Fahrenheit 1822

That, at least, was my sarcastic labeling of the movie "Fahrenheit 9/11" when a friend announced he had seen it twice. At the time, I was baiting a political conversation among friends at a BBQ, knowing my friend admires Michael Moore and loves arguing politics. So all I had to do was ask him in front of others whether he had yet seen the movie, saying little more than I did not intend to pay money to do so myself, and then politely stepping back, having ignited the predictable fireworks.

My only other contribution before the conversation approached an incendiary level was a bit of trivia I had recently read about the origin of Ray Bradbury's novel, "Fahrenheit 451." It was Bradbury's first novel, written over fifty years ago during a time when he struggled to make a living cranking out stories for one or two cents per word.

While wandering the halls of a library at UCLA he heard the sound of typewriters clacking away from a room in the basement. He discovered that it contained typewriters one could rent for ten cents per half hour by dropping a dime into a slot. So during the next nine days, shuttling upstairs into the library for quotes and inspiration, and again downstairs to type furiously, he produced a first draft of the now classic "Fahrenheit 451" for $9.80.

Such a deal.