It figures that on the same day the Dow sank below 10,000--its worst decline since...uh...last week--we'd also read that gas scooters and motorcycles are worse polluters than cars and SUVs. Thanks, Alan Durning! Sure, they're gas-sippers, but since you can't fit emissions equipment on the tiny little suckers, they're essentially like driving around a high-mpg leaf-blower. The EPA says driving some motorcycles 10 miles is as bad emissions-wise as driving a car 850 miles. We're going back to bed.

...If you work for a select few state agencies. This week, the Olympia offices of three state departments are moving to four-day workweeks in an attempt to save energy; participating are the State Department of Community Trade and Economic Development, the Department of Veterans Affairs, and the Department of Archaeology and History Preservation. After a trial run with Fridays off for these offices, the government will reassess to see if the program saves enough energy to make it a worthwhile policy for other state-run offices to adopt. If the new schedule isn't effective at energy conservation, the folks in the guinea-pig offices probably won't be too angry about getting the chance to enjoy a few months of three-day weekends.

As the Slog pointed out yesterday, giant baseball nerd (God bless those of us that are left) Nate Silver uses some sort of math (snore) to project what he claims is non-biased polling data.

Recently on the Colbert Report, he was asked to compare the candidates to baseball teams. He called Barack Obama the Tampa Bay Rays, not because of their all-secret Muslim infield, rather, because of his status as an up-and-coming power house. However, John McCain was compared to the Seattle Pilots.

As a local sports fan watching a historic amount of crappy teams, we are now taking heat for a team that left town eight years before we were born. Come on Silver, there are plenty of other failed franchises out there to compare to the McCain campaign. Please, leave us with what little dignity we have left.

Not that any of this matters anyway.

Oh, space heater, Seattlest loves you.

While we usually have to wait until at least November (and sometimes all season) for snow, it looks like winter is getting an early start this year in the mountains. The National Weather Service is warning of a strong storm with a "vigorous cold front" hitting the Pacific Northwest tomorrow, and they're predicting snowfall in elevations above 4,000 feet. That means Stevens Pass (but not Snoqualmie) may see some accumulation as early as tomorrow, which is great news for eager skiers awaiting a season of snow and not-so-great news for drivers heading east.

"ADIOS SONICS!" by photo coyote

Aw, thanks, Redhook. We really appreciate the sentiment. Now, if you could help the Seahawks or the Huskies start winning, we'd be even more grateful. Don't forget to add your lovely sentiments and photos to the Seattlest Flickr Pool.

Yesterday, Faith Ireland and Robert Utter, two former state Supremes, officially filed suit against the BIAW and said they intend to sue Dino Rossi. They claim Rossi was too hands-on in 2007 with what's supposed to be an independent BIAW PAC. If he, as a candidate, coordinated with the PAC in any way, the PAC would be limited to spending $2,800 on a race they've spent $2 million on in 2008. Rossi says: "If what they were saying were true, which it isn't, there would be no problem with it being true..." Yikes. It's a tough campaign season for the BIAW, which is also being sued by Republican AG Rob McKenna for inappropriate touching of worker's comp funds, among other things.

King5.com and the following headline: "Woman shot by her stove." When reading the headline, we thought surely King5 had a little headline clarity problem and the woman had been standing by her stove when shot, but oh no...King5 meant exactly what that headline said. A woman in Sekiu, Wash. was literally shot in the leg by her wood-burning stove. After stoking the stove, the woman heard a loud bang and was then struck in the calf. Apparently, she'd spilled some shot-gun casings near the stove a while ago, and one got a little too close to the heat. Being the bad-ass that she obviously is, the lady pulled out the shrapnel by herself before heading to an area hospital.

We were downtown at Pacific Place for lunch (salmon chowder). It was a little less peopled--a quiet Monday--but what was a little odd was how subdued everyone was, like queasy rollercoaster riders. No one was laughing. No one was regaling buddies with a loud, "What I did last weekend" story or arguing sports. They spoke softly. Out on the street, a single unbalanced woman was screaming at no one in particular: "Fuck you, fuck all of you!" The traffic was quiet. There was a single horn as a driver tried to drive straight through a green left-turn signal. Way across the country, the Dow closed below 10,000, at 9,955.

