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What's That Odor?

by Nicole Brodeur, "Seattle Times" columnist

HERE IN THE Pacific Northwest, work gives our lives meaning, and meaning makes our work live. So it's nice to see so many people back at work, filling The Seattle Times with meaning, even if some of my co-workers have gone out of their way to be mean to me. Steve Johnston has a potato with my name on it sitting on his desk. Every time I walk by, he stabs it with a pen. Jean Godden gives me looks that could fell a Honey Bucket. And today in the lunch room, Misha Berson was tossing old food from the employee fridge. When I mentioned that I had also noticed a strange odor, Misha looked at me and said, "Yeah, Brodeur, something in this building sure does stink."

It was fun being a scab while the strike was on: the office crowded with lean and hungry replacement workers, that you're-my-girl gleam in Mr. Blethen's eyes when we passed in the hallway. "Never explain, Nicole," he would call out as he strolled by. "And never apologize!" I would respond. It was our little joke! But I'm not sure what I expected from my striking co-workers once the strike ended. I certainly didn't expect Ron Judd to egg my car.

Shit. We went out on strike on November 2. I walked that picket line for 28 fucking days and didn't cross until December 22. Then the goddamn strike ends on January 8! If I had held out two more weeks, I wouldn't be sitting at my desk feeling like a truckful of goat puke. What the fuck was I thinking?

So what's that strange odor at the Times? It's me. I'm a stinkin' scab. Okay, guys, I get it. Now knock it off. I'm warning you. Once more with that potato, Johnston, and I'll stuff it up your ass. And, Judd, it's not like I don't know where you park your car.

Previously in New Column!

WHO SAYS high style only graces the glamorous runways of Gay Paree and New York City? WHO SAYS THAT?!? Why, men and women decked out in the haute couture bounty of a thousand Asian sweatshops can be seen strolling down Seattle's avenues every day.

For example, our roving photographers discovered this lovely lassie relaxing at Linda's Tavern. Taking an aesthetic cue from Beck, Joseph Cornell, and countless at-risk elementary school students, this striking pile of style knows that collage is the only valid art form of the 21st century--and collage she does! From her Meg Ryan 'do to her True Value wristwear, from her tasteful piercings to her punched-raccoon eye spackle, this young lady's inspired ensemble gets its message across loud and clear: "No, I will NOT be your bridesmaid!"

For this week, that's fashion!

From the Jan 11 - Jan 17, 2001 issue

AFTER NEARLY 10 years of publishing, we here at The Stranger have grown accustomed to--even quite fond of--being mercilessly barraged with scorn and hatred, especially from our peers. So imagine our surprise this week when lefty magazine Utne Reader (they're still publishing--who knew?!) handed The Stranger one of their 2000 Alternative Press Awards! Why, you could've knocked us over with a feather! Our entire staff had to rush out, get tanked, and suck off a hobo just to keep our low self-esteem in balance!

"So who gives a poop about what Utne Reader thinks?" you ask. We dunno. What we do know, however, is the fascinating list of folks who DIDN'T win the Utne prize for Best Local/Regional Coverage, which includes the Village Voice, L.A. Weekly, and the Seattle "Gift Guides 'R' Us" Weekly! Losing always sucks, but we can only imagine how bad it feels to lose to a piece-of-shit rag like The Stranger! Har, har!

So, thanks, Utne! (And to all you letter-writing, "Meat issue"-hating, still-furious vegetarians: Apparently SOME lefties have a sense of humor!)