Hope your holidays are merry + bright ...

I have always LOVED this video -- being a total child of the '80s -- but noticed for the first time this year that it is awfully WHITE. Like the record company didn't have any black folks on the payroll beside Sade? Just sayin'! Peace on Earth!! Jeanie

Weird girl who talked to me at Smiley's and my thoughts on birth control ...

I hadn't been to Smiley's in ages but we had a snow day at work yesterday so I piled all my "big" items in the car and went there.

Right away this girl starts talking to me. The place is empty, so she picked me. She's like: Do you know what they're doing? Have you been watching the news? And she proceeds to tell me that they're trying to make the United States into Russia.

(By the end of the night, or at least by the end of my stint at Smiley's, I had figured out that she knew next to nothing about history.)

She opened our conversation by asking me if I had a cell phone. I said no and pointed to the fact that I had flip-flops on in the snow (socks, yes, real shoes, no) because I lived close by and had no reason not to go out in the snow storm with flip-flops on -- and no reason to carry a cell phone with me, either.

Of course then I ended up offering her 50 cents because, of course, you have a whole roll of quarters with you when you hit the local laundromat, which later made me realize that that is precisely why she was there. Because folks have quarters they are more willing than usual to part with when they are at the laundromat. Never mind that I had to leave my BFF there watching the clothes and worried for me driving because I had to go get more from Queen Soopers.

Usually I don't mind talking to folks for 2 minutes or less but she was so stupid she was irritatingly stupid. And to make matters worse she had three kids.

She told me she was a "panhandler." I mean she actually delivered that in our conversation as her line of work. She said she was on disability, then she changed her story to say that she was waiting to hear whether she was going to get disability -- she said she had three back surgeries. Whatnot. On and on. I have a good disability lawyer. His name is blah blah. I was too busy surviving to do well in school. Mother an alcoholic. Father gone. Life is such a tragedy! And now look at poor me panhandling with kids at home and no future. Father of the three children a felon. Just wants to learn and live!

(She was only 24 but looked mid-30s.)

I tried to get away from her a couple of times -- you know that Smiley's would not be a bad place to do your laundry were it not like folks like her cluttering the place up and the fact that the place is not well maintained. (But the machines that do work work well and are big and cheap.)

Really if I were to win Lotto and got terribly bored I would buy it and make it a very cool place to do laundry.

Anyway, so she's telling me she's got to catch a bus to get to Colorado Boulevard and I'm like "Why Colorado Boulevard?" And she's like "Because I'm going to panhandle."

I'm like: Oh good.

But what I said was: Good Colorado Boulevard because if you were going to Walgreens I would say stay away from that Walgreens because folks like me always walk out of that store into a batch of pandhandlers and get PISSED.

This is true. I'm not nice to panhandlers at that Walgreens on Race because it is MY FUCKING Walgreens and there are too many FUCKING BUMS. Wouldn't matter if one of them were Jesus in Disguise. I am rude to the panhandlers at Walgreens. (My friend Monica used to say panhandlers were Jesus in Disguise.)

Anyway, I asked if she stood on a corner with a sign and all and was asking why Colorado Boulevard etc. (I really did not want to talk to her but she was like a small fly and I just had no energy to be rude or possibly to be rude and then get shot or cut in the face. Whatnot. She looked like a woman who would cut your face if provoked.)

Answers: She doesn't use a sign. She starts conversations. (The balls of her to tell me this.) I WAS PISSED because I realized she had just pulled this stunt on me and that I'd given her 50 cents.

Her conversation starter with me was "those people" are trying to make the U.S. into Russia.

I told her a little bit about Russia and about Native Americans. (She is Cherokee. Hispanic Cherokee mixed but looks very Native.) I told her to get some books from the library to read up and asked her if she could read. She said yes. I said: Can you read well? Because you know being able to read a sign and being able to read a book -- even a basic book -- on Russian history are too very different things.

I thought she could not go wrong with a trip to the library.

As long as she doesn't start any conversations. Because we have one of those where I work. A woman who is on the edge of some invisible precipice and can't resist asking the person next over from her for change. Here in the city it is one thing, but in a suburban library, quite another.

I do like the city. I just don't get homelessness. I mean I DO GET IT THAT I COULD FIND MYSELF HOMELESS. But that's not the point. The point is that you don't accept it once you are there. And you get back to something. And if you are that prone to it, why in FUCKS NAME WOULD YOU HAVE THREE FUCKING CHILDREN?

I am into birth control for everyone. I think the world is overpopulated. I hate those Volunteers of America signs that are like: Joe Blow steals so he can feed his kids. Joe Blow's home has a steering wheel.

I just want to write BIRTH CONTROL in big black letters in the middle of the night on those billboards.

I told this to a colleague of mine at work -- about what I wanted to write on the billboards -- and he said: "Just did not see that coming from you, Jeanie."

I think people think I am really liberal. I am really liberal about some things and VERY CONSERVATIVE about others. I've lived next to Section 8 housing for almost a decade and I can tell you it is a CROCK OF SHIT. Those folks buy food for lavish meals and drive better cars than folks like me.

And they are raising kids that stand around outside all day with nothing to do. No books. No adults. Just the crack dealers to look up to.

What is wrong with this picture?

WOW! Did not see that coming!

A close buddy received a very cryptic message from a mid-level manager at the organization for which she works:

"Please don't use political messages on your ... email tagline. ... I'd appreciate it if you'd change it today."

(Cryptic in that in the actual email the super sounded like she was relaying the message.)

So ... said friend had two quotes within the last couple days and was, at last communication, waiting to hear back on which one disturbed said mid-level manager. One was somewhat political -- but also totally benign and rooted in academia. It was about oil and was from Foreign Policy, which is very well respected.

And the oil quote was relaying stats, not solely opinion. I'll see if I can dig it up from one of her emails. Yes. Here you go ...

"Oil is a curse. ... Statistically, an authoritarian oil country is far less likely to move to democracy than a resource-poor autocracy." -- Moises Naim, Foreign Policy editor-in-chief

The only other one she had used was a new quote from a news story in The Denver Post -- only had since the day it ran, which was like two days ago.

The headline was: "Lawyers question decision to talk with FBI."

The story centers around the reporter's conversations with esteemed local attorneys who were asked for their take on the handling of the case by the suspect's attorney.

The best quote attorney quote among a story littered with great attorney quotes:

"There is an expression among defense attorneys, 'When there is no crime, there is 1001,' the code section charging people with lying to the FBI."

So. Waiting to hear back if oil offends or if defense attorneys offend.

I can't say that I have heard of this ever coming up before at any organization in the history of email. Have you heard of this happening to anyone before?

(With all due respect, that is so North Korea, isn't it? But it also reminds me of that movie The Falling Man and the 9-11 image that everybody wanted to go away. And so it did.)

Seems like some sort of chilling effect is at play here. Maybe someone emailed said higher-up? Hmmmm. Plot. Thickens.

