Recently, I decided to dispose of the dusty old wax cylinders that
have been cluttering up Chez Steen and invest in a high-fidelity
phonographic stereo system. I “threw on a platter” by the inimitable Al
Jolson and proceeded to wag my finger in time with his velveteen
stylings. All was well until suddenly Mr. Jolson’s singing became a
rapid-fire staccato stutter, transforming a tuneful little ditty into
an unlistenable cacophony. My maid informed me that I had fallen prey
to a so-called broken record, which is an affliction that plagues
phonograph owners.
I use this little story as a parable to describe the current shabby
state of The Stranger‘s news section under the lazy,
drug-spiked eye of its new editor, one Mr. DOMINIC HOLDEN. This week
finds Mr. Holden bleating intolerably about the toy trains that the
ecoterrorists of Seattle wish to force upon the good people of the
Eastside. Mr. Holden appears hell-bent on continuing The
Stranger‘s relentless losing streak of being on the wrong side of
all transportation issues—a “mono-rail”! Put down the
science-
fictional magazine, sonny!—by now advocating for
homeless shelters on rails. The only solution to Seattle’s oppressive
traffic is as follows: Widen the highways, and give the choo-choos back
to the children.
Mercifully, CHARLES MUDEDE’s Police Beat is nowhere to be found in
the news pages. Unmercifully, the feature brings an obscenely long work
of “fiction” by Mr. Mudede, who continues the broken-record theme by
writing about Amanda Knox, the angel-faced student from Seattle who was
just railroaded by an Italian court. I do not know why Mr. Mudede is
allowed to continue publishing his warped fantasies about Miss Knox
conducting a
murderous orgy, but I do know that they say more
about his twisted psyche (and dangerous boudoir behavior) than anything
else. That the counterpoint to this piece is provided by Miss Knox’s
schoolmate-—who, too, is not a journalist at all—is
fitting.
Elsewhere in The Stranger, unpaid intern COREY KAHLER
interviews a reporter from the Far East about what it takes to be a
good journalist (answer: Do not work for The Stranger),
MICHAELANGELO MATOS scribbles a terribly dull piece that is for some
reason about New York City, and PAUL CONSTANT continues to be an
embarrassment to the male sex.
Speaking of which: I have often been accused of ignoring the ladies
who are employed at this tabloid. Not so! The problem is that there are
so few of them—the gay men have nearly made a clean sweep of the
distaff sex—and the two (!) female editorial staffers run the
same stories week after week in the hopes that nobody will notice. I
speak, of course, of BETHANY JEAN CLEMENT, whose condescension and
favoritism masked as food writing this week is allegedly about a
restaurant called Cicchetti (but we read the same piece a couple of
months ago about a pizzeria named Delancey), and JEN GRAVES, scribbling
about museum doors (next week, no doubt, will bring her in-depth study
of museum toilet fixtures). Both stories are just as awful as those
written by allegedly more-masculine staffers. Never let it be said that
I am not for equal rights.