Apparently this week's cover story, spearheaded by DAVID SCHMADER and DAVE SEGAL, is a joke of some sort. It involves an obscure pop band called "P.M. Dawn," and the 20th anniversary of the release of one of their albums. Supporting pieces by MICHAELANGELO MATOS and CHARLES MUDEDE do nothing but further obfuscate the point of this frippery. Is it satire? Is it sarcasm? Is it sincere? Who cares? Not me. Not you. Not the local artists and newsmakers who are being flagrantly ignored for the sake of this office in-joke that has been taken (in true Stranger fashion) far too far. Rarely has any collection of writing begged so loudly to be so violently ignored.
But this is just the beginning of a parade of inconsequentiality. Should your stultification not yet be complete, there are three more—yes, God help us, three more—page-long features in this issue of The Stranger. First, DOMINIC HOLDEN wrings his hands over a topic that even Stranger readers must tire of—gay marriage. Mr. Holden's work here is all that you've come to expect from it: disrespectful of religion, paranoid, purely speculative. He even takes an extra-special leap of logic in assuming that the politics of Washington State are akin to California's—a falsehood deployed conveniently when it fits his argument. Also, need it be said: too gay. Then BRENDAN KILEY attempts to be humorous as he fawns over a drunken celebrity while becoming inebriated himself, failing entirely to get around to reviewing the musical he is purportedly writing about. Lindy West, naturally enough, plays a supporting role in the debauchery.
If there is something to be pleased about here, it is that one was not at a neighboring table at this undoubtedly shrill luncheon "interview." And finally, JEN GRAVES expounds on a filthy hiker with artistic pretensions—one who attempted to circumnavigate Mount Rainier and failed. This is a singularly apt topic for Miss Graves, whose subjects increasingly exist only as a framework for her own failed writerly flights of fancy.
BOOKS: Apparently, celebrities (including—collective gasp!—minor-league rock-and-roll ones) are writing books for children now, and we are supposed to care about this for some reason... FILM: The "new" film editor—whom you're already all too familiar with, as it is one Mr. Schmader—sings the praises of a comedy about cancer, which sounds about par for recent course of The Stranger's film section, as charted by the highly inappropriate Miss West... CHOW: Another piece about sweets—does The Stranger realize that meals contain courses other than dessert? (I understand that opiate addicts suffer from vicious, unrelenting sugar cravings; take this trivia however you want to take it.)... MUSIC: Didn't read... SAVAGE LOVE: As always, too gay.