Someone who drives a Hummer and LOVES oil with every meal?

(I'm betting it is the oil just because the other quote was brand-spanking new. She didn't have enough time to offend anyone.)

Stay tuned, cowboys and cowgirls.

Is that the James Davis who runs our FBI shop here in Denver? (He is usually very camera shy.)

So, um, am I the only person who is wondering if this 24-year-old kid is going to get a fair trial or not? And why is the head of the FBI Denver office caught on film? I have all sorts of questions about this whole deal. Like the terrorists are sure getting sloppy if everything the FBI says about this case is true. And why would the FBI lie about anything?

All things to all people -- libraries buzzing with energy!!

This just in, from the The Chronicle of Higher Education -- BTW I could have told them years ago that CSU was doing the same thing. (They act like libraries have just now figured this shit out!)

"Today's academic-library buildings, more than any other campus structures, have to be all things to all people — places where social and intellectual pursuits collide, places that serve the community and the individual simultaneously. Dig into a book. Get a latte. Collaborate on a project. Nap during a study session. College libraries are a destination for those activities and more."

Real the gestalt work from these brain surgeons at http://chronicle.com/article/Is-It-a-Library-A-Student/48360/

Half a nice day. ;)

FBI in town, feel safe already!!

The funny thing about the FBI showing up in town en masse is that just the other day, shortly after I watched 9-11 tribute videos for an entire weekend, I commented to my best friend that if they detonated a dirty bomb at the site of the cash register building, we would be killed, too.

They (the FBI et al) followed some man from New York to here. You can see why they would want to detonate a dirty bomb in Denver: You take out the cash register building (above), the capitol (below right), Denver's World Trade Center complex (see maps below), the Basilica of the Immaculate Conception (right and below) -- all in one swoop. Which would mean my best friend and I would be similarly flattened, which is why I am happy there are a million FBI dudes in town these last few days. (My schedule, too, at work would mean that I would probably be home if they struck at the time they struck first on 9-11.)

I am posting some pictures just to show the neighborhood in the good ole days, but I'm also posting a couple maps so you get my point about how close my residence at 1540 Logan St. is to the cash register building. You can see the capitol from where I live. (The basilica is at 1530 as the one map shows. For news buffs, the cash register building, if I am not mistaken, is where the Father's Day massacre took place. I was around here at the time.) The capitol is not two blocks -- the one photo of the capitol building is the view from the end of my block. (I'm in the middle of the block at 1540). So, if you think I am exaggerating, you can see for yourself.

I just think about that guy that was on the phone with the 911 dispatcher when the building started coming down. (Richard? Cosgrove.) Some sick person posted a 9-11 joke about it. It said: What was the last thing to go through his head? (The answer to the joke is "the ceiling.")

But when you think about it, really, those terrorists and those who jumped to flee the fire were killed instantly while you gotta, if you are like me, be worrying about the guy who was on the phone when he says OH GOD! Like I pray to God with all my heart that something did go through his head or that he was knocked out really fast so he did not have to suffer.

Imagine being in that building when it collapsed. Those poor souls. Or being the last one to jump from that group of about 13 folks you always see. Watching everyone go. I just asked Rick about it. I said: Imagine that terror, being the last one. And he comforted me by saying that they went together, that no one would leave anyone and that they probably went fairly quickly because people went when the flames were on them but not before. Like they would have thought someone was coming up for them, and we all know that, in fact, firefighters were coming up for them.

Those poor souls. Those poor souls. That's all we have the power to say. Those poor souls.

I can, on some intellectual level, understand that the terrorists saw 9-11 as the only way they, being David, could wage war on us, Goliath, but I can't fathom that anyone who witnessed it, witnessed the suffering as even we who were not there have because of the mass media -- I cannot fathom how anyone would think that was OK to do, that killing innocent civilians was rational and something to go ahead and proceed with.

I guess they feel that we do the same, and we have, I know, because I understand what we did in places like Hamburg and how we have kicked down a lot of doors around the globe and what we did in Iran, etc. In Hamburg, it was us firebombing the place and whatnot. A civilian city, if I know my history. In other places, it was much more covert but still evil, if I can say that.

(A book that changed my life and my view on American foreign policy forever is the book Overthrow: America's Century of Regime Change from Hawaii to Iraq by Stephen Kinzer of The New York Times. It details every coup over the last 100 years or more. Read Overthrow if you have any doubts about whether we have been terrorists in our own rite over the decades. You'll feel ashamed, trust me. Total carnage. And it isn't our soldiers and our Marines. In Overthrow, almost every war we cause is thanks to the CIA and the White House.)

So I can see how we are perceived. How we take a lot of lives and never see the pictures and note the suffering.

But that doesn't really change 9-11.

That doesn't really change the fact that those people died such horrible, horrifying deaths. Was that really necessary? Was that really the ONLY way? And you KNOW it is not. You've got Gandhi and even Martin Luther King Jr. and even the sit-in folks. Surely the terrorists, or freedom fights, could have done something to make their point known if we're their evil empire. But without all the carnage. Without that guy saying OH GOD! while the building collapses and he and the two people with him and so many more fall with it.

Can you imagine what those folks went through? They knew what was up. They knew they were going to die AND IT WAS FUCKING HORRIBLE. And FOR WHAT?? Are things better for anyone right now? Are things better in Afghanistan?

To end on a nice note: The wonderful historic photos of my neighborhood at Colfax and Logan streets are courtesy the Denver Public Library Western History Department. (GO LIBRARIES!) The maps are "borrowed" from Google Earth and Google Maps. Click on the maps if you don't believe me about the proximity of me to downtown and to the capitol building. I'm a few short blocks. A dirty bomb would take out my building, if I understand dirty bombs correctly. (Please do correct me if I am wrong. Maybe they are smaller than I am picturing. I am picturing a small nuclear bomb. Like that would flatten all of downtown, I'm thinking. But you can correct me, too. I'm all about information. The correct information!) Also click on the photos to see some very nice old images. There were some I did not use. One showed the corner of 16th Avenue and Logan Street. A guy was crossing on one of those ancient bicycles. It was very cool. Imagine how fit we all were at the time!

God Bless America, Denver and the FBI!!

UPDATE (Thursday evening): I decided to use the photo I was talking about with the guy riding his bike past the mansion at the northeast corner of 16th Avenue and Logan Street. It is called the William Garrett Fisher mansion. I just love the thought of this guy riding past on his weird old bike that was probably a luxury at the time. BTW if you noticed something different in this posting: I'm toying with the html and adding more buffer, via the margins, around the pix. Why are the margins at times in pixels and at times in points? What do you think of 10pt margins? Too much? I'll keep playing, but if anyone can tell me why pixels and why points, I'd be one happy human.

Swimming down a mountain ...

Watch from 2:39-2:46 then tell me that doesn't just kill you. That feels like the line below from my last entry -- when Tom Junod describes them as looking as if they are trying to swim down a mountain: "Some of them are shirtless; their shoes fly off as they flail and fall; they look confused, as though trying to swim down the side of a mountain."

