen Shively’s Big Marijuana Boast Went South
You’d have to be “completely crazy” to hold a giant press conference announcing you were selling pot,
Mark Kleiman, the UCLA public-policy professor hired last spring to serve as the state’s top consultant on I-502 implementation, told
So he has a hunch that’s not the Diego gang’s actual intention at all. “My real suspicion is that they intend to fleece investors,” he says. “You get a lot of money, you pay yourself a lot in salaries—and then you announce that the business has failed. You saw
“What?? Are you sons-of-bitches out of your mind?? My fucking hard- ass earned money is paying for your GOD-DAMN salaries, just so you can go out, eat your dumb-ass donuts and grow pot-bellies and sit around as you get fatter from the greasy donuts and twinkies, you shit-smelling, fat tub-of-lards . . . NO!!!! I have better things to do with my money than waste more of my precious earned money, that to give you lazy shits more.
Fuck all of you and your MOTHERS!!!
Go to HELL!!
P.S. I can’t fucking believe you fudge-packing, ass- kissing, dog-fuckers are making me pay for a stamp too. You assholes. Here’s your fucking stamp. Eat shit and I hope you die from a blood-clot and your dick shrivels up and falls off. Mother Fuckers!!”
HIV’s New Normal
Christina says she can’t. She wants people to know that people with HIV can still have a “wonderful life.” And she is part of a select group of people uniquely positioned to tell that story. As her doctor, Harborview HIV specialist Connie Celum, observes, we now have a generation of HIV babies who have grown up—“going through adolescence, becoming sexually active, making decisions about having children”—with the virus in the background the entire time.
Says Christina: “HIV is all I’ve ever known.”
Punk Rock is Bullshit
The idea that poor kids from Kitsap County, like their heroes from Southern California and northern England, were somehow immune from being pretentious by virtue of their underclass nobility was a cultural lie that had run its course elsewhere, but we never saw the second half of the telegram here. It took us another 20 years to learn that being poor and ignorant doesn’t mean you can’t also be spoiled.