More than one million women (or 500,000 from the more conservative media outlets) marched on Washington yesterday. But apparently it wasn’t enough to dominate the news. The Mobilization March on November 15, 1969, the largest antiwar protest in U.S. history, had a crowd estimated between 250,000 and 500,000 and it caused Nixon to announce two months later that ending the war would be “a major goal of United States policy.” Somehow, I don’t think we’ll be getting anything like that from Bush (with twice the turnout of Mobilization) in June. That’s nothing less than a goddam travesty.

[UPDATE: And a psuedo-blackout from the blogosphere too. Nothing whatsoever about the rally at Megnut, another tired potshot at Wonkette, an acknowledgment over at Oliver’s (although overshadowed by a long essay, “Can the Right Fight Terrorism?”), a photo at Atrios, and some live coverage at Kos. But it’s all pretty much reflecting the status quo. 1 million people. What does it take to be newsworthy? Or have protests lost their efficacy? Or is “feminist” a dirty word? Or does nobody want to talk about it? And, no, Scribbling Woman, you ain’t chopped liver.]

[4/29/04 UPDATE: Just talked with someone who got back from Washington. She said there was definitely a million.]

I mean, George wrote the thing in an hour and all. But that hasn’t stopped “Yellow Submarine” from being turned into a book.

Apparently, in Rochester, NY, the late John Gardner still has groupies. It’s been twenty-two years since Gardner died in a motorcycle accident, but that hasn’t stopped folks from festooning leather jackets.

Either The Magic 7 has spent years in development or someone really knew how to plan for a 2004 release in the early 1990s. Or there’s some digital weirdness. Or…well, you make the call. Two dead talents, John Candy and Madeline Kahn, are involved with this animated production. Candy himself has been dead for a decade. Now it’s worth noting that writer-director Roger Holzberg hasn’t helmed a film since 1995. But I’m seriously creeped out by the idea of taking voices from the past and putting them down to contemporary cinema. Is someone sitting on some John Belushi tapes? Can we expect Andy Kaufman to voice the next Disney extravaganza with unreleased Janis Joplin audition tapes set to horrid Sting sequencing? Holzberg owes us all an explanation.

Carrie A.A. Frye’s over at Maud’s this week, “primed in her tangerine muumuu.” This makes a good deal of sense to me, largely because I’ve always associated prime numbers with the color orange. Other immediate color associations which come to mind: sepia tones and oddball diner to-go cartons, goldenrod mimeographs, and the wild chartreuse decor of mid-1990s urban splendor. What happened to tie-dye camoflauge or Wired’s early chromatic schemes? When did pink and emerald green (the color that the eye perceives the strongest; hence, night vision goggles) become so dreaded? There’s a particular colored gel look in Dario Argento’s 1970s films that suggests an hyperrealized haunted house, and I haven’t seen it in a while. And a publicist has encouraged me to generate images in red and black. These days, it’s either over-the-top vibrancy or the subdued racket.