The falling person in this September 11 tribute video is leaf-like, too, in a way.

(I don't mean to sound cryptic, but I think you'll understand why it is so hard to write about if you watch it.)

I've watched it a few times and it just kills me. I love that quote in this video: "I don't see a building, I see people."

Although the wounded buildings themselves are so horrifying, too. Almost like bodies themselves.

It just kills me that the better option would be this, swimming down the wounded building.

The song is "Hoppípolla" by the Icelandic Sigur Ros

Brosandi .......................................... Smiling
Hendumst í hringi .......................... Spinning round and round
Höldumst í hendur ......................... Holding hands
Allur heimurinn óskýr ................... The whole world a blur
nema þú stendur ............................ But you are standing

Rennblautur .................................... Soaked
Allur rennvotur .............................. Completely drenched
Engin gúmmístígvél ....................... No rubber boots
Hlaupandi inni í okkur ................... Running inside us
Vill springa út úr skel .................... Want to erupt from a shell

Vindurinn ........................................ The Wind
og útilykt af hárinu þínu ................ An outdoor smell of your hair
Ég anda eins fast og ég get ............ I breathe as hard as I can
með nefinu mínu ............................ with my nose

Hoppípolla ...................................... Jump into puddles
Í engum stígvélum ........................ With no boots on
Allur rennvotur (Rennblautur) ... completely drenched (Soaked)
Í engum stígvélum ........................ With no boots on

Og ég fæ blóðnasir ........................ And I get a nosebleed
En ég stend alltaf upp .................. but I always stand up

Og ég fæ blóðnasir ......................... And I get a nosebleed
En ég stend alltaf upp ................... but I always stand up

I spent a good part of the weekend mourning 9-11, but I'm also angry about censorship -- especially the long-time newspaper practice

About midnight Friday I found myself watching a film exactly one hour and 11 minutes long with no commercial interruptions centered around "The Falling Man" whose picture was printed worldwide Sept. 12 as a composite for those who decided not to give into the terrorists, to reject their plans for them. They stepped into God's hands on their own, defiant.

The photo was printed and then was banished from view in the United States. I felt angry at newspapers at one point during the weekend, first for self-censorship, then for the way newspapers act -- censoring the news in general with their self-satisfied "news judgment."

Yes, censoring. Censoring the news. Deciding what we can take and what we can't take. What can be omitted, what can be buried at the bottom of page 20.

I think that's got to be considered in their demise: People were fed up with having someone else filter news and information. And editors telling us what is news, as if someone else knows better than us what we want to know and what we need to know. Now we decide what we want to see and know about when and how much and how gritty and how unfiltered, how raw.

I flood myself with information at some junctures. Just because I'm like that. I'm an information freak. I flooded myself with grief and then got angry and decided to write this posting about it.

The film, "The Falling Man," was truly amazing. Amazingly sad, too. (Find it here.)

Below is a most poetic and respectful quote from a masterpiece of journalistic writing -- it is pure poetry, really -- behind the crux of the film, called "The Falling Man." Tom Junod wrote it. As a reporter, he had the help of a researcher.

The intro to the Esquire piece notes, above the photograph:

Do you remember this photograph? In the United States, people have taken pains to banish it from the record of September 11, 2001. The story behind it, though, and the search for the man pictured in it, are our most intimate connection to the horror of that day.

You can read the full piece at http://tinyurl.com/thefallingmanbytomjunod.

I've chosen two powerful passages for you in order to honor the folks who died this way. The first is the opening to the article. The second comes later. They make me want to cry, both passages. Emphases are mine.

Rest in Peace and God Bless.

The Falling Man
By Tom Junod
Esquire
September 2003

"In the picture, he departs from this earth like an arrow. Although he has not chosen his fate, he appears to have, in his last instants of life, embraced it. If he were not falling, he might very well be flying. He appears relaxed, hurtling through the air. He appears comfortable in the grip of unimaginable motion. He does not appear intimidated by gravity's divine suction or by what awaits him. His arms are by his side, only slightly outriggered. His left leg is bent at the knee, almost casually. His white shirt, or jacket, or frock, is billowing free of his black pants. His black high-tops are still on his feet. In all the other pictures, the people who did what he did -- who jumped -- appear to be struggling against horrific discrepancies of scale. They are made puny by the backdrop of the towers, which loom like colossi, and then by the event itself. Some of them are shirtless; their shoes fly off as they flail and fall; they look confused, as though trying to swim down the side of a mountain. The man in the picture, by contrast, is perfectly vertical, and so is in accord with the lines of the buildings behind him. He splits them, bisects them: Everything to the left of him in the picture is the North Tower; everything to the right, the South. Though oblivious to the geometric balance he has achieved, he is the essential element in the creation of a new flag, a banner composed entirely of steel bars shining in the sun. Some people who look at the picture see stoicism, willpower, a portrait of resignation; others see something else -- something discordant and therefore terrible: freedom. There is something almost rebellious in the man's posture, as though once faced with the inevitability of death, he decided to get on with it; as though he were a missile, a spear, bent on attaining his own end. He is, fifteen seconds past 9:41 a.m. EST, the moment the picture is taken, in the clutches of pure physics, accelerating at a rate of thirty-two feet per second squared. He will soon be traveling at upwards of 150 miles per hour, and he is upside down. In the picture, he is frozen; in his life outside the frame, he drops and keeps dropping until he disappears. ...

____________________________________________


"They began jumping not long after the first plane hit the North Tower, not long after the fire started. They kept jumping until the tower fell. They jumped through windows already broken and then, later, through windows they broke themselves. They jumped to escape the smoke and the fire; they jumped when the ceilings fell and the floors collapsed; they jumped just to breathe once more before they died. They jumped continually, from all four sides of the building, and from all floors above and around the building's fatal wound. They jumped from the offices of Marsh & McLennan, the insurance company; from the offices of Cantor Fitzgerald, the bond-trading company; from Windows on the World, the restaurant on the 106th and 107th floors -- the top. For more than an hour and a half, they streamed from the building, one after another, consecutively rather than en masse, as if each individual required the sight of another individual jumping before mustering the courage to jump himself or herself. One photograph, taken at a distance, shows people jumping in perfect sequence, like parachutists, forming an arc composed of three plummeting people, evenly spaced. Indeed, there were reports that some tried parachuting, before the force generated by their fall ripped the drapes, the tablecloths, the desperately gathered fabric, from their hands. They were all, obviously, very much alive on their way down, and their way down lasted an approximate count of ten seconds. They were all, obviously, not just killed when they landed but destroyed, in body though not, one prays, in soul."

As I mentioned, I watched a lot of Sept. 11 films starting on Friday and up until tonight. Flooded myself. I could not look away. I think the story of "The Falling Man" is one that should have been told by newspapers. We should not have had to look away for so long because a newspaper decides to censor itself.

