by Goldy — ,
The animal rights group PETA is offering a $2,000 reward for information leading to the arrest of the person who’s been shooting blow darts through the heads of pigeons (which, not surprisingly, doesn’t appear to effect the pigeons’ behavior at all).
What’s next… placing a bounty on the head of Tom Lehrer?
by Goldy — ,
by Lee — ,
Timothy Garon is the man I wrote about on Saturday who was denied a liver transplant by the University of Washington Medical Center because he’s a medical marijuana patient, and as a result, will likely die in the very near future. His case will be profiled at 5pm today on KIRO TV. Also, Dominic posts some contact numbers for the hospital and more information on the case over at Slog.
UPDATE: Here’s KIRO TV’s report:
by Goldy — ,
With gasoline prices projected to climb as high as $10.00 a gallon over the next two to three years, the last thing we should do is give voters another chance to approve an expanded light rail system, because that would be imprudent. Irresponsible. A “bad idea.”
Thank God we have the visionaries on the Seattle Times editorial board to protect us from ourselves.
by Goldy — ,
More head-up-its-ass shameless propaganda from the Bush administration:
As boating season approaches — Opening Day is Saturday in Seattle — the Bush administration wants to enlist the country’s 80 million recreational boaters to help reduce the chances that a small boat could be used in a terror attack.
[…] Today, officials will announce the plan, which asks states to develop and enforce safety standards for recreational boaters and asks them to look for and report suspicious behavior on the water — much like a neighborhood-watch program.
If Sikhs ever start driving water taxis, Homeland Security will be inundated with tips from vigilant boaters.
“There is no intelligence right now that there’s a credible risk” of this type of attack, says Coast Guard Commandant Adm. Thad Allen. “But the vulnerability is there.”
And there is no credible intelligence right now that terrorists are packing explosives up the ass of unicorns in an attempt to exploit vulnerabilities in America’s magical creature infrastructure, but… well… you never can be too careful.
Or, just maybe, if the Bush administration really wants to better protect our safety, they might want to ask boaters to look out for a real and present danger: the beer-swilling, drunken skippers responsible for about a third of our nation’s 700 boating fatalities annually, along with thousands of serious injuries and tens of millions of dollars in property damage. I’m just sayin’.
by Goldy — ,
I generally like the job that Chris Mulick does, and I love the fact that smaller papers like the Tri-City Herald still maintain an Olympia bureau, but I just gotta call him out for a recent blog post in which he succumbs to the classic journalistic sin of equivalency. Mulick writes:
One of the more amusing aspects to covering campaigns in an election year is digesting all the yelling and screaming political parties intend for public consumption.
A favorite tactic is the missive from one party telling the other party’s candidate what they should do, as if they were playing a high stakes game of Simon Says.
For instance, the state Republican Party issued a press release last week titled “Gregoire Should Denounce Her Presidential Favorite’s Elitist Rhetoric.”
A week earlier the Democratic Party issued a press release titled “Rossi Should Reject and Denounce the BIAW.”
Yeah, no doubt, the two parties routinely do this sort of thing, and it can sometimes get quite silly, but Mulick chose a dubious example to illustrate his point. On the one hand, the state GOP demanded that Gov. Gregoire denounce Sen. Barack Obama for saying that small town voters are “bitter.” On the other, the state Dems demanded that Dino Rossi denounce the BIAW for repeatedly insisting that environmentalists are “Nazis.”
Sure, both parties sent out press releases, but there’s no equivalency between Obama’s statements and the violent, extremist hate-talk of the BIAW… and to imply such is simply irresponsible.
by Goldy — ,
My dog barks ferociously at passersby, with a kinda cartoonish “let me at ’em, let me at ’em” demeanor, as she presses menacingly against a flimsy fence she could easily leap over if she had anywhere near as much bite as bark. No doubt folks walking by my house find it annoying. I find it annoying. But she’s a dog, and defending one’s territory is what they do.
What I don’t get are people, like the guy outside my house right now, who stop in their tracks and angrily scream back at the dog to shut up… which of course, only enrages her further. Stupid fucking humans.
by Goldy — ,
Two must read posts out recently for folks closely following the race between Darcy Burner and Dave Reichert for WA-08, that certainly should inform coverage in our local media. (I’m not saying they will inform coverage, just that they should.)
