Ray Bradbury vs. Michael Moore

So Ray Bradbury is pissed off that Michael Moore named his latest film "Fahrenheit 9/11" .

"It's not a nice thing he has done," Bradbury said in an interview with
AFP. "My book is known all over the world and that title is my title. He just
took it without my permission and changed the number."
"I'd like him to give my title back, just hand it back to me and apologise.
The film should be called Michael Moore 9/11 -- it's his film not mine," he said.

As if you'd never heard of him, Ray Bradbury is a guy who wrote some memorable fiction in
his day, including "Fahrenheit 451", "The Martian Chronicles", "The Illustrated Man", and "Something Wicked This Way Comes".
That last title is a direct quote from Shakespeare, by the way:

"By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes."
--From Macbeth (IV, i, 44-45)

Bradbury is now 83 years old and a little shaky since suffering a stroke in 1999, but he's still quite capable of chewing up the scenery and thrashing all comers as a guest speaker/lecturer.

I saw him at the Santa Barbara Writers Conference in 1999 and again in 2001. He has been the keynote speaker for the conference since it was founded 30 odd years ago. The 2004 SBWC is actually going on now, as I post this; it's always held during the last week in June.

Many SBWC students are repeat attendees; some have been going to the SBWC every year for 15, 20 years or more, and a lot of people in the audience for Bradbury's keynote address the years I was there had heard this same speech so often, they knew large chunks of it by heart. At times Bradbury would lose his place in his notes, and ask the audience what came next.
People shouted out:

"The living-your-dreams stuff!" or "Now comes the part about never taking crap from editors!"

Bursts of affectionate laughter filled the room. Bradbury truly relishes his current role as Living Legend and Elder Crankpot, and he plays it to the hilt 24/7. And good for him, I say.

The joys of being curmudgeonly aside, why is he so angry about Michael Moore naming his film "Fahrenheit 9/11"? Apparently it's not about Moore's
political stance. Rather, it's that Bradbury believes he owns the arrangement of the name "Fahrenheit" followed by three numbers, and because he owns it, everyone else needs to ask his permission to use it. Opinions, please?
Some say Bradbury's got a weak argument.

Others say pretty much the same thing.
Still others, this time from amongst the fen ranks [of whom you'd expect hardcore sycophancy] are saying that Ray is just being an old fart about this.

In fact, I'm not finding any sources anywhere that are taking Bradbury's side, except for those who feel outraged by a perceived slight to their object of worship, the Divine Ray. These are the commenters that usually start out:
Why, that lousy stinking 400 lb. pile of steaming poop! He isn't worthy to kiss even the hangnail on Bradbury's littlest toe!. Blah blah rant rage apoplectic fit.

Now, really. Should author Bill Flanagan have begged permission from James Fenimore Cooper before he titled his most excellent book about the Three Stooges Last Of The Moe Haircuts?

No! Of course not. Not even if Cooper hasn't been dead for the past 150 years.

Finally, isn't it convenient that a new edition of "Fahrenheit 451" comes out in a few short weeks?

Bradbury's book was made into a 1966 movie directed by Francois Truffaut. A new edition of the book is scheduled for release in eight weeks, Bradbury said, and plans are in the works for a new film version, to be directed by Frank Darabont.

The most palpable outcome of this little snit fit is bound to be renewed interest in Bradbury's classic novel, and that's bound to make the old fart happy.

Rave on, Ray. Long may you rant. Now tell us the living-your-dreams part again!

Cross posted at Tild~

And the Winner is...

Last week, in order to help President Bush with his Rename the Food Stamps Program project, I held a contest. The results are here.

Rename The Food Stamps Program Contest

I was amused to learn about a new Bush administration goal: It wants to change the name of the Food Stamps Program (since it no longer uses stamps) and is soliciting suggestions from the public. I've taken a personal interest in this. Why? Because many years ago, in order to subsidize my symphony orchestra oboist habit, I worked for the Nassau County, New York Food Stamps Department.