Newspapers: There's more to their demise than meets the eye.

[Please note: Credit for the photo of the falling man is Richard Drew/Associated Press file photo. Other credits unknown except for The New York Times cover. The statue is Tumbling Woman by Eric Fischl -- a piece designed to commemorate those who died on Sept. 11 at the WTC. The statue, at the Rockefeller Center, was censored in September 2002 due to complaints. Writes Tom Junod: "Indeed, Tumbling Woman was perhaps the redemptive image of 9/11 -- and yet it was not merely resisted; it was rejected. The day after Tumbling Woman was exhibited in New York's Rockefeller Center, Andrea Peyser of the New York Post denounced it in a column titled 'Shameful Art Attack,' in which she argued that Fischl had no right to ambush grieving New Yorkers with the very distillation of their own sadness."]

Great quote followed by good advice on abusive folks -- including The Wall-like monster screenshot from MGMT vid -- followed by cool ferret vid ...

This quote is from music industry insider Bob Lefsetz, whom I adore. This really made me forget my troubles today. (Thanks, Bob.)

"Imagine being in a relationship where you never had to compromise, where you were loved for the way you are. A job where you could tell off the boss. This world doesn't exist, except in art. That's the privilege of the artist, an ability to create in his own exact vision. A charge which Trent Reznor embodies, blazing a path in his own unique direction, willing to make mistakes along the way, worried not a whit what some overlord might think."

(Keep it to read when you have a bad day. There is room for all of us on this planet. Some of us are just more artistic than others.)

The best advice on dealing with abusive people, from yours truly:

First and foremost, if you are Christian, that really helps. Because then you can see them as part of God and you can forgive more easily than most folks. And you can pray for them to heal themselves so they can stop trying to be abusive.

(Note the "trying." People can try to be abusive. Just let them try. You continue on. They can only be abusive if you let them. Don't let them. Pray for them to heal. Forgive them! That's all you can do.)

Piece of advice No. 2: Consider the big picture. Context is everything. Maybe that person is worried about their job. Or are insecure about something else. There is a reason why they are trying to be abusive. You can't fix them and should feel that is in your right or whatever to try, but you can try to understand why they are behaving in such a bizarre manner. (Folks are amazing, aren't they? I'm saying!) Remembering the context is an amazing tool that will help you forgive and forget more easily.

I'm not suggesting that anyone tolerate abuse. No. Do something about it, even moving on if necessary. But you don't need to internalize it, either. Because it can take time to remove yourself from an unhealthy environment into the environment you deserve. So while you have to be there, just keep praying. Picture that person, the abusive person, flooded by white light. Healing white light. They need healing, just like most of us.

I know that's a little sappy, but I am a very, very spiritual person. I can't hate someone for longer than 20 seconds, because I believe in God, and I believe there is nothing outside of God. So the abusive person is an extension of yourself. I'm not into turn the other cheek so much as just radiate love back to them. Be civil when they are not civil. Kill them with kindness. Down the road they will remember you and thank you for your warmth and generosity of spirit.

Some people in this world hate artists. They want to kill the spirit of anyone displaying any semblance of creativity. Just remember why that is: mostly jealousy. Lack of power. On and on.

If you say FUCK YOU in your head, that's just engaging the abusive person, which you do not want to do. You do not want to engage abuse, even silently because that sticks in your body more. (Think of the mess on your nice white spirit!)

You just let it roll off your back. Try to see that that person was abused. Probably as a child. Maybe even sexual abuse, I'm sorry to say, because that is pretty common and there are a lot of external signs. And maybe they grew up and found a mate to be abusive to them emotionally because no one ever told them that they deserve better.

So try to remember that you feel sorry for them instead of seeing them as a monster.

(I picked a great illustration, huh? Did I mention I love both the movie The Wall and the band MGMT? I think the MGMT vid for "Kids" is an homage to Pink Floyd and The Wall BIG TIME.)

To wrap up ...

Never, ever say this: What's wrong with me?* You want to say, instead: What's wrong with them? They were probably hurt as children more than you or I were and are carrying that burden with them, in their bodies -- note posture, etc. -- throughout their lives.

Plus don't forget the everyday worries they have that I mentioned earlier. They are probably on the verge of losing the only thing holding it together for them -- their livelihood or whatnot. Maybe their marriage. Maybe their marriage and their job.

* My sister Sydney told me that when I was a kid.

So ... here's the cool ferret vid (2):


(It definitely goes well with the abusive monster theme, too, except WE do not run from monsters. We hang tough. We walk away when it works for us to do so, when it is convenient for us. Monsters try to get you to run, because they are powerless, and if they see they can make someone run, they feel a modicum of power. It is not your job to help them feel more in control and/or powerful. You're a professional. You don't run from monsters. ;)

But, as I said: Don't hang out with the dark clouds longer than necessary. Get to that good place in the sun that you so richly deserve. But hopefully think of Bob's quote and my advice in the interim. That will help you through the worst behavior. Bob's quote and LOVE inside. As The Beatles so aptly put it: Love is all you need. ;)

The best advice I ever received regarding work + then some fun stuff -- I figured out "audio swap" feature on YouTube

Yes. Pretty fun, that. I am working on audio swaps for all the ferret videos I have up on YouTube. You really can't go wrong with any audio you choose for ferret video, as long as it is sort of upbeat -- nothing too sappy. I picked punk, a little upbeat Bach, Paralyzer, a bit of electronica, etc. (You kind of have to go with the copyright-free choices youtube offers unless you know what you are doing and have the capability to add your own. And then with that, you've gotta worry about copyright. I am all about the view that art should be out there, pretty much. If I were an artist, I would want everyone adding my track to their video, and I think the new model is that you make money with live shows. But, you know, you gotta respect the folks who don't want their track on your ferret video. Sort of! ;)





Anyway, the best advice I have ever received regarding work -- I thought of this because I have been mentor to a library school student who is doing electronic reference for a VR cooperative in my state. She is almost finished with library school, and we've had conversations here and there about work. Here are the two best pieces of advice I have received, and they both came from my father, who worked as an engineer until retirement. He worked hard, and often long hours, but he never complained, mostly because I think he really enjoyed what he was doing, at least the challenge. I don't think he felt any extreme form of loyalty, even though he was of that generation. I think the reason for that is that engineers -- they get hired and when a big contract or whatever is done, they are out the door. He worked for quite a few high-end companies in his day, and he was very motivated and always had his eye on the next step up. He networked, and that was great for him. Some other engineer would leave for a better spot at a better company, and then a few months later the man -- it was pretty much guys in my Dad's companies at that time -- would need the right person for a job and would call up my Dad, and then my father would give his notice, pack up a single small box, say ciao and be moving on to the next company and next challenge. My father was not a camper. At all. The longest I think he was at any one company was 10 years or so, and that I think was mostly because my sister and I were still really young, and my brother and other sister were just early teens/teens. So maybe he felt the need to have stability, but in the marketplace of today I think he would be on fire. Because there at the end, when older engineers -- say 50-60 years old -- start to disappear off the scene, my father was especially adaptable. He was willing to move to wherever the work was. (My mum was still alive, so she stayed in Boulder. He just rented a place.) He picked up and moved to Dallas for a six-month contract. (That one might have been a touch longer, it was years and years ago.) Then to Florida -- I visited him there. He just would rent a place and get a few things and then work like a dog until the contract was up (these contract jobs for engineers pay a TON because you don't have insurance, etc.) Then he would take his single box again and move back and look for the next opportunity. (That's how my Dad saw life: as opportunities.) He really did this quite a bit, not just Texas and Florida, although those stick out for me because when he was in Florida and Texas I was an undergraduate at the University of Missouri, so I took my first real boyfriend to visit him in Florida.





