Last month, in an act bursting with douche-itude, club owner Stephanie Dorgan unceremoniously yanked the plug on Seattle's beloved and historic music venue, the Crocodile Cafe. (Though it's like choosing a favorite bunny, my fondest memory comes from the night I told a friend, "In my heart, I'll always be a sixteen year old R.E.M. fan", not realizing we were within earshot of Peter Buck, who turned around and nodded.)
Yesterday morning, Mom called to tell me that Sunset Bowl, where my brother and my friend, Eva, hurled vending machine cheese and crackers at each other with the force of gladiators and got us kicked out on more than one occasion, has been sold to a developer and likely will be replaced by condos.
Then last night I read that M. Coy Books, a store I have frequented most of my adult life and a favored stop on my Pike Place Market treks, will close in February because the proprietors can no longer afford the lease.
Fuck. Why not turn the Space Needle into a high rise and be done with it?
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