…posted to this site in the past week, here’s some nice clean romance pulp-novel covers courtesy of the Private Screenings boutique in Fremont.

I JUST KNEW that decade-old “menswear for women” fad would finally get its logical counterpart.

TODAY, SOME IMAGES from the past five days of local protests. As in the 1991 war, these were centered at the Federal Building. And as in the 1991 war, they tactically differed from the prewar protests.

The prewar protests included broad coalitions of groups, including labor unions and churches. They were devised to bring as many people as possible to one place at one time.

Last week’s protests were largely coordinated by the Radical Women/Freedom Socialist Party. They were devised as long vigils with a couple of extra highlighted gathering times (particularly Thursday evening). This diffused the number of potential participants, and emphasized the role of those for whom protesting is a year-round way of life.

That meant the speakers’ podium was dominated by dudes (almost all of whom were bearded) and dudettes who wanted to tie in the Iraq war with darned near everything else they didn’t like, from McDonald’s and health-care budget cuts to the capitalist system in general.

Even if we’re not doing this primarily for how it will look in the media, it’d still be to our advantage if it didn’t look like only the lifestyle-leftists still wanted peace. We need the experienced dedicated protestors; but we need to keep the rest of the populace in this as well. And that means bigger coalitions creating bigger events, which also recruit people from all walks-O-life into ongoing works in the more boring parts of the task (organizing, letter-writing, etc.)

IN OTHER NEWS, J.C. Penney had a commercial during the Oscars with average suburban young-women’s clothes modeled on screen while an off-screen singer proclaimed “I’m a One-Girl Revolution.” What if we had a 200-million-girl-and-boy revolution that was about something other than wearing different clothes?

What would an actual revolution be like today? What would be replaced, and what would it be replaced with? Any ideas? Lemme know.

…here again is the big news about our big art show opening this Thursday:

City Light, City Dark has been moved to the Nico Gallery, 619 Western Avenue, Second Floor (one floor lower than the previously advertised location, in the same building). It still opens next Thursday evening, March 6, 6-8 p.m.

The exhibit features grouped pairs of images depicting similar subjects. One photo in each pair is set in the tourists’ Seattle of sunny days and mellow smiles. The other photo takes place in the “other” Seattle of low overcasts, long nights, and defiant nightlife.

Be there. Aloha.

A FASHION DESIGNER of my acquaintance recently told me she thought antiwar protestors ought to dress up more smartly. She believes if you’re trying to persuade outsiders to your cause, you should be dressed to impress. Make a visual statement of your intelligence, dedication, and awareness. Nix-nix on the ragged jeans and stringy facial hair; oui-oui to happy, harmonious looks that say you demand a happier, more harmonious world.

This student, at a student-oriented antiwar protest Wednesday at Westlake Park, has the idea.

So, in her own silver-and-red way, does this young speaker.

The protest gathered young women and men from grade school to grad school and beyond, from throughout the metro area. They were informed; they were impassioned. They’d rather not have their own asses potentially put on the line for the benefit of a few billionaires, thank you.

This particular protestor really dressed up. The plaque reads, in part:

1 ring =

100 Iraqi children killed by

US bombs since 1991

Duration: one every second

for 100 minutes

IF YOU LIKE THE PHOTOS on my site, you should come to my art show (see above.) You’re also bound to love another Seattle photojournalism site, Buffonery. Despite the silly name, it’s a very accomplished site with gorgeous local architectural photography. It’s all done by Manuel Wanskasmith, a 22-year-old UW sociology grad, and it’s all fab.

UPDATE TO A LONG-AGO ITEM: A year and a half or so after we discussed the end of what had been my favorite Net-radio operation, Luxuria Music is back on line. Sort of.

Clear Channel Communications, the 8000-lb. gorilla of the broadcast radio biz, bought and promptly killed Luxuria, which played a sprightly mix of lounge, swing, space-age-bachelor-pad, and ’60s pop tuneage. One longstanding fan of the station later bought the domain name, and finally has a music stream online again.

The new Luxuria plays much the same sorts of cool stuff the old Luxuria played. But its post-dotcom–crash startup budget doesn’t allow for live DJs (a vital part of the old Lux mix). And its third-party server software has some stringent requirements (a Mac user such as myself can only access it via MS Internet Exploder) and seems to cut itself off, and crash your browser, after a half hour or so.

Still, it’s a start, or rather a re-start, for the kind of programming creativity you not only can’t get on commercial broadcast radio but you also can’t get on those highly-formatted commercial online, cable, and satellite music services.

FOR THE SECOND CONSECUTIVE YEAR, Pioneer Square was essentially declared an official No Fun Zone by city officials. Police permitted would-be revelers to enter and leave the three-block bar strip on First Avenue South, but not to linger on sidewalks or to make spectacles of themselves.

The above shot is the only “crowd” picture I could get. It was a close-up of the tiny stretch of sidewalk from the J&M to Larry’s Greenfront. Many PioSq bars were closed altogether; those that opened had little more than their regular lineup of “blooze” bands.

