• The painfully out-of-touch Marjorie Skinner blithely equated ugly shoes with terrorism. Congratulations, Ms. Skinner! Your consistent efforts to take the "news" out of "newspaper" are finally paying off.
• As a rule, I do not actually read anything "written" by Ezra "Ace" Caraeff. This week, however, I understand he told an anecdote about being "aggressively fingered against the back wall at a Papa Roach concert." Sounds about right.
• When he and Sarah Mirk weren't drooling over an inane tax hike, Denis C. Theriault got the breaking news scoop that Police Chief Mike Reese is considering changing the name of his rock band. Here's another scoop, Mr. Theriault: Until Mr. Reese begins covering the classic hits of one Mr. J. Geils, nobody gives a fuck.
• Like a petulant toddler, Wm. Steven Humphrey threw a tantrum because a food cart wasn't open at the precise moment he was hungry. Food cart owners of Portland, please begin spitting into Mr. Humphrey's food even more than usual.
• Courtney Ferguson is the only person on the planet paying attention to Andy Dick. Stop it, Ms. Ferguson. As is the case with so much that you do, it is simultaneously depressing and angering.
• Ned Lannamann: USELESS.
• And now for a sentence so precious it makes me want to vomit: Alison Hallett went to the Ace Hotel to interview Miranda July.
• Oblivious virgin Erik Henriksen blathered on about how he doesn't think pretty girls are lying to him when they condescendingly tell him they like Batteship Galaxystar as much as he does. ATTN. MR. HENRIKSEN: GROW UP. VERONICA MARS IS NEVER GOING TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU.
• Sarah Mirk broke the news that Springfield, Oregon, is crammed full of strip clubs—an accolade which apparently drove some of Springfield's more prudish residents to tears. Loosen the fuck up, Springfield. Make it rain.
I will return next week, and not one moment before. I urge you to do the same.
