In a stunning reversal of decades of copyright claims, a federal judge in Los Angeles has ruled that Warner/Chappell Music does not hold a valid copyright claim to the “Happy Birthday To You” song.
Warner had been enforcing its copyright claim since it paid $15 million to buy Birch Tree Group, the successor to Clayton F. Summy Co., which owned the original copyright. The song brings in about $2 million a year in royalties for Warner, according to some estimates.
Judge George H. King ruled Tuesday afternoon that a copyright filed by the Summy Co. in 1935 granted only the rights to specific arrangements of the music, not the actual song.
“Because Summy Co. never acquired the rights to the Happy Birthday lyrics,” wrote King, “Defendants, as Summy Co.’s purported successors-in-interest, do not own a valid copyright in the Happy Birthday lyrics.”
There is the physical, and there is the mental, and some of us try to keep the two discretely, even discreetly, apart — to our eternal humiliation. Not even Frank Sinatra can help us.
Perhaps the most famous National Lampoon cover of them all was January 1973, the Death Issue, in which the threat was made: “If You Don’t Buy This Magazine, We’ll Kill This Dog.” Of course, nobody in those halcyon days of 1973 would ever consider actually shooting a dog.
But that was then in New York City, and this is 2015 in Troupe, Texas:
The ad began, “I need someone to come shoot my dog.” It went on to lament, “no one here has the heart to do it.”
The owner finished off by offering to help, adding, “we will provide the gun.”
So generous, this owner. Who, mercifully, is no longer the owner:
Three-year-old Cinnamon isn’t dead, but she does have a new place to stay.
Animal control officers alerted to the message quickly picked up the Saint Bernard/English bulldog mix. KHOU reports the animal’s owner told them the large dog had become too much to care for and wouldn’t stay out of the trash.
No charges will be filed, since no shooting was actually performed. And frankly, a Saint Bernard/anything mix is likely to be a bit, um, unsmallish.
Last week, while gawking shamelessly at Kerry Washington, I allowed that maybe Bellamy Young was no slouch. In retrospect, this seems awfully dismissive. We’ll begin with another shot from the same photoshoot that yielded up that EW cover:
And by herself:
Minor point of interest: the name “Bellamy” came about because there was already an Amy Young on the rolls of the Screen Actors Guild.
I mean, seriously:
And yes, you can be a very serious and substantial woman and also allow the planets to rule your soul! #astrology
— Lena Dunham (@lenadunham) September 21, 2015
The Sagittarius in me says that this is a load of Taurus.
Fried chicken: Charlotte Hornets center Al Jefferson craves it and he knows it’s off his menu in the effort to lose as much as 25 pounds.
So when a certain commercial comes on the television, Big Al grabs for the remote.
“Every Popeye’s commercial I see, I have to turn the TV off,” Jefferson said Thursday.
If you’re Al Jefferson, I hope you have a heck of a season, and please don’t click on this.
With My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic just beyond halfway through Season Five, with the sixth season already graven in stone and probably already storyboarded, this is about the point where you start to wonder: do they start going through the motions, or are they going to try to keep cranking up the brilliance?
“Rarity Investigates!” pretty well answered that question, for now anyway, in favor of that second alternative: I continue to be delighted by the show’s sheer audacity. This isn’t the first time MLP:FiM has tried to solve a mystery, but I wouldn’t have expected it to go almost totally noir — though Rarity, Celestia knows, is as fatale a femme as you’ll find in Equestria. William Anderson’s background music, as always, was on point, and while I had turned to take a sip of a minor libation, I heard the subtle strains of a muted trumpet. Perfect, I thought, and turned back to the screen to see this:
Of course they did. (Anderson played it himself, I’m told.) And they even replaced the outro theme with more of the same. The subtween girls at whom the show is officially pitched are getting all sorts of unexpected cultural familiarization beyond merely “buy these toys”; the rest of us simply smile a lot.
You say “wearable technology,” and people think you’re talking about either (1) a watch or (2) some weirdly designed dress riven with circuitry. This time, or at least one out of two times this time, it’s different:
Chromat’s new line includes two garments powered by Intel Curie, an incredibly small low-power chip that’s the perfect base for responsive wearables. These garments are a 3D-printed dress that structurally reacts to a rise in your adrenaline levels, and a new sports bra that responds to changes in breathing, perspiration and body temperature by opening vents to keep you cool.
