How sad is it that The Stranger's finest hour was the election of Mayor Mike McGinn? The editors saved up two decades' worth of political posturing and outright flimflammery, and then devoted whatever goodwill they may have accrued in that time to the election of a hippie with rage issues—it would be hilarious, if it did not have ramifications here in the real world. But the upside of The Stranger spending all of its political capital on the election of a man who could not form a coalition in a coma ward is that The Stranger has spent all of its political capital. To wit: Nobody will ever believe anything the scribblers behind this moist towelette of homosexual propaganda have to say ever again.
And that is why an overwhelming majority of Seattle voters passed the waterfront tunnel last Tuesday—because they realized that this hateful band of addicts and sodomites has nothing but ill will for the future of Seattle. A vote for the tunnel, Seattle realized, was a vote against The Stranger, and they voted against The Stranger as furiously as they could. I applaud their choice. And I laugh at this week's feature story, in which The Stranger bathes in its own bitterness at not being the darling of the electorate anymore. But I do not laugh for the reasons the unnamed editors of this feature want me to laugh—I cackle and guffaw simply because this is yet another sign of institutional tone-deafness, a huffy and acrid screed against the will of the people. They could not appear more petulant and infantile if they wore soiled diapers and wailed the full text of this garbage in city council chambers.
The rest of this week's issue pales in comparison to the glorious self-immolation on the tunnel. The arts section is listless and pathetic, and packed with brain-damaged attempts at "human interest" stories in an effort to prove its relevance. JEN GRAVES desperately attempts to appeal to human beings, for a change, by interviewing a blind man who claims to care about visual art. KELLY O leads the music section by profiling a mentally handicapped man who makes music and doodles to the accolades of "politically correct" audiences.
The only thing odder than watching Stranger staffers pretending to care about people less fortunate than they are? Watching BETHANY JEAN CLEMENT try on an ill-fitting populist hat, as she does in her review of a posh new restaurant bravely trying to bring a little more class and civility to Seattle. Someone unaccustomed to The Stranger would, of course, expect Miss Clement to praise the restaurant for using fine dining as a way to tame the unkempt jungle that is Fourth and Pike. Of course, she does the exact opposite, pretending to be some cornpone woman-of-the-people who suddenly believes that there is such a thing as too-expensive boeuf bourguignon. Perhaps Miss Clement had to pick up her own tab for a change; that would explain her sudden attack of frugality.