The first comes from James at Swing State Project, who analyzes the “cash-on-hand competitiveness” of challengers in the top 75 non-open House races, and finds that Burner ranks fourth, with a 132% rating. Burner’s cash-on-hand lead has been somewhat reported in the local press, but they haven’t let on how extraordinary her advantage really is. Incumbents rarely trail challengers, and almost never by such a wide margin. Yet another reason why WA-08 is widely considered a toss-up in 2008.
Our local press should also carefully study the latest post over at On the Road to 2008, where Daniel does a typically thorough job of fisking the oft repeated “Reichert is a moderate” myth:
As I’ve mentioned numerous times before, there is a pattern to Reichert’s voting record that is not being reported where he opposes legislation from being considered or coming to a vote, seeks to amend and change it, tries to table or kill it, before flipping his vote and voting for it on final passage.
In the 110th Congress alone he has done this 25 times, 17 times casting a final passage vote that seemingly “broke” from party ranks.
It is hard to ignore the facts as Daniel presents them—arranged and cited in a nice neat table—but so far, that is exactly what our local media has done. Reichert may not be the most conservative member of Congress, but he’s no “conscience driven independent,” his much touted splits with his party almost always coming after the battle is lost, and even then only just for show.
But don’t take my word for it, read the whole thing and analyze the data for yourself.
by Goldy — ,
by Goldy — ,
Just two years after a bitter and contentious school closure process that in addition to breaking communities’ hearts, also led to the resignation of the superintendent and an overhaul of the school board, the Seattle Times tells us that “Demand exceeds space in some North End Seattle schools.”
Of course it does. North End schools, their programs and facilities enriched through the generosity of their more affluent PTSAs, have always been a magnet for families from across the district. And throughout the closure process it had always been abundantly clear how little wiggle room the district had left itself should its dire prediction of precipitously declining enrollment not prove true.
But North End schools aren’t the only ones unable to keep up with demand, and if there’s a personal “I told you so” moment in the Times piece it comes about three quarters of the way through, and hits quite a bit closer to home:
In the South End, declining enrollment has forced several schools to close. But Beacon Hill Elementary, where a dual-language immersion program begins this fall, has a waiting list — 48 students — for the first time in years. Graham Hill and Kimball elementary schools also had waiting lists in the fall.
That’s right, Graham Hill, my daughter’s school—that piece of shit, racist hell hole that couldn’t educate its students, and was losing kids faster than the Fundamentalist Church of Latter Day Saints… or so the district insultingly insisted—has a goddamn waiting list this fall! If I still sound bitter about the way the district grossly manipulated the numbers to justify closing Graham Hill, it is because I am.
Yes, we ultimately managed to save our school, but the Kafkaesque experience ended up ripping the heart and soul out of a tight-knit community, leading many of the school’s most active parents to step back into the shadows, or leave the school entirely. My own daughter now attends school on Mercer Island, where her mother moved, partially out of disgust and despair over the way the closure process played out. It is a good school, with tutors and enrichment programs the Graham Hill PTSA could never dream of providing its students… but we still miss our friends and neighbors and teachers, and I can’t imagine we’ll ever recapture that sense of belonging that came from seven years attending our neighborhood school.
Had we not fought so aggressively to save our school, or had we not fought so effectively, our students would have been scattered between five other schools within our cluster—that’s how little excess capacity (outside of the alternative program at the African American Academy) the district’s original closure plan left the South End. Had we acquiesced, and quietly sacrificed our neighborhood school for the good of the district, as so many editorial boards and columnists solemnly advised, Graham Hill would now be shuttered, leaving South End schools just as crunched for space as those in the North End.
No doubt there were a handful of schools—under-enrolled, failing programs in crumbling buildings—that warranted closure. But I remain convinced that the district’s determination to close 12 schools at once, whatever the consequences and whatever the facts, had always been motivated more by politics than by careful analysis or common sense. That only two years later the district is now facing a crisis of over-enrollment, pretty much bears that out.
by Lee — ,
Gene Johnson at the AP reports on another problem with the state of Washington’s medical marijuana laws:
Timothy Garon’s face and arms are hauntingly skeletal, but the fluid building up in his abdomen makes the 56-year-old musician look eight months pregnant. His liver, ravaged by hepatitis C, is failing. Without a new one, his doctors tell him, he will be dead in days. But Garon’s been refused a spot on the transplant list, largely because he has used marijuana, even though it was legally approved for medical reasons.