Needless to say, I couldn't resist the challenge, and the new name I've come up with is "Leave No Stomach Behind."

But I think it's important to give Dubya a wide selection of creative names. So, as a public service, I challenge my readers to come up with some good names and post them in my comments. If I get suggestions from ten or more people, I'll even award a prize -- $10 in PayPal cash.

So please post your name suggestions in the comments section of this Rename The Food Stamps Program Contest post.

Nose in the Air (Or Rather, T-Shirt)

A recent paper in Behavioral Ecology suggests that human males do not solely use visual cues to determine if a female within their radar is "sexy." Okay, so this may fall into the range of "Well, duh!" but then again, the implied question of whether or not particular deviances (i.e. panty sniffing) are learned or just an exaggeration of something innate should cause certain people pause--because what exactly is normal?

Instead of going into philosophical discussions of normality that I am neither qualified nor particularly interested in rambling about, I will say a little more about the study. Kuukasjarvi et al. wanted to challenge the assumption that men are absolutely clueless about when a woman is fertile during her mentrual cycle. In many primate species, females advertise their stage in ovulation by visual cues. For humans, this is concealed, leading to the hypothesis that if this was an adaptation in the female, then perhaps males counter-adapted by evolving ways to detect olfactory cues. In other words, ancient man developed the ability to sniff out the women who were at their peak fertility phase.

In the experiment, the researchers had women in varying phases of their menstrual cycle as well as about half that were on oral contraceptives and half that were not, wear a T-shirt for two consecutive nights. Then the researchers had both men and women rate the T-shirts' odors for attractiveness. After putting the data through the statistical wringer, the study indicated that male raters preferred the odors of women near ovulatory phase in their mentrual cycles. This only applied to the T-shirts where the women were not on contraceptives. Apparently the pill affects hormone levels and eliminates the "attractive odors."

So what are these odors and what exactly do they do? This study doesn't address that question specifically, but there are several possibilities. Odors from the human body can be affected by hormone levels. Steroid hormones are secreted through sweat glands. When these steroid hormones come in contact with bacteria on the skin, the bacteria convert them into odorous compounds. Another possibility is that the T-shirt sniffers weren't rating the odors per se, instead they could have been detecting pheromones via the vomeronasal organ (VNO). (Then, there are other people who argue that the VNO is vestigial and probably as useless as a sixth finger.) A third possibility is that body odor is affected by a person's major histocompatibility complex (MHC) type. MHC is involved in immunity and some hypothesize that people seek out mates with a different MHC type to prevent inbreeding.

Of course, this doesn't say anything about some women's penchant for overwhelming amounts of perfume.

Other Smelly T-shirt Studies:
Singh and Bronstad, 2001. (ABCNEWS summary)
Wedekind et al., 1995; Wedekind and Furi, 1997. (New Scientist overview)

(Cross-posted at Syaffolee.)

It's a man's afterlife in Senegal

Attention all wives! Better keep your husband happy or you won't go to heaven.

In the Casamance region of southern Senegal this concept is part of the people's religious life. Do you need more proof that religion is not given to humans by a deity of any kind, but rather cobbled up by humans themselves? In many cases, by male humans --- more specifically, by male humans who need to control female humans. Why else would the subordination of females be so often a part of immutable "sacred doctrine"?

To which the holy men respond:
Oh, we don't make the religious laws. No, no, those laws have been given to us. Those laws have been handed down to us by God Himself!

Uh huh.

Crossposted at Tild~

Organizing for Political Change?

League of Pissed Off Voters
It's not enough to be pissed off - if we want to make a difference, we need to be informed, in touch, and empowered. No one is going to do it for us.

How to Get Stupid White Men Out Of Office

A book (Softskull Press; March 2004;) that documents 20 success stories from the past five years of young people who have swung or won elections –from city council to the US Senate- in 16 states, South Korea, and on the Internet. With an 80+ city tour focused on key swing states, the 12 co-authors and The League of Pissed Off Voters have built online and offline political tools designed to capture the imagination of young non-voters just in time for the November 2004 elections.