The “mandatory mellowness” attitude of the Seattle civic establishment never cared for rock n’ roll nor for festiveness. The 2001 Mardi Gras, a spontaneous and unplanned street party that begat several drunken fights and a fatal beating, only affirmed the anti-fun resolve. It will be up to We The People to take back the streets for revelry as well as for political speech. But it’d have to be thru an event that’s just organized enough as to prevent/discourage violence.

As I said after the ’01 debacle: Plan it, don’t ban it.

IT SHOULDN’T come as a surprise that Amazon.com’s getting into online clothing sales. The surprise is that mainstream media outlets have characterized clothes as a difficult item to sell online.

Apparel has been sold in mail-order catalogs for over 120 years. Anything that can easily be sold in a mail-order catalog can also be sold in an on-screen catalog at least as easily, and probaly more easily. Size and color variations, and fabric close-ups, can be viewed as instantly as the speed of a user’s modem allows. Images of garments and accessories can be combined, like digital paper-doll ensembles, to ensure the right total look. Custom sizes can easily be calculated for the perfect fit.

The only real barrier to online clothing sales thus far has been the perception of Internet users as all males (more specifically as slovenly, fashion-challenged males). Now, the Net’s far wider appeal has been proven in demographic surveys. The online realm’s gotten its walls repainted and its lawn mowed; it’s officially a lady-friendly place now.

And since females traditionally control more than their share of consumer-spending decisions, that means the bigtime may have finally come for those e-tail entrants, such as Amazon, that have managed to stick it out thus far.

…the real start of autumn in the GreatNW. Before long, there’ll be as little as eight and a half hours of daylight—and even when there is daylight, there won’t be much of it.

I luuvv what other folks think of as Seasonal Affective Disorder season. The air is crisp. The light is diffuse. An overriding blanket of gray hovers over everything like a half-comforting, half-smothering blanket. It’s the closest you can come in the Lower 48 to Alaska’s wintertime “midday moon.”

It’s time to break out the sweaters, scarves, boots, and long coats.

Time to spend long nights and short mornings cuddling for warmth, or to spend short afternoons and long evenings in cozy gathering places in search of a co-cuddler.

Time for cocoa, mochas, hot buttered rums, and red wine.

Time for thick oatmeal, toasted foccacia sandwiches, stew, chili, lasagne, teriyaki bowls, and roasted veggies.

Time for bright interior colors and dimmer switches turned up to 11.

Time for video-viewing marathons, group dinners, and house parties.

Time for basketball, ice skating, bowling, skiing, and pool. Time for home beer-brewing, bookshelf-building, book-writing, and political organizing.

Time to reconnect with what makes each of us truly human.

…but Rupert Murdoch’s rabid-right UK tabloids have practiced a time-worn way to dismiss political opposition: treat it as a mere fashion fad. Hence, a pictorial on how to dress up just like a hip young anarchist.

When the Wonderbra was first brought to market, many commentators wagged about when a male equivalent would emerge. Now it has, under the aegis of Britain’s biggest middlebrow clothing-store chain.

Y’ALL BE SURE TO ATTEND our glorious MISCosity Breakdown live event, this Friday evening (7-9:30) at the spiffy Rendezvous, Second Avenue north of Bell Street. At least five writers from the print MISC will appear; there’s also some odd video and music plus some other unannounced surprises.

TWO OF THE TENTPOLES of Seattle’s anti-youth culture have suddenly collapsed after almost two decades’ worth of litigation. Ex-City Attorney Mark Sidran’s anti-postering law was thrown out by a judge; band flyers started reappearing on light poles the very next day (though the 50 “Fuck Mark Sidran” posters someone put up were systematically removed by someone else).

And the nefarious Teen Dance Ordinance, which essentially shut down all-ages music shows in Seattle in 1985, was finally replaced by a far less restrictive law. Just don’t look for any immediate explosion of open-to-under-21s gigs. Some bars have already been hosting no-booze, all-ages matinee and early-evening shows (under recently relaxed state Liquor Board regulations). Despite the daily papers’ renewed teen-bashing editorials, the clubs aren’t making significant profits on these shows. Nonprofit all-ages promoters (the Paradox Theater, the Vera Project) rely heavily on volunteer help and monetary donations (the latter of which are darned hard to come by in the current economy).

HERE’S SOME MORE CAPITOL HILL BLOCK PARTY images from a few weeks back, that of several baseball-backstop climbers and one clever stilt walker viewing Sleater-Kinney for free.

A FEW WEEKENDS LATER, the Bite of Seattle hosted one of the most bizarre cover bands I’ve ever seen (and I’ve seen a lot of bizarre cover bands). The members of “Grunge: A Tribute to the Seattle Sound” seemed to know the ridiculousness of their premise, going as far as to introduce Alice in Chains’s “Man in a Box” with a rousing cheer: “This next one’s for all the kids to dance to!” The group appears regularly at Doc Maynard’s in Pioneer Square, where the audiences might or might not get the irony.

AT AUGUST’S FIRST THURSDAY ART WALK, painter Jessica McCourt found out her exhibit at Bud’s Jazz Records didn’t make the newspaper listings. So she did her own leafleting, dressed up as one of the characters from her show “Saints, Sinners, and Monkeys.”