At the time everyone thought, I am not sure really. (Maybe they thought: Poor Mr. Straub.) But in hindsight I think that was pretty cool of my father to be so flexible so close to retirement. And, bottom line, that made him able to find employment when other engineers at the same age were maybe still applying for jobs or whatnot. He was able to retire at a decent age, too.

So ... here is Piece of Advice No. 1 from my father:

You're going to work your whole life, and, for all intents and purposes, you are going to spend most of your life working. Find something really interesting that you really enjoy doing so that it will not seem like work.

Piece of Advice No. 2 from my father (this must have come after an especially long day working):

Everything in time becomes a drag, no matter what it is. So find something really interesting and challenging that you love to do -- something that is different every day. You want to have no two days the same at your job.

And then, I guess this would be No. 3: Be flexible and adaptable and make sure you are always marketable and can jump industries so you will always be employed. (I think the subtext of this one was that he wanted me to not be dependent -- women were way more dependent on staying married in his generation, and I think my father would have NOT stayed married had he been my age today. But he felt a responsibility toward my mum, too. She really wrote free-lance for local papers and some national magazines as an afterthought, although were she young today she would have probably not married at all, not had children, and nurtured a full-blown career instead.)



So ... I think the top two are really extraordinary things that kids should hear a few times. Because unless you are going to do something that makes you super-rich super-fast, you pretty much are going to put in the hours. And I have honestly never had a job where I looked at the clock. The only clock-watching I do is when I look up and go: HOLY SHIT I am not done! Like I run out of time for the things I do. I have never had a boring job, and I've never had a job that wasn't in some way different from day to day -- although when he said "everything in time becomes a drag" he truly meant EVERYTHING in time becomes a drag. Like: No way around this fact, no matter what you do end up choosing. I guess the lottery is the only answer to that one, but I'm 40 and so far nothing has become a drag, and I know a woman in her 80s who was working at the library where I work when I first started and she LOVED it. She never complained. She really would not have left had it not gotten to the point where she was just needing to retire.





Anyway, I have wanted to write down this advice for young folks, and I should tell my nieces and nephews, just in case. My brother works like a dog -- and he makes BANK as an embedded software engineer -- and he does not have the same attitude. I mean I think his work is like brain surgery, so he is definitely not bored or whatnot. But I think he is tired and also he works a lot, just a ton of hours. To me, I'm not one of those folks who needs to leave at 4:59 p.m. I really think the folks who want an eight-hour job -- I just think that is a job, not a career. You work more than eight hours at a career. But I also really want to work to live, not live to work -- that saying about work came from my best friend's uncle. I really like my own life and want time in my personal life, so I would not want to work 70 hours a week, week after week. I think you have to find a balance. You just are better at whatever you do do if you have a life. This is especially true for journalists or librarians or other folks who work with the public. You do want to know what it is like to be a person. You can't spend all your time working. But, again, I knew when I was a kid that I would have to figure out what to do to bring home some bacon and support myself. I never had an illusions about the fact that I would spend most of my life working, and I think what my father taught me is healthy, because I have high expectations for my work life. I want a certain level of challenge all the time. And I never expect to camp out, although I do think you have a growth period at any organization that can last five years or so. So ... I dunno about two years here and two years there. That seems a little quick. The longest job I had was for 10 years, and that was only because the company hired me back twice after the first time. (So three tours of duty totaling 10 years.) My favorite job EVER when I was a police reporter. I never would have gotten tired of car crashes and random shootings and whatnot. But that was also one of my lowest paying jobs. (Started at $10 an hour. This was early 1990s. Left at $10.25 an hour.)

Sometimes folks think one thing about your job when another is really true. (I try never to insult folks by saying stupid shit like this about their jobs, btw.) Like I worked this booth once last summer and this lady said: "Oh. You're a librarian. I think I would like that. Really relaxing work, huh?" Like that lady has no idea at all what librarians do or what libraries are trying to do. The last thing that comes to my mind when I think about my current occupation is relaxing. Relaxing is a beach or whatnot. Planning to stay relevant in the lives of taxpayers, that's relaxing?

Little long-winded here, so I'm stopping. Chew on that. I am going to check on the rest of my audio swaps! Do check out the ones I posted. All very upbeat tracks that go well with the ferret vids!

New evidence of intelligent life on this planet II ...

New evidence of intelligent life on Earth ...

Bruce still gives me chills + I LOVE this guy (down arrow goes here) ...

I'll get to my hero of heroes, Fred Hampton, shown above or at left, depending on the Browser, in a minute.

First I have to say that after a particularly brutal, unnecessarily long day -- with the promise of many more to come -- I drove home, got chills listening to "Born in the U.S.A." and forgot it all.

Thank you, Oh Boss Man of the insanely expensive concert tickets.

I really fucking LOVE that song. I just looked up the lyrics for the purpose of this posting, and apparently some Lebanese people dig you, too.

So ... pretty much the whole song gives me chills. When it plays -- excuse me but cannot help but picture folks in Afghanistan and Iraq? Of course it specifically mentions Vietnam, but what difference does that make?

I was driving and this line specifically ...

Got in a little hometown jam so they put a rifle in my hand
Sent me off to a foreign land to go and kill the yellow man

... made me want to cry. And bear in mind I've heard this song a million fucking times.

I realized my scalp was tingling. Total euphoria. That's what music does for me. It gives me chills. Words and music together, I guess, because I really fucking LOVE the lyrics to "Born in the U.S.A."

And fuck anything that happened during the day once I have my music. My music and my ferret. Yes, I had to take Digger for his evening run when I first got home.

Onward: I know I've probably posted Fred Hampton's photo before. I LOVE Fred Hampton, if I failed to mention that previously. When ever anyone says, so and so never made enemies. FEEL SORRY FOR THEM. Fred Hampton, the Chicago cops gunned him down in bed in his underwear. He made some enemies. But when he was a child he knew he was going to die for the cause. He was all about that. He actually said if you do not have something in your life you would die for, then you're already dead. If you're not willing to die, you're already dead. Fred Hampton, here's one white girl in inner city Denver thinking of you, listening to Concrete Blonde's "Tomorrow, Wendy" -- f-ing great song, that one, and "Dazed and Confused," and touting Bruce Springsteen lyrics as a cure for all that ails.