Call or write Naina Khanna, Program Director, League of Pissed Off Voters with any questions.

League of PISSED OFF Voters
226 W. 135th St, 4th floor
New York, NY 10030
naina@indyvoter.org 212.283.8879

My mother...

My mother passed away 10 days ago... It was sudden, but yet expected, if that makes sense. I'd like to know if there's anyone out there who has a group that I could join, possibly, or people to talk to, who have lost a parent. She was only 54... we had an incredible bond.

I'd appreciate any help with this... truly.

Heather

When should you get a Mammogram?

Thanks for the question Vikki. The first mammogram should be done in your mid to late 30's. Once you hit 40 at least every other year, however I prefer every year. When you turn 50 the mammograms need to be done at least once a year. The key to beating breast cancer is early detection. The earlier we catch breast cancer the better the chances of your recovery.

Anybody feel free to ask questions or comment.

Why is everyone blaming President Bush?

All President Bush had done is clean up the messes left by the last two Presidents. If Daddy Bush had finished what he started in late 1990, we might not be in Iraq now. If Clinton had been paying attention to his security advisors instead of getting a blow job in the Oval office the terrorists attacks on 9-11 may not have happened. Clinton's administration knew it was Osama Bin Laden that was responsible for the suicide attack on one of our Navy ships in 2000 and they didn't do anything.

Speaking of 9-11; does anybody remember how it felt to be attacked? Does anybody remember the images as they unfolded on the television? Does anyone remember the towers collapsing? Does anyone remember the 3000 plus lives that we lost? How about the families that lost loved ones and how their lives have been torn apart. Some families didn't even get remains to bury because there was nothing left of the victims. Where's the closure for them?

What did we do to provoke the attack on 9-11? NOTHING! Are innocent Iraqi citizens getting hurt and killed? Yes. Were the victims of 9-11 any less innocent? NO! I fully believe that Sadam Hussein had a part in planning the attack. Are there Weapons of Mass destruction? They are actually starting to find some. Even if there weren't, I still believe and stand behind President Bush.

Being a former member of the Army, let me say this for our soldiers; We are proud to be Americans. Nobody forced us to sign on the dotted line. None of our soldiers were drafted.

What to wear for a Mammogram

Ladies, please wear a two piece outfit to a mammogram appointment. At my clinic I have mammo capes that I have my patients change into. These capes are truly one size fits all, and I get some pretty big women. When my patients wear a one piece outfit such as a dress I have to have them change into the gown. Are any of you familiar with hospital gowns? They don't cover much.

Another pet peeve of mine is when a patient changes in front of me. I know I'm going to see her breasts anyway, but I just prefer that my patients not strip in front of me.

Generation Double-X'ers

Check out the new blog XX - always great to see more kick-ass group blogs by women! Gals, don't forget to let Ms. Musings know about you!

And speaking of Ms. Musings, via Christine I note that Y: The Last Man (art by Pia Guerra, writing by Brian Vaughan) is getting lots of mainstream publicity of late. If you're a member of Friends of Lulu, you should know that Pia is nominated for a Kim Yale Award for Best New Female Talent; don't forget to vote!

Dubya Seeks Some Help From His Pope

As Pen-Elayne points out, religion's been in the news lately. Not only do you have your basic Baptist secession, but you have Bush seeking political favors from the Vatican. The latter inspired this poem:

Dubya's Plea
By Madeleine Begun Kane
Our Bishops need to do much more
To safeguard all that's good,
Said Dubya to the Pope when Dub
Was in the neighborhood.

The rest of Dubya's Plea is here and here.

Back off, copper! I’ve got a volume of Dostoevsky here and I know how to read it!