…last Sunday, the 29th one in this town. This year’s was perhaps bigger and more outrageous than ever.

Certainly there’s a greater need for out-loud outness this year. Our appointed leaders have decreed that this nation must fight back against sectarian, authoritarian, intolerant murderers by becoming more sectarian, authoritarian, intolerant and murderous. Such a scenario would most certainly be unfriendly toward queer civil rights.

So out came the Outs, as forcefully outrageous as ever. There were the bar- and beer-company floats, the community-organization floats, the religious-tolerance marchers, the motorcycle lesbians, the drag-queen troupes, the performance artists, and the AIDS-awareness leafleters.

(Comparatively under-represented this year: Topless women; local politicians of any attire. Apparently absent: The tiny Gay AA delegation, which had always been vastly overwhelmed by the beer floats.)

Dan Savage used to say the Pride Parade ought to be at night, downtown, and more confrontative in nature.

But the Broadway, high-noon format is a more Seattle-style approach. It’s funky and quirky, silly and celebratory.

And yes, it’s assimilationist. It fetes the arrival of lesbians and gays as accepted and unthreatening members of the local affluent class.

Of course, it helps that the corporate-Democrat local power structure luuvvvs gay culture. More precisely, it loves a certain vision of gay culture that’s all about show tunes and interior decoration and anti-Republican political organizing, and only very understatedly about oral-genital contacts with persons of the same sex. The Pride Parade gays are sex-positive, but they know when to keep the curtains drawn.

LAST YEAR AT THIS TIME, we openly wondered in this space why nongays couldn’t have a sex-positive summer exhibition. SIlly us–we’d forgotten about the Fremont Solstice Parade, held (last year as this) just one week prior to the gay event.

Just as the gay parade isn’t exclusively gay, the Fremont parade is by no means exclusively straight. But it’s got a het aesthetic to it. Where the gay parade is about loudly and in many cases campily proclaiming one’s queerness (and one’s legal/social right to make such proclamations), the Fremont parade is about comfortably living in one’s oddness and intermixing with everyone else’s oddnesses.

The nude bicyclists, an unofficial part of the parade for over half a decade now, are only the most obvious incarnation of this aesthetic. Many, if not most, of the parade’s scheduled acts and icons involved zestful, vigorous depictions of masculine and feminine archetypes, both old (Pan, Pandora) and recent (loggers, businesswomen); sometimes in conflict with one another but all residing, however uneasily, in tghe same universe.

Heterosexuality, of course, is more likely to generate children. Such persons were in clear attendance at the gay parade, but were everywhere at the Fremont parade. They received candy, made chalk drawings, shook the hands of costume characters, were the chief audience of several floats and performers, and were the partial subject of the parade’s most intriguing float.

Based on the related topics of pregnancy and its avoidance, the float featured a traditional fertility goddess at the front, egg-and-sperm representations on the back, real-life moms-to-be, and real-life moms with their progeny (not visible in the shot). All around the float walked costume characters dressed up as assorted contraceptive devices. Possible implied meanings: Trying to get pregnant and trying not to get pregnant are merely different aspects of the whole shtick of being what gays used to call “a breeder;” sexual attraction, and the cycle of life of which it is a key part, are both to be joyously celebrated.

Self-help mogul Stephen Covey once wrote something about a “maturity continuum,” in which dependent children become independent adults, who eventually recognize their interdependence with each other. I’ll add that true heterosexuality is also about that, at least ideally–not about greedy conquests or individual preenings, but about connecting to another person (and indirectly, spiritually, to the whole of the species).

It’s also about getting over the fear, reaching beyond your own head, negotiating the stickier parts (literally and figuratively) of such interconnections. That’s certainly a skill the world needs to get better at, on all levels.

I’ve written previously that we live in “a MISC world,” filled with untold numbers of cultures, subcultures, sub-subcultures, ethinicities, religions, and sex/love proclivities. Real heterosexuality is a key, perhaps the key, toward making such a world work–learning not only to tolerate but to share enduring love with someone fundamentally different from yourself.

What some socio-philosophers call “pansexuality,” I call ultimate heterosexuality–one big motley melange of women and men, and also of gays, lesbians, bis, trannies, SM-ers, swingers, monogamists, celibates, exhibitionists, voyeurs/voyeuses, femmes, butches, fairies, studs, princesses, and folks who don’t know what the heck they are; all finding consensual mind-bending togetherness with whomever, all ssupporting one another in stumbling through this miasma known as human existence.

…with images from the 1971 Sears catalog.

…and why do so many humans obsess about it? Beautyworlds.com attempts to sort it all out.

TODAY, some non-caption-requiring people shots from the Forklift Festival.

A TRIBUTE PAGE by a woman who admires “women who have small breasts and still look amazing.”

Somebody’s making new, electronically up-to-date versions of the classic streamlined TV set of the early ’60s, the fabulous Predicta!

If I said I was never a metalhead, especially not as a teenager, would you believe me?