This American Life-r Sarah Vowell has written a new book, The Wordy Shipmates, which is the most readable history of New England Puritan thought you're likely to come across in your lifetime. It's a bit like reading the journal of a grad student who's doing their thesis on Puritan rhetoric--with all the marginal asides and musings left poignantly in. We emailed her a few questions, and she wrote back, double-spacing after periods, which extra space we edited out to save on pixels. If you have better questions, super-genius, she's in town on Monday, October 13, at Town Hall. Hie thee hence, why doncha.

It's one thing to appreciate someone in hindsight, but if a Puritan moved next door to you, would you be okay with it? Or would it depend upon the Puritan?

SV: Of my three main characters--John Winthrop, Roger Williams and Anne Hutchinson--I have the most admiration for Williams and Hutchinson. I sort of see them as this country's founding weirdos. I love their self-possession and self-determination, their inner freedom in a not particularly free time and place.

That said, they're so argumentative I'm sure more than three hours a pop with either of them would be a bit of a headache. Winthrop, while a bit of a totalitarian as a governor, was a generally more placid, loving, likable person day to day--as long as you didn't cross him. But I wouldn't want to live with any of them.

All the best characters are like that aren't they? Like, my favorite cinematic protagonist is Michael Corleone and it's not like I would ever want to get within five feet of such a person in real life. That's the greatest thing about stories. In your neighborhood, the Big Bad Wolf would be a registered sex offender. In a fairy tale, Little Red Riding Hood would be a drag without him. Is the breezy topical tone (N.B.: it's not all Brady Bunch references) meant to contrast with the more sobersided writings of the Puritans, a spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down, or are you just genuinely following idiosyncratic (and/or syncretic) impulses and associations to a larger purpose? [Ed: This is a terribly worded question. We're aware of the problem and the writer will be punished.]

SV: I don't really sit down at my desk every morning and think, "I'm going to follow idiosyncratic associations to a larger purpose." I am, however, feeling rather satisfied that you use the word "breezy." Do you know how hard it is to write a breezy book about the founding of the Massachusetts Bay Colony?

I'm not a scholar. I'm a writer. Whatever I'm writing about, Puritans included, I simply try and make the writing as un-generic as possible. Sometimes that means joking around. Sometimes that means milking emotions. Sometimes that means executing some analogy between past and present. Basically, my subject is America. So it stands to reason that whatever is happening in America seeps into my work.

But to answer your question, sort of: the way the book is structured simply reflects how I think. For example, as someone who came of age during the Cold War, there's no way I can think about the Puritans' communitarian/authoritarian ethos without linking it to Soviet communism. That ends up in the book in this section that mentions the film Reds and former Communist Whittaker Chambers's book Witness as a way of talking about the disconnect between Puritan ideals of community and the often totalitarian methods Winthrop and his fellow magistrates used to keep their community in line.

You mention how the "outcast Puritan" Roger Williams lived in exile with the Native Americans in the area. It's hard to imagine how he kept a starched collar clean (or starched). But what's your sense of how difficult it was for him to adapt to Native American life--outside of his attempts to adapt his hosts to Puritan morality.

SV: One of my favorite works from colonial New England's literature is Williams's book A Key into the Language of America, his English-Algonquin dictionary-type tome. It contains really heartfelt and lovely indications that he was just so grateful to the Narragansett for taking him in after he got banished from Massachusetts.

One thing I like about the book though is that it's just so real. He'll talk up how welcoming the Indians were but he also describes their wigwams as "filthy, smoky holes." And he was clearly alarmed by their religious ceremonies which he thought of as out-and-out devil worship. Decades after his snowy flight from Massachusetts into the wilderness he was still complaining about how cold it was. One reason I find him so touching is that he's so lonesome. He doesn't fit in with his fellow Puritans in Massachusetts and he doesn't fit in with the natives.

Part of your search in the book seems to deal with the roots of American exceptionalism, part with getting a sense of what really happened--these two elements seem related, in that it's our blindness to our past that permits our faith in our future wonderfulness. Why do you hate America?

SV: I pretty much admit that I myself can't really escape American exceptionalism, this idea handed down to us from the Puritans of Massachusetts Bay that we're God's new chosen people. It's such a deep and strong part of the American DNA that I still find myself buying into it even though I know it's ridiculous and I don't even believe in God.

I love the irony of the Massachusetts Bay Colony's official seal, the one they brought over with them from England-an Indian saying "Come over and help us." We're still like that: We're here to help whether you want our help or not! I do think it's worth trying to be aware of this mindset and to question it in light of current events.