(I must say that the "Tomorrow, Wendy" lyrics online SUCK. So I fixed them.) "Dazed and Confused" -- pretty hard to fuck up those lyrics, but they did. At least that last line is questionable. Mostly I love that song because Mr. Page plays his guitar with a violin bow. OH MY GOD THE BATTLE OF EVERMORE IS STARTING AND I LOVE THAT SONG.

Born in the U.S.A.

Born down in a dead man's town
The first kick I took was when I hit the ground
You end up like a dog that's been beat too much
Till you spend half your life just covering up

Born in the U.S.A.
I was born in the U.S.A.
I was born in the U.S.A.
Born in the U.S.A.

Got in a little hometown jam so they put a rifle in my hand
Sent me off to a foreign land to go and kill the yellow man

Born in the U.S.A.
I was born in the U.S.A.
I was born in the U.S.A.
Born in the U.S.A.

Come back home to the refinery
Hiring man says: "Son if it was up to me"
Went down to see my V.A. man
He said: "Son don't you understand now"

I had a brother at Khe Sahn, fighting off the Viet Cong
They're still there, he's all gone
He had a woman he loved in Saigon
I got a picture of him in her arms now

Down in the shadow of the penitentiary
Out by the gas fires of the refinery
I'm ten years burning down the road
Nowhere to run, ain't got nowhere to go

Born in the U.S.A.
I was born in the U.S.A.
Born in the U.S.A.
I'm a long-gone Daddy in the U.S.A.
Born in the U.S.A.
Born in the U.S.A.
Born in the U.S.A.
I'm a cool-rocking Daddy in the U.S.A.

Thanks to the folks at http://www.springsteenlyrics.com/lyrics/b/bornintheusa.php
for the Bruce lyrics -- I did add a few commas, forgive me.

Tomorrow, Wendy

It is complete now, two ends of time are neatly tied
A one-way street, she's walking to end of the line
And there she meets the faces she keeps in her heart and mind

They say goodbye, tomorrow, Wendy, you're going to die
They say goodbye, tomorrow, Wendy, you're going to die

Underneath the chilly gray November sky
We can make believe that Kennedy is still alive and
We're shooting for the moon and smiling Jackie (is) driving by and

They say: Good try. Tomorrow Wendy is going to die.
Tomorrow Wendy is going to die.

I told the priest: Don't count on any second coming
God got his ass kicked the first time he came down his stomach
He had the balls to come, the gall to die and then forgive us
No, I don't wonder why, but I wonder what he thought it would get us

Hey, hey, goodbye
Tomorrow Wendy's going to die

Hey, hey, goodbye
Tomorrow Wendy's going to cry
Tomorrow Wendy's going to cry

Only God says: Jump!
So I set the time
'cause if he ever saw it
It was through these eyes of mine
And if he ever suffered it was me who did his crying

Hey hey, goodbye
Tomorrow Wendy's going to cry
(Tomorrow Wendy's going to die)
Tomorrow Wendy's going to die
(Tomorrow Wendy's going to cry)
Tomorrow Wendy's going to die

Hey, hey, goodbye
Tomorrow Wendy is going to cry

Hey, hey, goodbye
Tomorrow Wendy's going to cry
Tomorrow Wendy's going to cry
Tomorrow Wendy's going to cry

Dazed and Confused

Been Dazed and Confused for so long it's not true.
Wanted a woman, never bargained for you.
Lots of people talking, few of them know,
soul of a woman was created below.

You hurt and abuse tellin' all of your lies.
Run around sweet baby, Lord how they hypnotize.
Sweet little baby, I don't know where you've been.
Gonna love you baby, here I come again.

Every day I work so hard, bringin' home my hard-earned pay
Try to love you baby, but you push me away.
Don't know where you're goin', only know just where you've been,
Sweet little baby, I want you again.

Been dazed and confused for so long, it's not true.
Wanted a woman, never bargained for you.
Take it easy baby, let them say what they will.
Will your tongue wag so much when I send you the bill?

More people I like ...

I like Lady Gaga because, you know, she entered the entertainment field through the kitchen.

I like people like that.

It is like working as a paraprofessional in a library where everybody treats the paraprofessionals like clerks until the librarians want to go home and want you to do the job of a librarian. And then going and getting your master's. And getting a job. And being nice to the paraprofessionals.

Not quite like that but -- you know what I mean.

Folks who enter through the kitchen are all right by me.

Alf from KTCL: Alf is great. I love driving home from my father's on Sunday nights because he has this retro show. He is about my age, too, so he always says little things that make me feel so WAY nostalgic.

Like I used to run home from the bus stop to watch MTV with the girl across the street, Stacey Barnett. (And if you ever Google yourself and hit on this blog entry, Stacey, please know that I found a pic of you on Google and, GIRL YOU LOOK FABULOUS. Really. You do. And I wouldn't just say that.)

Anyhoo. Tonight Alf said something about this Culture Club video and how it made him think of eating cereal in front of MTV.

I like other things about him, too. He's a local -- so we've got that, too. (Except he is a "Creeker" who graduated in '88.) Alf is an educated person. And educated in mathematics and Asian religion, to boot. That's just cool.

And he is out. If there is one thing to love, it is an out person.

So. Anyway. You're cool, Alf. I always, always want to call in a song for your Sunday night retro show but feel like you'll think whatever song I choose is a cliche. Like Wishing by FOS or Windows by Missing Persons.

But, Alf my brother, you sound pretty unassuming and cool, so that could just be me being my freaky self.

I also like Locals Only. That's great. You turned it from a show that no one wanted to host to a show that can help break a local act.

So, um, Alfie: If you are ever Googling yourself for kicks and you happen to read every single result and hit on this blog entry, would you please play the two songs I mentioned -- just some random Sunday -- during the retro show?

Thanks, my brother.

Peace out.

Always use your John Hancock, and, trust Jeanie, your life will go ever so smoothly ;)

These are screenshots from that AMAZING video by MGMT for their song Kids.

I made my papa watch it last night, because my Dad LOVES the movie The Wall -- so do I -- and so I thought he would dig it, with all the monsters walking about and whatnot.

(Dad was a little on the lukewarm side with the Kids video, but, you know, with your papa et al it is always good to get them to try new things.)

Onward: Usually the artwork I choose to go with posts has ZERO to nothing to do with what the post is about.

However, today the two photos have a marginal connection to the topic, which is about the CIA, NSA, FBI, etc., and government lists: getting on them, off them, whether they actually exist, what it takes to be noticed, on and on. I wrote a post about this first paragraph (below, covering last night's discussion with my Dad) before -- and really I've blabbed on a number of occasions (with keen insight, I might add ;) about stuff like intelligence technology and whether they really need your permission at this point to use it, on and on, but since I was hanging with my papa last night when it came up again, I decided to write a little refresher on my view.