Garon was authorized by a doctor to use medical marijuana to counteract nausea and abdominal pain and to stimulate his appetite, but that was irrelevant to the transplant committee at the University of Washington Medical Center. Officials at the hospital weren’t specific about his case, but one surgeon quoted in the article hinted that transplants can be denied for medical marijuana patients on the belief that they will not be able to stop using it after the transplant (for medical reasons, many doctors tell transplant patients that they must abstain from using medical marijuana as their bodies accept the new organ). This is a common misunderstanding about medical marijuana patients and it shows that even medical professionals will often see them as addicts rather than people who find medical benefit from the drug’s effects. It’s another reminder that even here in liberal Washington State, we still have a long way to go before those who find that medical marijuana is beneficial have the kinds of protections they need.
by Lee — ,
by Goldy — ,
AP reporter Dave Ammons retired yesterday after 37 years at the Olympia bureau, and since his colleagues in the Capitol press corps are all paying tribute to him, I thought I’d post a little tribute of my own.
Ammons hasn’t always been a popular reporter amongst my fellow progressive activists, largely due to the lavish attention he’s heaped on Tim Eyman over the years, but even if Ammons played a significant role in making Eyman’s public career, I’ve always held a special fondness for him because, well… he made mine too.
It was Rich Roesler at the Spokesman-Review who first broke the story of my initiative to proclaim Tim Eyman a horse’s ass, but it was Ammons’ relentless coverage that drove the story to statewide and even national headlines for months, long after my fifteen minutes of fame should have expired. It was also Ammon’s AP Olympia bureau that, in the weeks following the 2004 gubernatorial election, anointed me “the liberal blogger” when they needed a partisan counterpoint to the sudden (u)SP juggernaut.
Political reporting can be godawful boring, but Ammons had an eye for characters like me and Tim who could catch the public’s attention, and he was matter-of-fact about the role he and his colleagues play in promoting the agendas of the people they cover. One day, a few weeks into the unexpected chaos of the I-831 campaign, my phone rings and the voice at the other end jovially announces, “Hi, it’s Dave Ammons… your personal publicist.” Of course, promoting me and my joke initiative was never the motive behind Ammons’ attentiveness, but unlike some of his more stuffy colleagues, Ammons never seemed shy about the symbiotic relationship between political reporters and their subjects.
Having a little bit of insight into the sausage factory that is journalism, I have always considered Ammons’ coverage to be fair, even when not particularly balanced, for while the progressive community may rightly complain that our efforts and issues routinely received short shrift compared to Eyman and his follies, it was not Ammons’ bias that was to blame, but rather our failure to give him a good enough story. And in the end, telling a good story is what every genre of writing—even journalism—is really all about.
Best of luck on your new endeavors Dave. And thanks.
by Goldy — ,
by Goldy — ,
I crashed the Municipal League’s 2008 Civic Awards last night at the Olympic Sculpture Park, where my friend and colleague David Postman was being honored for “Governmental News Reporting of the Year.” Knowing that Postman’s bosses at the Seattle Times had forbade him from accepting the award in person so as not to compromise his impartiality—and unencumbered by these (or any) ethical burdens of my own—I realized that there must be an unused name tag at the registration table with at least half my name on it… and sure enough I managed to sign in as Postman, no questions asked.
His “Honoree” name tag firmly pinned to my lapel and a surfeit of free drink tickets in hand, I strolled into the PACCAR Pavilion determined to do Postman proud by mingling with our city’s power elite on his behalf. As it turned out, I would need the drink tickets.
Indeed, it wasn’t at all what I had expected. To be honest, I think I had the Muni League mixed up with the Urban League, and to my great disappointment this was the league with all the white people. That meant better booze, but boring food, and even boringer conversation. And Republicans. A handful of actual, real life Republicans. In Seattle of all places. Who’d a thunk?