This just in, via email from my friend Jackie:

A couple goes on vacation to a fishing resort in northern Minnesota. The husband likes to fish at the crack of dawn. The wife likes to read. One morning, the husband returns after several hours of fishing and decides to take a nap. Although not familiar with the lake, the wife decides to take the boat out. She motors out a short distance, anchors, and continues to read her book. Along comes a game warden in his boat.
He pulls up alongside the woman and says,
"Good morning Ma'am. What are you doing?"
"Reading a book," she replies, (thinking, "Isn't that obvious?")
"You're in a restricted fishing area," he informs her.
"I'm sorry officer, but I'm not fishing, I'm reading."
"Yes, but you have all the equipment. For all I know you could start at any moment. I'll have to take you in and write you up."
"If you do that, I'll have to charge you with sexual assault," says the woman.
"But I haven't even touched you," says the game warden.
"That's true, but you have all the equipment. For all I know you could start at any moment."
"Have a nice day ma'am," he says, and leaves.

MORAL: Never argue with a woman who reads. It's likely she can also think.

Crossposted at Tild~.

Urgh. Many thing and many non-things have happened, and it’s time to start documenting them. Yeah, I’ve been lame at updating – again – sorry about that. :)

Let’s see, what’s been going on? Well, I took Thena to get spayed on Friday morning. I caught a cab out to the pet hospital, dropped her off, then slowly wandered back towards my apartment, alternately not thinking about everything and feeling somewhat teary about the whole event. Logically, I knew she’d be fine, I knew it was a routine procedure, I knew I knew I knew... but she’s the first warm, demanding little body that I’ve had that’s utterly dependent on no one but me, and I couldn’t help but think that something would go wrong as a result.

So I wandered back slowly, not in any big rush and enjoying the morning. I stopped in at a diner for some breakfast, then kept wandering back towards Chapters. I spent a bit of time in there, trying to find *something* that I really wanted (I picked up a few books, but nothing I was dying to buy), before heading over for my hair appointment. Got my hair all dyed crazy-like, then it was time to grab some lunch.

This whole time I was trying to avoid going to my apartment, partly because I felt like if I was there I should be cleaning it or something. However, in my travels, while I was thinking of what I wanted to be next doing, I kept thinking, ‘I could go back to my apartment and hang out with my kitten!’ before realizing that I couldn’t do that, my kitten was presently having her little girl parts removed and being microchipped.

So I got to the mall and gave Ben a call, but he’d already had lunch (since it was 1:30 at this point, I wasn’t terribly surprised). Instead, I ran into Gord and his friend Eric, and I persuaded them to hit up a nearby Chinese food place that had always struck me as sketchy, but had received the Ben seal of approval. We chatted while I ate, then it was time to drop in on Ben and give him my leftovers. :) The bunch of us wound up at a nearby Starbucks, and I booked it to go and get my kitten from the pet hospital – they’d called while my hair was getting finished up and told me she’d been a darling for them and was recovering nicely. Damn cat, being selectively well-behaved.

When the tech told me about after-care and so on, she said that Thena was feeling the effects of the various painkillers and so on and was “a little upset with them trying to take the IV out.” Now, having worked at an animal hospital myself and briefed many an owner on taking their post-surgery/post-procedure pets home, I knew how to parse this sentence. It translates to something as, “Thena’s tried to chew someone’s face off while we were trying to perform (action).” It made me giggle a little bit, I must confess.

Anyhow, I got to pick up my drug-eyed kitten, and back to my apartment I went. I was impressed at how quickly she’d shaken off the effects of the anaesthetics. About an hour after I’d gotten her home, her eyes were clear and while her back end was still a little wobbly, she was trying to play and she was jumping up into the window constantly, trying to see what’s going on outside. When I’m home, I open the window for her, and she likes it.

I laid down on the couch and was trying to convince her to nap with me, but I guess she’d spent the day napping and was done with it. I passed out in two- to five-minute increments, waking up every time I heard her do something new. D called around 5, saying he’d be over shortly, which wound up being about a half-hour later. After some negotiation with Gord, Shawn, and Ben, we were going to go see Harry Potter 3 (my and D’s second time), but that fell through. Instead, D and I wound up going over to see Stepford Wives.