At least about using your John Hancock in all cases to keep yourself off weird lists.

Basically I had sent my father to this blog to check out my latest video of my favorite person on earth, my ferret, Digger, PI, roaming the mean streets of my apartment building in Capitol Hill.

My Dad then sort of started checking out the rest of my blog -- he has seen it before but probably forgot -- and out of the blue he's like ...

"You want to get a job for the CIA?"

And I'm like: "Who's asking? What? Where are you looking?" Because, see, he had his laptop in front of him and we were sitting in his living room with my niece and nephew, who were totally absorbed in some dumb-ass Disney show designed for their demographic that was distracting me from my father's astute wonderings.

See, I did not know to what he was referring, so I had to move couches and have a look-see.

It turned out to be a rhetorical question, of course, his point being that if I ever wanted to get a job for the CIA -- say, working for the CIA Library, which I bet completely rocks and pays OK -- it is a safe bet that they might be irritated mildly by my flip statements on the blog profile about being a militant radical, professional subversive, etc.

And my answer to him was simple: If I were really a militant subversive -- and all the other things I listed as my occupation such as "infiltrator and overthrower" -- would I really advertise it? Would I put my John Hancock all over the place?

I don't think the government is concerned with people like me for a number of very simple reasons -- and NOT because I am one of those people who could care less re whether someone is listening because "I'm not doing anything wrong."

NOT. I AM SO NOT ONE OF THOSE "GO-AHEAD-AND-LISTEN-BECAUSE-I'M-NOT-DOING-ANYTHING-WRONG" TYPES. NO. NO. NO. NO. I AM NOT ONE OF THOSE FOLKS.

NO. NO. NO. NO.
NO. NO. NO. NO.
NO. NO. NO. NO.

SEE EXTENSIVE, EXTENSIVE THOUGHTS ON THIS ANGLE TO THIS CONVERSATION FAR BELOW -- TOWARD THE VERY, VERY END -- STARTING WITH ...

NO. NO. NO. NO.
NO. NO. NO. NO.
NO. NO. NO. NO.

Onward: The simplistic version of this blog post ...

First and foremost: I'm on the Grid. OH MY GOD I am so on the Grid. I've had the same land-line phone number for an eon to the power of 10.

No, I don't own a house, which I guess at age 40 makes me a little suspect, but I make up for it in a BIG way by collecting a paycheck -- the other way around, actually (by having it automatically deposited into a bank account).

The bank account. Social Security number. Credit card.

I am a cashless freak on most days.

I am just a freak, period, when it comes to plastic. Even I find it convenient, because I never have to find a receipt for anything. I never have to explain anything. My entire life is laid out there, month by month, on a single credit card. Imagine just how convenient all of us on the Grid are for the powers that would be. They don't need a list. We're it.

The Grid. Bottom line: That is a list. The perfect list.

The CIA doesn't need to worry too much about people who add themselves to a list just by living and breathing.

The folks they do worry about are not so much on the grid. Those are the folks for whom the lists are, mostly: People who entered the country on a student visa and then disappeared off the radar.

Folks who use disposable cell phones -- a lot of them -- like drug dealers from Honduras who have been deported and then turn around and reenter the United States with an ass full of, say, heroin.

Man gets deported. Reenters. Arrested. Jail time. Deported. Reenters. On and on. I'm sure more folks than just our friends at the CIA are worried about that.

*** BEGIN TRANSMISSION OF ONE OF JEANIE'S SIDE NOTES ***

A side note is that, I'm sorry but this is really obvious to me: You've got to ask yourself, about these guys who are dealing drugs in downtown Denver. What is so bad in Honduras that you would be willing to do that? To be deported and then reenter? Reenter after time in an American jail?

And to risk life and limb riding on trains through Mexico -- I guess Mexico unofficially HATES Hondurans slipping through Mexico on their way here -- to get back here to sell drugs to send the money back to mum and papa and the whole poverty stricken farming community.

You know?

Am I the only one who has seen "Maria Full of Grace"? Am I the only one who is like: Well, Honduras must be totally SHITTY for these folks.

Not that I appreciate them selling HEROIN downtown. And, believe me, I've seen firsthand what that SHIT can do to a person, and the person to whom I am referring, well, he did have an affinity for morphine sulfate before this bus-stop deal happened, but basically, and he swears this is true: He was at a bus stop downtown when someone asked him if he wanted to buy whatever amount of Heroin with which they start you off.

I do not know why he would lie about the bus stop. It just rings true to me. I can see it in my head.

He must have been having one hell of a day, because if one of these guys asked you, trust me, you'd be all like: "SECURITY!"

But ... who am I to judge, right?

(And, postscript: He's doing OK, my very, very close, inner-inner circle friend. Much, much later. Doing OK. It was a veritable trip through The Inferno for everybody involved, trust me. But he is on the climb skyward as of this month.)

*** END TRANSMISSION OF ONE OF JEANIE'S SIDE NOTES ***

Anyway, this has gone on quite longer than I intended, and I don't want to bore you anymore than usual, so I'll wrap up by saying that The Grid isn't the only compelling reason why you and I -- most of us, anyways -- are not on a government list. I might have said this before, but I knew a guy, a very, very, very smart guy, who believed he got on a government list because he surfed the wrong part of the CIA website or something like that. Lingered too long. You know.

I dunno. I do know that the government needs the lists to be manageable. Read: short. And that they try very hard to be nimble about the whole thing. They try to get you on there and off there as quickly as possible so they can focus on the real terrorists.

EEK. I cannot believe I just said that.

NO. NO. NO. NO.
NO. NO. NO. NO.
NO. NO. NO. NO.

This next part is so very, very important to me that I cannot believe I didn't start off with it ...

I AM NOT ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE WHO SAYS, AT A COCKTAIL PARTY OR WHEREVER: "I AM NOT TALKING ABOUT ANYTHING ILLEGAL OR DOING ANYTHING WRONG, SO THEY CAN GO AHEAD AND LISTEN TO MY CONVERSATIONS."

Oh, Honey, NO. No. We're not talking about the cliche of a slippery slope here.

Honey: We're talking about a dead drop. Straight down. Straight down to Iran. Straight to North Korea.

You do not want to be handing back freedoms.

You do not want to mess with your basic Civil Rights.

Trust me: Let's not even go there as a people.

Do not give up the cow just because they are selling the milk back to you in nice packaging.

No, Honey. No.

NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO.

I should have started off with this angle, and I apologize to you all that I did not and sounded like an idiot as a result. TRUST ME: I am not one of those.

I guess I was just blabbing on in response to my Dad's question. I was just saying that I am not so worried about a government so inept that they would keep me on a list for an unusual amount of time that I would hesitate to be flip about my occupation.

