Thanks to conservative know-nothing white schmuck Iowa Representative Steve King — a man who believes that Joe McCarthy was "a hero for America" — and others, Berkeley's main post office will not be renamed after local hero Maudelle Shirek. The Chronicle has the infuriating story.

According to the St. Petersburg Times, the lyrics Jim Morrison wrote for The Doors' first three albums were largely about his ex, one Mary Werbelow, who has never spoken to the press. Until now.

Morrison has always struck me as one of the twentieth century's great poets in pain*. I've never listened to the three albums in question — I've just got the ubiquitous two-disc "Best of the Doors" compilation — but I've been on quite a classic rock kick lately, so perhaps it's time to finally explore them.

[*A memory: An enchanting and sylphlike girl named Selby introduced me to the phrase "poet in pain" back in college. She described me with those words before adding heaps more pain to the load I already carried at the time. She then danced, awkwardly, out of my life forever. I very likely listened to some of The Doors' darker stuff while I was lamenting her exit.]

I remember reading this Malcolm Gladwell piece in the New Yorker back in 2000, and am glad to see it up on Gladwell's site, since the New Yorker doesn't put their archives up on the Web. I think that every woman on the Pill should give this a read. Synopsis: The Pill's chief designer didn't know as much about how women's bodies "should" work as he thought he did. Result: Uncertain, but there's a lot of interesting info in here that I'd imagine you'd be interested in if you are putting a chemical into your body every day that affects your reproductive system. There's also some discussion of the article over at MetaFilter, where I found the link today.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Three cheers for rubbers and diaphragms!

Yes, I came back from the playa in one piece. Changed, but in one piece. Pictures will post soon, and a few of them are really great. I've had damn little time for proper "decompression" (the Burner word for re-integrating yourself into the non-playa world without going nuts), having been Best Man in a best friend's wedding a few short days after I returned, and having been kept on a total freaking treadmill by work and a few other obligations since then. I just want things to calm down and be still for a day or two, but it's looking like there's no chance of that for at least another week. Sigh.