Someone writing for posterity might not record the time they closed the bar at 1 a.m. Do you think the sources you found give you a whole person, and not just what they thought about?

SV: I'm not interested in the whole person. Take John Winthrop, who is more or less my main character. I mention a few biographical things about his marriage and his children and his sea voyage over from England.

But I'm mostly interested in what he thought about religion, government, community, Indians and how much Roger Williams was getting on his nerves. I don't really give a hoot what he had for breakfast or how he felt about his mom. I find his sermon "A Model of Christian Charity" a thrilling piece of writing.

Puritan New England was just so wonderfully heady. I just had so much fun chronicling all the hilariously petty disputes and arguments and debates. My affection for the piles of Puritan writing is one reason I wrote the book. Such vigor!

This fall we are combining our love of the football and our dream of learning to cook by preparing a meal from the city of the Seahawks opponent.

Seahawks vs. Hot Pastrami on Rye Preview.

Buying caraway seeds made this whole project worth it. We kept finding them close to the dill weed, and that made us smile. Oh, how we wished for an overhead page for a dill weed price check. We have simple wants.

Okay, enough of that.

Keeping with the New York delicatessen theme of this recipe, like many Seattle sports fans, we feel as if we have been wandering in the desert forever. In the span of just over twelve hours, we watched the two football teams we root for lose by a combined score of 92-20.

Our bread started off down that path, however, unlike the Seahawks, we were able to pull things together and make a successful loaf. As we put the rye flour, white bread flour, salt, sugar, honey, and other ingredients into the bowl, it seemed very powdery.

The kind of powder one would wish for if they were making skiing plans, or cocaine, not, however, when making bread--unless the bread was for a cocaine-fueled ski trip.The mixer agreed with our assumption, as instead of raw dough, our concoction was turned into clumps. Usually when things go bad in our life we add beer, so we were overjoyed when we saw the recipe called to add a cup and half of beer. A little better, but not great.

If this had happened last year, we would have blamed God and ripped our crucifix off the wall (token Signs reference of the post). This year, we knew if things were too dry, simply add liquid. Not just any liquid. Antifreeze is bad. Cooking oil is good. Pineapple juice is bad. Water is good. More beer, whyz zuh hell not.

Soon we had an actual mound of dough. We put it aside to let the yeast go to town, licked the bowl, and went to bed. When we woke up, it was now a gigantic mound of dough, and we had to punch it back down to a normal size, before shaping it into loaf form. Seems like we could have saved a step. Then, we let it rise for a few more hours. It wouldn’t stop growing!!!

Before it went in the oven, we brushed the top with an egg so it would shine (FACT: people like eating shiny things) and added more caraway seeds.

One of the pluses to making bread is that your kitchen will smell really good.

We stopped at the store to buy pickles, pastrami, and the key condiment, Russian dressing. We wanted Newman’s Own, a tribute to the fallen fellow half-Jew. Sadly, we could not find a single bottle. We know it exists, we’ve seen him on the label with that big Russian hat.

While we’re on the subject of those labels, Mr. Newman is seemingly dressed up to match every style, except on his Light Asian Dressing. Even on his salsa he is wearing a sombrero. It’s not like they had to go all Mickey Rooney with him. What’s wrong in putting him in a conical straw hat?

We asked Seattlest’s Asian expert Frank if this would be offensive. "No." Okay, let’s make this happen.

After we got some other brand of dressing, all we had to do was make the sandwiches. Simple, simple, simple, we’ve known how to do that since we were four, back when the Seahawks were 4-12, the Mariners were 59-103, and the Huskies couldn’t crack the top six.

NEXT WEEK: Seahawks vs. Bratwurst and Cheese with Secret Stadium Sauce, 1pm.

BEFORE:

AFTER:

AFTER AFTER:

Sigur Ros never fails to put on a good show. Unlike Jamie Lidell--whose gimmicky, disjointed full-band set at the Showbox on Friday left us longing for his solo days--Sunday night, the Icelandic quartet delivered a serious yet ethereal show, as always. Something that never fails to impress us is the graciousness of a Sigur Ros audience. There are always magically organic moments so quiet and weighty that no one breathes, lest they break the silence and ruin the moment. For those who saw the show at Benaroya, Jón þór Birgissin's effortless alien falsetto was well on display, as was the band's rock instrumentation, covering songs from their new album, as well as their previous releases.

