As we reported it would be last week, the new stripped-down configuration of Seattle Weekly is here, and though its new look is regrettable, it is consistent with the style of the other papers in its chain. The reduced staff and contributors still seems committed to covering the city as best it can. There's a lot of local news, some weed and food coverage, letters to the editor, and an arts calendar. All in all, it's a lot better than it could have been.

Then there is the editorial by Editor-Chief Mark Baumgarten (whom I consider a personal friend, let the disclosures be disclosed), the latest chapter in a tradition that the Weekly recently celebrated its Silver Jubilee of: Throwing shade at The Stranger in a way that tacitly blames us for all its problems by suggesting we have lowered the bar to a height they can't even deign to measure, much less jump over.

After several paragraphs explaining how and why the Weekly now looks the way it does, Baumgarten adds the following:

Finally, on a more personal note, I have never really been much of an “alternative” journalist. Despite starting my career at an alternative weekly, the irreverent posturing and combative tone—to say nothing of the snark—has never resonated with me. I know there is more to it than that, and I know, first-hand, that much good has come from the work of alternative weeklies, but when an author’s ego obscures the subject—as it so often does in many alternative weeklies—I find my mind wandering. I have, instead, always been drawn to journalism that aims to reflect its subjects, first and foremost. To me, this is the essence of community news: journalism with a primary focus of elevating voices that might otherwise be drowned out. That is not the only thing we will be doing here, but it is a big part of our mission.

(Bolds added by ME! ME! ME!!)

I mean, I was okay at soccer, but I wouldn't say I was a superstar or anything. The big problem as far as I was concerned was that I felt a need to stand out. Not that I wasn't a team player. I definitely was. But somehow, being one of three fullbacks never felt quite as legitimate—to me personally—as being the one and only goalie. Of course, what I hadn't taken into account (and couldn't really know, since I hadn't been examined by a proper optometrist) was that my vision is seriously embattled. I have a condition called amblyopia, which literally amounts to a deformation of one eyeball, thus rendering my depth perception to be seriously out of whack, which seriously hobbled by sports career before it ever got started. I was better at basketball, and if I'm being honest, I also enjoyed it more. Talk about a marriage of team effort and individual achievement! Baseball was more complicated, but it basically amounted to the same thing: My form was good, and my heart was in the right place, but if I couldn't play third base, it was like who cares, you know? Football, too, come to think of it. I was good on the offensive line, but some part of me—some wounded, broken little thing—needed to be the quarterback. And I was not bad—decent arm, never fast, but surprisingly quick. But as any young athlete knows, the difference between "not bad" and "good" is a chasm that gets harder to bridge with every passing day of your life.

Anyway, my Stranger colleagues join me in wishing the new Seattle Weekly every success.