“Marijuana is now Washington state’s No. 8 leading agricultural product. In other news, Cheetos and Ho-Hos remain the state’s leading imports.”

Actually, no. Frito-Lay has a plant just off the Columbia in Vancouver USA, and Hostess is still ensconced in Seattle on Dexter (or “Dextrose”) Avenue.

It’s the madcap return of the MISCmedia In/Out List, the longest-running and most accurate list of its type anywhere in the western hemisphere.

As long-term readers know, this is a prediciton of what will become hot and not-so-hot in the months to come. If you think everything hot now will just keep getting hotter forever, I’ve got some Mariners season tickets to sell you.

I always like to wrap my lips around something fishy.

…a concise, acerbic historic glossary of modern art. His take on “surrealism”: “An archaic term. Formerly an art movement, no longer distinguishable from everyday life.”

“Computer chips that store music could soon be built into a woman’s breast implants.”

…already the subject of some sketchy “alternative guidebooks,” now have to face the “creative” advice contained in some guy’s “Dirt Cheap Guide to Portland.” (Sample entry: “Motorized vehicles are illegal in Portland. Perpetrators are stoned to death…”)

…with which I can heartily agree, the Apostrophe Protection Society!

…what would happen if more people started living their ilves for the purpose of selling the movie rights.

…of cultural contradiction I live for–using an anti-coal-mining folk song to promote more coal mining!

Minimalist retro-modern bars are called copies of an LA/NY look. (“…These places scream: This. Is. Not. Seattle.”) Not so. They’re really nostalgia for a past fantasy of the present–specifically, the 21st century as predicted at the Seattle World’s Fair. (And what’s with the article writer, and the quoted drinkers, repeatedly denouncing “grunge” as if it still existed?)

HEADLINE OF THE DAY #2: “Rules limiting beach bonfires to grow tougher.” Rule one: You can’t call them “bonfires” anymore. You have to call them “macyfires.”

Upper-management men with pain fetishes become submissives. Middle-management men with pain fetishes become joggers.

Yep, once more the costumed and street-dressed throngs descended upon the Cinerama, engaged in a waiting and bonding ritual prior to the local premiere of a franchise fantasy sequel. This time, the film in question was the third-but-really-sixth Star Wars megamonster.

The low-budget, creaky-optical-effects charm of the original SW is, of course, long gone in this big digital-FX spectacle. The “New Hope” message of the first three films is also subsumed by the galactic-geopolitical epic plotline of the prequels.

I’ve previously written that the previous prequel, Attack of the Clones, was all about how a republic can devolve into an empire; it was an obvious parallel to the US political situation, even though Clones had been written before the 2000 election fraud and had been principally filmed before 9/11. Sith, some critics say, makes the analogy even more overt.

All that apparently didn’t matter (or, in SW geekspeak, “mattered not”) to the crowd that had gathered three-quarters around the block by 6 p.m. Wednesday, for the 12 a.m. Thursday premiere (and the 3:45 a.m. second show!). Some had camped out for days. (The self-proclaimed “Star Wars Guy,” who’d tried to camp out in front of the theater months before the premiere, had ran afoul of city authorities, and instead camped out in front of the IMAX theater at the Pacific Science Center.)

Anyhoo, the SW line was full of dudes, dudettes, and li’l tykes. All seemed boistrous and cheerful despite the miserable weather (torrential downpour, high winds, lightning). Some of them had brought card tables and card games. Some had portable DVD players spinning out the previous SW films. Some purchased light saber toys (with authentic SW sound effects) from roving vendors. Some teamed up to place Domino’s Pizza orders from cell phones, or to acquire snacks and beverages from Ralph’s deli-mart, kitty corner from the theater.

They were united in the spirit of fandom. They braved the elements, and the snickering local news media, to be part of something bigger than any mere movie. They were there to be among one another, to have fun, to dress up, to dare to look silly in public, to embrace their inner Jedi-osity.

That kind of spirit is potentially more powerful than any fictional “Force.” In a world gone all too serious, we need that spirit more than ever.

It’s been a wacky couple of weeks around here. It’s going to be a couple more wacky weeks. So let’s all just relax and enjoy some patented, guaranteed-to-work Harry Stonecipher pickup lines:

• “Would you like to tour my cockpit?”
• “I’ve laid thousands. No, wait, that’s not it. I’ve laid off thousands.”
• “In the unlikely event of a water landing, your bust can be used as a flotation device.”
• “I’ve just lost a huge Air Force tanker contract. I really need some consolation.”
• “I want to screw you the way I screwed the Machinists’ Union.”
• “You can have all the peanuts and little liquor bottles you want.”
• “I’m certified to navigate without instruments.”
• “Sorry, but I can’t let you into my apartment without a full body search.”
• “I can cross the Pacific without refueling, if you know what I mean.”
• “You’re better stacked than the landing pattern at O’Hare.”
• “Headsets are $5. Head’s free.”
• “Wait ’til you see the size of my hangar!”

…to use a quaint phrase quipped in the Seattle Times, even made the pages of Rupert Murdoch’s UK tabloid The Sun, despite the lack of any readily available photographs of her appearing in that paper’s preferred manner.