What does the Pentagon do when confronted with the widespread use of a potentially incriminating technology? It bans it, of course. Under new military regulations, digital cameras, camcorders, and phonecams are now verboten in Iraq. Not surprising, given that new photographs of prisoner abuse are turning up on an almost daily basis, but I have serious doubts about whether this ban can be easily enforced. There must be thousands of digicams and phonecams bouncing around in the pockets and knapsacks of soldiers and civilians alike in every corner of that country. Does the military brass plan on finding and confiscating all of them? I’m willing to wager that we’ll still continue to see unauthorized images leak out of Iraq long after the ban is put in place.
Over on Wonkette’s blog, I’ve been following the saga of the Washingtonienne. For those of you not in the know, the Washingtonienne was a former Senate aide who started a blog; the main topic of said blog was her various sexual exploits with assorted and sundry government officials. The Washingtonienne lost her Senate job once her boss got wind of the blog’s existence. She’ll probably get a book deal or a gig on MTV because of the whole brouhaha. And why not? She doesn’t seem too embarrassed by her conduct and it’s hardly any different than a guy bragging about his conquests. Yet we still have this cultural meme from antebellum times that young women are supposed to be coquettish, or at least discrete. What a bunch of gender-biased crap. She’d probably still have her job if she was a man. I know that if we had been colleagues and by some (major) miracle we had an intimate moment, I’d expect her to write all about it.
That’s it. I’m starting a separate blog about the sexual adventures of a minor government functionary in Minnesota who happens to be disabled. It will recount in lurid detail his freaky-deaky encounters with people in positions of power and the secrets he acquires when others are at their most vulnerable.
Oh, who am I kidding. Nobody would ever believe that shit. Hell, I wouldn’t believe it if I read it.

As is being reported in dozens of other blogs, Michael Moore has won the Palme d’Or at this year’s Cannes Film Festival for his film “Fahrenheit 9/11.” The right-wingers have probably already begun making jokes about Moore winning an award, never mind that the lead jury member is an American. Lots of people will heap disdain on Moore for even being able to say “thank you” in French. I can’t wait to see the film and I hope to find some people to go with me. It’s one of those things that is more fun to see with a bunch of people and then dissect over beer with people afterwards. As a filmmaker, I think Michael Moore is perceptive and self-effacing. Other than that little stunt with Charlton Heston, Bowling for Columbine was a funny, insightful, and humane movie. He knows how to step back and let his subjects reveal themselves to the camera, which is why the bit with Heston was kind of disappointing. I have a copy of Moore’s last book sitting on my shelf; I’m hesitant to read it because I’m afraid I’ll find it more polemical than his movies.
The sun hasn’t shown itself in the last two and a half days. I actually like streaks of gray weather like this; it’s good thinking weather I could live in Seatle or London without any problem. In fact, I’d probably get more writing done if I lived somewhere where the climate was in a pissier mode year-round.

The American public school system has always excelled at inculcating a herd mentality in the country’s youth. Students are taught to value conformity in everything from wardrobe choices to musical tastes. But in this post-Columbine, post 9/11 Bizarro world we inhabit, a lot of school administrators are starting to act like petty, anti-intellectual tyrants. Kids are suspended for writing fiction and poetry that some adults label as “dark” or “disturbing.” Teachers are getting laid off after their students read poetry critical of the Bush administration. The Secret Service gets called in when a teacher sees a student’s anti-war drawings. Artistic expression and free speech have become bothersome and inconvenient concepts for many school districts. I’m not worried about the kids; the ones with the creative spark will continue to draw and write and think. But amidst all the propaganda from the White House about exporting freedom, I find it terribly ironic that we allow this kind of behavior in our own institutions of learning.

Tonight, a short entry to compensate for yesterday’s rambling. First, congratulations to the happy couples in Massachusetts who are now able to enjoy the benefits of state-sanctioned marriage. Let”s hope that the religious right doesn’t spoil the party with a constitutional ban or some such foolishness. I could be wrong, but I don’t think this is going to materialize into a wedge issue for Bush. The problem for those who oppose gay marriage is they can’t articulate how it hurts anyone else. Straight people are still going to get married (and divorced) just like before.
Second, Enterprise got renewed? Um, yay, I guess? I was kind of hoping the Star Trek franchise would get a rest and maybe come back with something fresh and original. But because I’m such a tool, I’ll still watch the damn thing, if only to glimpse Jolene Blaylock’s navel once in a while.

Why is it that all movies set in ancient historical times have their characters speak in British accents? Do we somehow associate that style of speech with grander, more epic eras? I was sitting in the movie theater yesterday, watching Brad Pitt trying to act all classical and heroic, and I suddenly wondered what Achilles would sound like with a deep Southern drawl or a thick Scottish brogue. Yes, my attention wandered during the film. It wasn’t a bad movie, but after the second or third mano a mano fight scene, I got kind of bored.
I also rented this made-for-cable movie titled Door to Door. William H. Macy plays a door-to-door salesman with cerebral palsy who got his job in the mid Fifties, when it was extremely rare for anyone with a disability to be employed. Macy nails the mannerisms and speech of someone with CP. As for the story itself, eh. I guess it’s based on a real person and I admired his drive to live and work independently, but I didn’t necessarily like him. Maybe it was the whole salesman schtick. The thought of selling laundry detergent and dog biscuits for decade after decade fills me with a peculiar kind of horror. But I can understand his desire to stick with a job that had some degree of security for him. The movie also painted him as a kind of social idiot, pushing away any real close friendships and even, apparently, a romantic opportunity. Maybe I just got a little sensitive because sometimes I worry about going through the rest of my life essentially alone.
Some of you know my fondness for tornado porn. Here’s a cool video clip showing a twister going medieval on some poor house.