From the slow-burn of ( )'s "Popplagid" to their only song in English ("All Alright"), Sigur Ros gave an expressive, passionate performance with a dense sonicscape via effects pedals and feedback galore. The use of multimedia backgrounds wasn't as over-the-top as it was in the past (though the video of the creepy doll baby heads was back with a vengeance), allowing the audience to better focus on the music taking form onstage. Birgissin attacked the guitar until his violin bow was shredded before the band closed their set proper with a clap-happy, crowd-on-its-feet, drummers-up-the-wazoo, confetti-in-the-air version of "Gobbledigook." An encore and group bow later, the nearly two-hour set was over and done with, though it felt like nothing more than a beautiful, hazy dream.

"idol of woodinville" courtesy of Seattlest Flickr photographer Seattle rainscreen

Do not have any other blogs before Seattlest. You shall not make for yourself another blog, whether in the form of anything that is in heaven above, or that is on the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth, or cobbled together from bits upon the internet. You shall not subscribe to their RSS feeds or comment on their posts; for we Seattlest are a jealous blog, punishing children for the iniquity of parents, to the third and the fourth generation of those who reject us, but showing steadfast love to the thousandth generation of those who love us and hit that little "recommended" button after our posts.

But, you know, Sightline has a pretty awesome blog, actually, so you may want to go over there from time to time, or, better yet, let them come to you. Subscribe to their daily or weekly email updates filled with juicy stuff about the state of the Northwest environment right now and you could win a car-free vacation to Vancouver. So, go forth and sign up. They are not a false idol.

This fall we are combining our love of the football and our dream of learning to cook by preparing a meal from the city of the Seahawks opponent.

With the Hawks in need of a win, this might be the best week to play the Packers. They are the only American franchise that one can buy shares of, so their fans could be a bit distracted. On to the meal.

We originally found this recipe in January before the Hawks "played" the Packers in what turned from a playoff game to a hilarious situation comedy called 'Marcus Pollard Wants to F-Up Your Happiness.' However, because we were not in Seattle, our roommates made them.

We were alone in Las Vegas and latched on to the group of twenty Seahawk fans; it's a safe bet that the literacy rate of our little posse mirrored Hasselbeck's quarterback rating that day.

If it wasn't bad enough watching the Hawks lose by 22 on three of Caesars 20 by 30 foot TVs, one was switched to USC taking apart the Husky basketball team. Could they not get the rights to our ex-girlfriend's law school graduation for the third screen?

Last year our recipe called for kielbasa, this year we'll be using bratwurst. They key difference is, as any Wisconsintierite will tell you, a kielbasa-induced heart attack at age forty causes you to fall forwards, with a bratwurst attack you drop straight down.

For comedy purposes, we recommend a kielbasa attack onto a cake.Essentially you boil bratwurst in beer, grill them, slice them open, add cheese, and then grill them some more.

Along with the cheese-filled brats we are going to try and make our first condiment: secret stadium sauce.

The sauce became legendary at Milwaukee's County Stadium, and continues to be one of the most popular features at the Brewer's new Miller Park, much more than the crane drop.

Also brought over from County Stadium was Bernie Brewer.

In olden times every time a Brewer hit a home run, Bernie would slide into a gigantic mug of beer. Of course, since those at Miller Park we're wondering what message the Brewers were sending children, the mug was done away with and Bernie is now just a grown man on a slide.

Ironically, when a grown man slides down a slide in real life, the only explanation is drunkenness (or he has just planned a terrible get-away route).

The sauce's ingredients are easy enough to find, Trader Joe's makes an excellent organic sodium benzoate, and there is this small stand at the market that sells the best tricalcium phosphate, made at a small farm near Carnation.

We're going to research other ways of making the sauce, and probably have to mix ketchup, BBQ sauce, mustard, and sauerkraut water.

Funny, because we just moved out of a house where three years and two Costco cards had produced gallons and gallons of the above mentioned condiments. We had joked about making a giant dip for our final party, and now it looks like we'll actually have to.

Except we'll have to buy everything over again. Ha!

We'll report back on Tuesday, and if you think you're so fucking great why not try and make the stuff as well. Then we can all compare notes as our fathers stare at us disapprovingly.

Recipe for Secret Stadium Sauce.

Photo courtesy of Wisconsin's own James Callan, from our Flickr pool.