Now... my thoughts on that movie are going to have to wait, ‘cause I’m not sure how to really categorize what I thought of it. Overall, I thought it was decent, there were a few twists in there that kept it interesting, but in the end, the message in it was somewhat unsettling. It led to a good hour-long discussion between D and I on the subject, on gender roles, on sociological roles of men and women and so on, and that was kinda cool. I don’t know if Frank Oz’s goal was to have people thinking when they left it (which sounds bad, but it’s the best way I can think of to phrase it at the moment), but I did appreciate it for that.

After D left I mucked about on the computer for awhile, chatting with a few people, before going to bed around 12:30. I was pretty zonked from two early mornings in a row (I’ll rant about my work retreat another time). At some point in the morning I had felt Thena crawl under the covers to curl up by my outer thigh, and when I woke up that morning, she crawled up me in increments, purring furiously and staring at me the whole time. It’s times like those that I really appreciate her – black button eyes fixated on my face while she rumbles and cuddles against me. She might lick me or put her nose against mine for a kiss, but mostly she just looks content and I feel good about how I care for her.

I checked the time and was a little surprised to find that it was 10 in the morning – typically weekends involve Thena bouncing on me and maybe biting me anywhere between 7 and 8:30 – but either she’d taken pity on me (doubtful) or she was pretty exhausted herself and needed the extra rest. Once she got a bit nippy, I got up and started getting ready for the day.

My Saturday was quiet in a sense... I had coffee with someone and we wandered around a fair bit (another gorgeous day) before I headed off to my parents’ place for a big dinner. We had a few guests over, including most of our friends from Dartmouth and a neighbour, and Dad made a full turkey spread and so on. Good food. The night stretched semi-late, and Dad drove us all back downtown, stopping in for another minute to give Thena a little pat. Dad’s seen her twice since I’ve had her now, Mom’s only seen her the day I got her. Weird to think that.

Sunday I got up a bit early and got my groceries, then just hung around the apartment with the kitten. She spent a fair bit of time just sleeping places, and slept on my bed while I used the computer. I actually got up and curled up near her on the bed and dozed lightly for a little bit myself, before going off to work.

Since then... not too much this week. My legs are dead once more, but such appears to be my lot in life now – to always be in pain. :) Tonight my trainer asked if we could reschedule to Saturday, so I have my evening free to go have Pho with Ben, Mark and whoever else is going to be along. Yup, Mark’s in town for about a week and a half before he heads back out, so it’ll be nice to see him again and see if he’s changed drastically. :)

So, before I forget (and to reward those of you who’ve made it this far), I’ve managed to bully my photos into working. It’s not a perfect system, but it works, and you can find the gallery of photos with some brief explanations up. This includes photos of the water damage in my apartment (though not truly conveying the grossness of the squishy carpet I had to live with for so long), the day Thena unravelled a near-full roll of toilet paper on me (okay, one of the times it happened), and the new hair (minus the colour). Enjoy. :)

Dump Bush Song Parody

Here's my Dump Bush Song Parody, to be sung to "Here We Go Round The Mulberry Bush," It's perfect for Bush's next appearance in an elementary school classroom, don't you think?

Dump Bush Song
By Madeleine Begun Kane

We must defeat George W. Bush,
George W. Bush, George W. Bush.
We must defeat George W. Bush.
Vote Kerry this November.

Cheney and Bush are our nation's foes,
Our nation's foes, our nation's foes.
Cheney and Bush are our nation's foes.
Vote Kerry this November. ...

The rest of my Dump Bush Song Parody is here and also here.

Salon.com Arts & Entertainment | Singer Ray Charles dies

Singer Ray Charles dies.

One Reason Red is my Favorite Color

When I was a little girl, my mother dated a man from Alabama who was a mean man. And I mean "mean" in almost all the ways the word can denote.

