Results tagged “heroin”

• This is terrible, but when Seattlest noticed the weird new streetlights on 10th Avenue the other night, we thought, "No need to investigate just yet. Capitol Hill Seattle is probably already on it." And what do you know? They were.
• The Washington Bus has Gary Payton rapping, of course, and an ode to Senator Jeanne Kohl-Welles. The only thing better would be GP rapping about Kohl-Welles on the Washington Bus itself.
• After reading Blogazar's post about Kurt Cobain and today's Capitol Hill, we would like to weigh in: Cobain would probably still live in the neighborhood, but he'd never come out of his apartment. He'd just have Zaw and heroin delivered to him on the daily and have a Twitter account.

"Whatever you do, don't do heroin, man."

Next year’s publication of Itch, Love Stories About Heroin means that if you've been waiting for a full-length, in-depth book about Alice in Chains' Layne Staley—well, don’t get your hopes up.

So that paper Clay Bennett mask didn't score you the costume-contest office pool? Your Lewinsky dress was irredeemably soiled? It's not too early to think Haloween '08. And we've got the coolest outfit idea for you: Jerry Cantrell. The Alice in Chains guitarist/singer will even trade you his threads for a charity donation.

Outfit called Not For Tourists has just published a guide to Seattle. It's a handsome book, looks just like Moleskine journal, complete with oilcloth cover, fat elastic closure, gorgeous paper. The Seattle version is tenth in a series, cobbled together by a design staff in faraway Noo Yawk with input by a locally based "city editor" named Fred Beldin, who contributes occasional music reviews to The Stranger.

And every ego will be crushed

1. Things We Lost in the Fire. There are a few things we liked about this (supposedly based here, though there is nothing to indicate that it actually takes place here) movie---mostly that the heroin junkie played by Benecio Del Toro lives in a flophouse in Renton and that Halle Berry plays a Seattle woman named Audrey, leading to a scene where Del Toro runs after her calling, "Audrey, Audrey, Audrey, Audrey, Audrey!" Call us vain, but we like the sound of our name.

There are a lot of things we can see being seized at the border between Canada and the United States: handguns with the serial number filed off, bricks of heroin, briefcases with the radioactivity sign on the side. Hard drives we'd expect to make it through, but unfortunately we'd be wrong. The guy bringing the masters of the songs Chris Walla recorded in Vancouver back down to Seattle had the drive containing them yanked by Homeland Security.

In December 1992, Kurt Cobain and rock journalist Michael Azerrad began a series of interviews that would eventually become the beating heart of Azerrad's band biography, Come as You Are: The Story of Nirvana. For that project, Azerrad recorded over 25 hours of the rock star's musings and reflections, but until pairing with director AJ Schnack to make Kurt Cobain About a Son, had never released the tapes' contents to the public. This film, then, playing at the Varsity for just one week, is a gift to Nirvana fans, the Kurt-curious and grunge scholars everywhere.

Alice in Chains’ former lead singer would be blowing out candles today had he not said yes, yes, yes to drugs. The Chains gang would likely still be making both crunchy (Dirt) and beautiful (Sap) music. Jerry Cantrell, who co-founded the band with Layne, probably would have written some lighter lyrics and cut his hair. Seattlest would have had the pleasure of seeing Alice in Chains—or the supergroup Mad Season—live.

Amy Winehouse ain't gonna be playing at the Paramount next month:

First of all, despite what you read in the Times and the P-I about Donald Byrd's Never-Mind (which came and went over the weekend), it's not all that, as Brendan Kiley says over on the Slog. We've become fans of Byrd's "neo-expressionist" style, but Never-Mind (at this point) is short on style and substance. It came off like "Frank Miller's Never-Mind": an ugly cartoon of drug abuse, of dysfunction, of iconic fame.

Seventeen years ago yesterday, flamboyant Malfunkshun and Mother Love Bone singer Andrew Wood died of a heroin-overdose-induced brain hemorrhage. He’d be 41 this year, near the same age as the guys who, in ’91, got together as Temple of the Dog to commemorate his short life. (Ironically, those guys became some of rock’s biggest acts.) Had Andy kicked the habit, Seattle’s then-music-future might have been dramatically different. His glam personality and look likely would have influenced the grunge scene and in turn, the nation.

When we were kids, we spent a lot of time reading Edith Hamilton's Mythology, soaking up heroic tales and Olympian feuds and tips on using hydraulic dynamics to remediate environmentally damaged areas. When we got to college, we ended up reading more classical mythology, but it didn't have that same wide-eyed appeal (or we were squinting more).

If he were alive today Kurt Cobain would be blowing out 40 candles on his birthday cake. We were 19 when he died, and were sleepwalking through a higher education that we never asked for at a university in central Illinois where life, frankly, sucked, and it was made worse when we heard that the guy who single-handedly saved us from the ridiculous crap we were filing our ears and minds with until then had gone and got shot in the head. By his own trigger finger. Later that year we woke up and got the hell out of there. We were 19, he was 26. Feels like last week.

CASTING CALL: Local director Garrett Bennett is looking for extras to cast in his independent film The Spy & the Sparrow.

--If a cool kid sat next to you at lunch today, it wasn't because he likes you.

Houstonist reports on cross-dressing thieves and undressing educators this week. A Peeping Tom defends himself with a papaya and an outraged onlooker asks Ken Lay, "TATER TOTS OR FRIES?" Also, FEMA wants it's money back.

There's a whole wide world out there, and here's the proof:

For the past week, we've been inundated with images of people displaced from their homes. It's all been so heart-wrenching and overwhelming that after a while we just had to turn the TV off. But now that the first season of Lost is out on DVD, Seattlest has no problem with willingly subjecting ourselves to such drama, if only because that's some damn good television. And because these stranded people surrounded by water won't make us cry...for the most part.

The ad in the Weekly caught our eye: Opium! Graft! Sex! Debauchery! All this printed over a picture of a moll who'd fit right in at Belltown's Whisky Bar.

Previously on Seattlest… we warned you about the Goonies 20th Anniversary Celebration set for the June 3 – 5th weekend in Astoria, OR. To meet the investigative news challenges of this story, Seattlest enlisted the help of Seattle Times illustrator and graphics designer Boo Davis, mastermind behind many of that nascent rag’s more groundbreaking scoops.

Eric Bogosian is a jack of all trades. That's the feeling we get from taking a gander at his IMDB profile and his website's biography/list of works. Ah, but who the f*** is Eric Bogosian anyways? Good question, albeit one that has already been asked elsewhere. He's a playwright, having authored five full-length plays and six full-length solo works, as well as an actor and a screenwriter. In fact, he adapted his two best known plays, Talk Radio and SubUrbia, for the screen---films that were directed by Oliver Stone and Richard Linklater, respectively. Not bad, Bogosian.