That last entry--the one about sex and a headache--I really sort of regret because it relies on a cliche. It's true of almost any joke about wives, girl friends, mothers-in-law, and lawyers. And usually they're insincere, sort of "I love my wife, but, oh, you joke." And it reminds me of Ray Bradbury.

At one time I had no author I liked better than Ray Bradbury.  Dandelion Wine is still a book of poetic prose that's never been topped, and The Martian Chronicles; and The Illustrated Man are so imaginative and evoke so many emotions that they are eerie.  When I was much younger, I wrote Bradbury a note, and he answered , in his own handwriting, giving encouragement and advice to someone wanting to be one-tenth the writer he was.

Then, a while back, I saw Bradbury on some TV talk show.  His entire conversation was rife with misogynsm, and Bradbury was laughing mightily at all his own sexist jokes. He was the kind of conservative that would make Sean Hannity proud. I don't think he even realized he was talking like a prick--or if he did, he didn't care.  A man I'd admired, whose fingers were golden, had feet of Silly Putty.