Selfish in a petty way; unkind.
Cruel, spiteful, or malicious.
Ignoble; base: a mean motive.
Miserly; stingy.
Low in quality or grade; inferior.
Low in value or amount; paltry: paid no mean amount for the new shoes.
Common or poor in appearance; shabby: "The rowhouses had been darkened by the rain and looked meaner and grimmer than ever" (Anne Tyler).
Low in social status; of humble origins.
Humiliated or ashamed.
In poor physical condition; sick or debilitated.
Extremely unpleasant or disagreeable: The meanest storm in years.
Informal. Ill-tempered. from dictionary.com

What he liked best of all was to keep my mother (and therefore, me) in his control. He would get petulantly angry and throw a mean assed fit which often included things being thrown down the stairs (a Thanksgiving turkey once, my sister's wedding cake another time). Things that especially made him mad were when my mother had control over herSELF-- if she got a job, for instance, he would start tons of fights until she quit from the sheer weariness over the battle. In fact, he is part of the reason I am a staunch feminist in life-- I know how vitally important it is for women to have control of their own destinies, because nasty little men like him exist in droves, and if women cannot choose their own way in life, their own education, their own jobs, their reproductive freedoms, they will be stuck with mean men like him.

But wait, what does this have to do with red?

I'm glad you asked. B. (I'll call him that just to be nice, which I am) used to say that women who wore "whore red" nail polish were, well, whores. And that, my friend, was the worst thing you could be in B's book. A woman who had the audacity to like red fingernails clearly must have been sexually promiscuous and nasty. No matter what other traits she might have. Heck, she might be saving orphans from a fire but if she had red fingernails while doing it, she was a whore and deserved to be smacked around.

Well. I love red. I have whore red fingernails RIGHT NOW and I adore the way my nails look, with slightly squared tips and this deep OPI "I'm Not Really a Waitress - NLH08 red" richness that screams "I AM IN CONTROL OF MY OWN DESTINY. MY OWN BODY. AND YOU, MEAN LITTLE MAN, ARE POINTLESS." (Also published at Kim Procrastinates)

"Blonde Goes to Jail for Pictures of Moon" -- Film at 11

A couple of nights ago, I walked out my front door, telling my husband “I’m going to run down the road and take a few shots of the moon.” I got into my Cruiser, drove down Route 111, turned onto an access rode next to a subdivision, and began looking for the ‘perfect’ place to pull over for a picture of the moon. Unfortunately, one did not exist right off the bat, as I’d hoped.

A couple of blocks farther, one of the major refineries in this area, began. I promptly looked for any signs that might suggest my presence was unwelcome, yet none existed. Instead, the only sign I read said something to the effect of “Caution: Remote Control Locomotives cross here.” This is about the time I started seeing the golden hue of the moon poking through a few sparsely placed trees. My excitement grew, and I drove on. Suddenly a sign for a Dead End… Damn! I thought… but that is when I noticed a tiny clump of trees, and in between nestled the moon. Large, golden-reddish in hue, and absolutely BRILLIANT.

Maybe I should explain something, first. I’m on a quest for the perfect picture of the moon. Not one that other people take, but one that I take. I have NO idea what’s caused this need, but it’s there, thus I must quench my thirst for it by trying.

Anyway… I stop the car, listening to Hot Chocolate’s “Sexy Thing”, or whatever the title, and jump out with camera in hand. After only a few snaps of the camera, a white truck pulled up behind me flashing its bright lights. I waved the truck around, yet it just sat there, finally allowing the brights to stay fixed on me. Needless to say, I was scared shitless for I had no idea who this was, due to the person’s lack of introduction, jumped back into my car and turned around.

At this point, the person tried to block me from leaving. I assumed ‘it’ were a mugger or rapist. I shot around the truck through the grass even, and left. The truck then proceeded to turn around and speed up to me, of which, I hit the gas and took off like a bat out of hell. I called my girlfriend, told her what had happened, then pulled into my driveway… only to find two police officers standing on my sidewalk.

For more on this, go here.