... we've decided to pull the plug on ourselves rather than watch another month go by without new posts.

It was fun getting to know our readers online and in person. It was fun making t-shirts and having several of our t-shirts stolen. It was fun crafting inappropriate photo illustrations. But now it's time to stop having fun. Let us pay tribute to what was:

Kelly: "Poor GritCity. I'll be sad to see it go. All I can say is, I'll carry you all in the fannypack of my heart."

Laura: "Blogging about Tacoma almost made me want to move to Tacoma."

Cole: "I’ll miss all the virtual friends and virtual money we made."

Niki: "I don’t even work here anymore."

In other words, thanks and happy Thanksgiving (almost). Feel free to share your remembrances or just delete us from your RSS feeds.

Oh, also, you should follow thenewstribune.com on Twitter. I happen to know the user name and password and occasionally sneak some fake stories humor in when the bosses aren't looking.

I apologize on behalf of all of us for the lame state of things here on GritCity. Yes, the mood around here has been somewhat hectic and depressing at times, but we're looking for a way out of this funk.

But first, let's submerse ourselves in the funk as much as possible to get it out of our systems. I found this great time-lapse video of the Tacoma waterfront on YouTube. It's a minute of semi-emo zen that I need to indulge in before I can properly write more posts full of frivolous non-news.

Alright, Tacoma, I feel better. What's going on out there?

Every once in a while, I like to do something really wild and crazy like forget to pay a parking ticket. Did I say forget? I probably meant willfully ignore.

Well, gentle reader, no more. I have been suitably chastened. The sight of a city meter maid/man-maid in orange vest and sensible walking shorts is enough to make me circle the block until I find a legit spot. No more toying with fate and 15-minute zones.

That's because I spent two-and-a-half hours on my day off getting my vehicle tabs renewed, all due to an old parking ticket. Allow me to share. Did I say share? I probably meant whine uncontrollably.

10 a.m. Wake up. Eat huge triple berry muffin from Corina Bakery. Feel like the world is on my side. Listen to Sera Cahoone. Hum all the way to Fife.

10:20. Emissions testing! How quaint! I pay 15 dollars for a woman to put a sensor somewhere in my vehicle for approximately 30 seconds. I am still eating the muffin, so it's all fine.

10:40. Creep down Tacoma Avenue trying to decipher the signage outside the County-City Building. There appear to be many courts in one building. But will anyone inside take my money for my parking ticket? Circle the block three times to find a safe spot. Walk. Sweat.

11:02. Ask security guard/metal detector attendant if I can pay my ticket inside. Smile. Place purse in X-ray machine. Set off detector with my metal-buckled boots. Apologize. Smile.

=> Read more!

While some of you have been frolicking and killing electronic animals, this blogger has been on her death bed. I've had the flu for SIX DAYS and I still haven't stopped coughing or regained my appetite.

So I'm turning to the rest of you for help. I've taken airborne, slept most of the week, imbibed plenty of non-alcholic fluids (including an unhuman amount of Odwalla juices), cried to my cats and tried to catch up on Nip/Tuck.

What in the name of all that is holy do I need to do to get over this thing? Please share any and all potions and remedies.

There's something extraordinarily irritating about wind. It makes bad things worse: Cold days get colder, hard rains get harder and wildfires become impossible to contain. It makes perfectly fine things bad: Cars get crushed by trees and don't even get me started on the hair implications.

Why do we tolerate this behavior from the Earth? Sure, wind alters landscapes and blah blah blah, but I'm pretty happy with the way things are. Certainly, there must be a few trade-offs. There must be a few things I can be thankful for, wind-wise. Here's my attempt at figuring out what those are:

• Wind power - Or at least the idea of it. I'm not sure I've personally experienced the benefit of this alternative energy source, but I'd be happy to.

• Kites - Yay!

• Sand dunes

• Yesterday, I saw some sort of large bird of prey that looked completely stationary in the air. It just hung there without having to flap its wings and I thought "Man, if I was a bird I would do that all the time!" But then I thought, "What if that bird is actually trying to get somewhere and the wind is making forward movement impossible?" This is how skeptical I am of the wind. Still, the idea of hanging in one spot in the air with little to no effort seems like a benefit.

Any other reasons why I shouldn't consider wind the Earth's worst element?

In the meantime, keep up with the Lights & Sirens blog to see the effects of our latest storm.

Dear Midwesterners who move to Seattle, then to Tacoma because it's cheaper, then back to Seattle and write about it,

Please stop.

Allow me to tell you a story. One time, this guy tried to pick a fight with my dad, who politely declined, saying it'd be a waste of his time. The guy waited a few hours before sneaking up behind my dad and bashing his teeth out with a rock. Then, and only then, did my dad beat him silly. (Or maybe he passed out. I can't recall.)

With that in mind, read the latest therapy byproduct, thanks to Crosscut: "Tacoma has a long-standing rivalry with its well-endowed sister city to the north, or perhaps it's an inferiority complex. During the three years I lived in Tacoma, I heard a lot of talk about what Tacoma could do to be more like Seattle (or better than Seattle)..."

(Well-endowed, huh? Somebody wasn't paying attention to class on Monday.)

It gets better: "Tacoma never fully recovered from this 'could have been' history; living there, you feel as if your city thinks it is an undiscovered genius, like Basquiat looking for an Andy Warhol to recognize him."

In the last two years, I've read enough of these to make my fists tense - in a figurative sense, of course!

So, yeah. Drop the rock.

Signed on behalf of,
All us slack-jawed but artistically inclined local yokels who just can't seem to get it together enough to emulate Seattle enough to please ... ?

No matter what the cans tell me, I will always refuse to believe that Rainier Beer is brewed in Irwindale, Calif.

I've been getting this "go read the blog" answer for a while. Want to know where I'll be this weekend? Go read my blog. Want to talk about sports? Go read the blog. Want to "interact" with "people"? Go read the blog.

But today brought a new and fun twist. I called a city council member to ask about the rich history and culture of South Tacoma Way for a feature story. Here's what went down:

Me: "Hi, good sir whose name I am redacting for publication on my blog. Have I reached you at a bad time?"
City council member whose name is redacted for publication on my blog: "I do not appreciate the way the paper attacked me this morning. Go look at Jason Hagey's blog. I have NO interest in talking to you."

Click.

I miss the days when city council members just used to told people to f*&# off.

As a side note, I'm hoping to capitalize on this new and exciting blog marketing tool, and will be looking to make some important people very mad in the coming days.

That tree I posted about is gone. Which one of you did this?!

You know those white tigers that pace their zoo cages and then when you set them free in the dark of night and yell, "Run, tiger, run free, feel the wind in your whiskers!" they don't know what to do with themselves because they're used to the zoo?

I feel like that today, staring down an entire Friday evening with no work and no obligation that can't be put off, or just left to rot under the sink (I'm looking at you, trash).

So I turn to you: What is the perfect Friday evening in September? New movie at the Grand? Stroll along Owen Beach? Cupcakes and vintage shopping downtown?

Save me before I go home and just take a nap.

We earned July. We deserve July. Give us July!

At least the lawn is no longer primed for wildfire.