Diving right into the role of seasoned journalist, I headed straight to the bar, where I could swear I saw Pete von Reichbauer palming the contents of the tip jar. (Life is tough for Republicans these days; they never know where their next campaign contribution might come from.) An awkward social situation to say the least, but take it from this big-city native: the first rule to remember when confronting the desperate wretches at the fringe of society is to avoid making eye contact at all costs! I knocked back my syrah, grabbed a refill, and headed off into the crowd.
I soon learned that while a lot of folk supposedly read Postman, very few apparently know what he looks like, for I was roundly greeted with congratulations and hearty handshakes throughout the hall. Fully expecting to be unmasked at any moment I played the role for all it was worth, regaling guests with invented tales of political intrigue and the madcap antics of my Postman’s colleagues in the Capitol press corp, but whether it was the context or the booze or the dulling effects of wealth and power, my subtle satire seemed lost on the crowd. The more bizarre the anecdotes the more credulous the audience; if anyone questioned my true identity they certainly didn’t let on.
But when I was introduced to my Postman’s fellow honoree John Stanton, I figured the jig was up. Stanton looked straight at me. He looked down at my name tag. He looked back up at me, and I could see the dawning recognition on his face that mine just didn’t quite match the name on my lapel. Improvising, I quickly explained that during Passover, I like to “Jew things up” a little. Stanton seemed momentarily stunned, then nodding knowingly, he pulled a hip flask from his pocket, and we both enjoyed a long, hard swig of single malt before heading up to the dais to accept our awards.
At this point there were several people within arms length who know me quite well, and who must have wondered what mischief I was up to, so I figured somebody would stop me before I reached the podium, but Seattle’s polite society was apparently too polite (or too drunk) to intervene. So there I found myself, standing before a room filled with mayors and millionaires and sundry politerati… accepting an award as David Postman… an uncomfortable moment considering I hadn’t prepared a speech.
Still, caught up in the excitement—and fortified by three or four glasses of wine and a generous dose of Stanton’s best whiskey—I managed to muddle through, graciously thanking my hosts for the honor, and warning the crowd to keep their hands on their wallets should von Reichbauer come near (to which more than a few attendees nodded strenuously in agreement), before launching into an angry and passionate tirade against the endless cycle of newsroom cutbacks that threatens to destroy our Postman’s once proud industry.
In short, I Postman was a hit. The crowd erupted in deafening applause as he I kissed presenter Christine Chen square on the lips, waved my his commemorative plaque in the air along with the $50 Ivars gift card that came with it, and quickly headed back to the bar. When who should jump in my way but a puffing, red-faced and very, very angry Jim Vesely.
“How dare you…?!” the Times editorial page editor sprayed in my face, and I must admit I felt an immediate twinge of shame. I’ve had my fun over the years gently ribbing the Times, but in masquerading as their star reporter before a roomful of our city’s rich and powerful, I knew that this time I had gone too far. So I braced myself for whatever righteous fury I deservingly had coming my way.
“How dare you disobey a direct order?!” Vesely angrily continued. And then it struck me: Vesely thought that I was Postman too!
Well, I tried to defend my Postman’s honor as best he I could, asking why it was that ethics prevented me him from attending the ceremony while Vesely was free to swill Muni booze with impunity… but logic only made Vesely madder. Things deteriorated from there, our confrontation quickly descending into ad hominem attacks (Vesely has a mouth on him that would shock a truck driver), and I fear it would have eventually come to fisticuffs had not Sue Rahr stepped in and pulled the two of us apart.
Needless to say, things were said that can’t be unsaid, and if I really were Postman I’d add that Muni award to my resume and start mailing it out. I hear The Stranger is hiring now that Josh Feit is leaving, and since I kinda blame myself a little for Postman’s unfortunate predicament, I’d be happy to put in a good word.
The festivities over, guests started heading toward the exits, carefully avoiding the food table where von Reichbauer was stuffing his pockets full of bagel chips and salmon dip, a scene eerily reminiscent of Dan Ackroyd at the Christmas party in Trading Places, except without the Santa suit or the laughs. I grabbed myself a final drink and said my goodbyes, my heart nearly as full as my bladder.
No doubt it is a great honor to have one’s work recognized by a prestigious organization like the Muni League, but not nearly as great an honor as being David Postman himself… if only for a single, solitary evening.
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