Say I was getting on a plane in Paris, going home, and -- just being my usual exhausted bipolar self -- called someone from an airport payphone to say that I was worried about something, say about the airport folks rounding up all the Americans and corralling them into a certain part of the airport.

In keeping with the I-don't-want-anyone-listening-to-my-phone-calls view of life on Earth, I would not want to be put on any weird list.

I guess I am saying I am not important enough. And that surely someone would see the flip-ness in the laundry list I have written after Occupation on my blogger profile:

militant radical / professional subversive / infiltrator and overthrower / agitator / resistance leader / commie / communist / democratic socialist / demonstrator / activist / protester -- on and on!

Surely the word "flip" would enter someone's mind by the time they got to those last three words.

And if the world were not safe like that, if you could not assume that the world were such that you could write that, then we would not be here. We'd be in Iran or North Korea.

And we would do something about it.

At least I and my recovering addict friend would.

Digger, PI, evades capture once again on mean streets of 1540 Logan ...

So, yeah, that's my little buddy. And here's the latest interesting library info from ALA -- there is also some interesting research coming out of Rutgers, but I'll blab on about that in a future post:

"Opening General Session speaker Christie Hefner drew a clear parallel between businesses and libraries in terms of what they need to do to survive. She noted how, as Playboy CEO, she came to the conclusion that the company 'didn’t want to be a magazine company -- we wanted to be a company that represented a style of content.' That led Playboy to expand to television in the 1980s, the internet in the 90s, and mobile devices today.

"Libraries, she said, can not simply fill the traditional roles of providing books and research materials. Hefner suggested several ways libraries can and are moving beyond those roles, including the online distribution of materials, instantaneous translation of materials, bridging the digital divide, and partnering with both for-profit and non-profit entities. 'Who could you partner with to make having and using a library card really cool?' Hefner queried."

The full article is at http://www.al.ala.org/insidescoop/2009/07/11/opening-general-session-christie-hefner-on-change-business-and-the-first-amendment/

On the beauty of YouTube being immeasurable II

The beauty of YouTube is immeasurable ...

“I don’t believe in colleges and universities. I believe in libraries.” -- Ray Bradbury

A Literary Legend Fights for a Local Library

By JENNIFER STEINHAUER
The New York Times

Published: June 19, 2009

VENTURA, Calif. — When you are pushing 90, have written scores of famous novels, short stories and screenplays, and have fulfilled the goal of taking a simulated ride to Mars, what’s left?

“Bo Derek is a really good friend of mine and I’d like to spend more time with her,” said Ray Bradbury, peering up from behind an old television tray in his den.

An unlikely answer, but Mr. Bradbury, the science fiction writer, is very specific in his eccentric list of interests, and his pursuit of them in his advancing age and state of relative immobility.

This is a lucky thing for the Ventura County Public Libraries — because among Mr. Bradbury’s passions, none burn quite as hot as his lifelong enthusiasm for halls of books. His most famous novel, “Fahrenheit 451,” which concerns book burning, was written on a pay typewriter in the basement of the University of California, Los Angeles, library; his novel “Something Wicked This Way Comes” contains a seminal library scene.

Mr. Bradbury frequently speaks at libraries across the state, and on Saturday he will make his way here for a benefit for the H. P. Wright Library, which like many others in the state’s public system is in danger of shutting its doors because of budget cuts.

“Libraries raised me,” Mr. Bradbury said. “I don’t believe in colleges and universities. I believe in libraries because most students don’t have any money. When I graduated from high school, it was during the Depression and we had no money. I couldn’t go to college, so I went to the library three days a week for 10 years.”

Property tax dollars, which provide most of the financing for libraries in Ventura County, have fallen precipitously, putting the library system roughly $650,000 in the hole. Almost half of that amount is attributed to the H. P. Wright Library, which serves roughly two-thirds of this coastal city about 50 miles northwest of Los Angeles.

In January the branch was told that unless it came up with $280,000 it would close. The branch’s private fund-raising group, San Buenaventura Friends of the Library, has until March to reach its goal; so far it has raised $80,000.

Enter Mr. Bradbury. While at a meeting concerning the library, Berta Steele, vice president of the friends group, ran into Michael Kelly, a local artist who runs the Ray Bradbury Theater and Film Foundation, a group dedicated to arts and literacy advocacy. Mr. Kelly told Ms. Steele that he could get Mr. Bradbury up to Ventura to help the library’s cause.

On Saturday, the two organizations will host a $25-a-head discussion with Mr. Bradbury and present a screening of “The Wonderful Ice Cream Suit,” a film based on his short story of the same name.

The fund-raiser’s financial goal is not a long-term fix. That would come only if property taxes crawl back up or voters approve a proposed half-cent increase in the local sales tax in November, some of which would go to libraries.

Fiscal threats to libraries deeply unnerve Mr. Bradbury, who spends as much time as he can talking to children in libraries and encouraging them to read.

The Internet? Don’t get him started. “The Internet is a big distraction,” Mr. Bradbury barked from his perch in his house in Los Angeles, which is jammed with enormous stuffed animals, videos, DVDs, wooden toys, photographs and books, with things like the National Medal of Arts sort of tossed on a table.

“Yahoo called me eight weeks ago,” he said, voice rising. “They wanted to put a book of mine on Yahoo! You know what I told them? ‘To hell with you. To hell with you and to hell with the Internet.’

“It’s distracting,” he continued. “It’s meaningless; it’s not real. It’s in the air somewhere.”
A Yahoo spokeswoman said it was impossible to verify Mr. Bradbury’s account without more details.

Mr. Bradbury has long been known for his clear memory of some of life’s events, and that remains the case, he said. “I have total recall,” he said. “I remember being born. I remember being in the womb, I remember being inside. Coming out was great.”

He also recalled watching the film “Pumping Iron,” which features Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger in his body-building days, and how his personal recommendation of the film for an Academy Award helped spark Mr. Schwarzenegger’s Hollywood career. He remembers lining his four daughters’ cribs with Golden Books when they were tiny. And he remembers meeting Ms. Derek on a train in France years ago.

“She said, ‘Mr. Bradbury.’ I said, ‘Yes.’ She said: ‘I love you! My name is Bo Derek.’ ”
Ms. Derek’s spokeswoman, Rona Menashe, said the story was true. She said her client would like to see some more of Mr. Bradbury, too.

Mr. Bradbury’s wife, Maggie, to whom he was married for over five decades, died in 2003. He turns 89 in August.

When he is not raising money for libraries, Mr. Bradbury still writes for a few hours every morning (“I can’t tell you,” is the answer to any questions on his latest book); reads George Bernard Shaw; receives visitors including reporters, filmmakers, friends and children of friends; and watches movies on his giant flat-screen television.

He can still be found regularly at the Los Angeles Public Library branch in Koreatown, which he visited often as a teenager.

“The children ask me, ‘How can I live forever, too?’ ” he said. “I tell them do what you love and love what you do. That’s the story on my life.”