I’m ever-so-slightly put off by a dress controlled by adrenaline, but the sports bra sounds actually useful:
The sports bra, full title Chromat Aeros Sports Bra, is made from Lycra, neoprene, mesh, and a 3D-printed carbon-fiber frame. It will open vents to cool down your body when it senses increased levels of heat and sweat, allowing you to exercise harder for longer periods of time. So long boob sweat, you shall not be missed!
Price goes unstated for now, as it probably should, but I can’t imagine that there will be only one of these on the market for too awfully long.
I am currently having issues with the icemaker with my 12-year-old Sears Kenmore fridge, though otherwise the machine works fine; one of these days I’ll get a new icemaker put in, but for the meantime old-fashioned — well, plastic, not those godawful metal things with the pull-lever — ice trays are meeting the need.
This is is my 9 month old Kenmore 22.3 cu. ft. Counter-Depth French Door Refrigerator in Stainless Steel. It’s so shiny! Unfortunately, it doesn’t work anymore. Some seal broke so now it just looks pretty. And oh boy doesn’t it shine! It matches perfectly with my Kenmore stove, microwave; and dishwasher.
I do need to eat food though and quite often food has to be refrigerated and not held in a shiny room temperature box so I called for repair. Originally they told me I would have to wait 2 weeks for someone to come fix it. I told them I would probably be tired of eating spaghetti by then. The nice lady put me on hold and said they could send someone today. The even nicer gentlemen came today and tried to fix it. He told me the part he needed wouldn’t come in until October 7th. That’s a lot of spaghetti! He told me that my lovely refrigerator was “a piece of shit” and that I should sell it. How sad! It’s so pretty!
Like someone’s going to buy a fridge that doesn’t work, unless you knock a whole bunch off the price.
Thus began the Sears Kenmore Refrigerator Diet, easy recipes for people who have no way to keep stuff cold. The sarcasm is deep, but you have to figure it’s appropriate.
The one characteristic that applies to all sleep medicines: if they work at all, eventually they stop working. Trying a new one, therefore, is fraught with peril:
It’d been a while since I’d tried anything new because, frankly, after a bunch of decades at this, you get USED to being exhausted and running on “dim” or, as I like to call it, “energy-saving mode.” True, I sometimes think, “I bet I would have cured cancer already, had I been able to get plenty of quality sleep every night, all during my life. And had I not gotten the D in chemistry and been at all interested in science.” My doctor has given me STERN warnings that I need to sleep because this will “kill” me. Ok doc then gimme some good drugs. Not drugs with butterflies. I need drugs with velociraptors.
Alas, butterflies are all you get:
The Lunesta … oh how I wish it had worked. It looked so promising. The marketing! See the pretty diaphanous butterfly? The website says it’s very “fast-acting” and warns that you shouldn’t even TAKE this pill unless you’re strapped into bed in your strait jacket and have hired a home nurse or Joe Don Baker to stand vigil. All this because you will be completely zonked out in a fucking minute, you skeptic you, and you will likely be trying to paint your home’s exterior overnight, ALONE, in your deeply restful dream state.
Pfft. No piñata confetti. Not so much as a plastic drink umbrella in the bedding this morning.
The doctor will be sending over a script for Belsomra (suvorexant), a totally new concept in sleeping pills, with a totally new level of TV-commercial creepiness:
If the little cloud creatures don’t scare you to death, the warnings will.
In case you’ve been spending all your time in the Real World — or worse, in the Political World, which is much the same except that everyone lies about the price of everything — this is a standard Monday-morning feature, wherein we disclose some of the wackier motivations people have for reading this site, based solely on the search strings they used to get here.
why is the gearbox hunting for gears in the mazda 626: Same reason fruitbats hunt for fruit. Except more expensive, of course.
shiftless individuals: Well, yeah. Their gearboxes are out hunting for gears.
ringjob sex: Few mechanics I know will allow you to work off your repair bill.
world tour fishing couldn’t connect to gate server: A poor choice of bait, perhaps?
all purchases until march 2016 10.9%-18.9% capital one classic platinum credit card: Said the guy who thinks he’s actually going to get ten point nine.
isis lures women with dank memes: Yet this sort of thing never seems to work for you. Why do you think that is?
wrench dressing: All you really need is a light penetrating oil.
donald davis developed a nutrient quality index: While sitting in the drive-thru at Taco Bell.
huey lewis penis: Happy to be stuck with it, were you?
george shrinks car: And yet it still wouldn’t get over 19 mpg, whereupon George threw himself to the ground and shrieked for several hours.
ariana grande covered in sperm: Um, that’s not actually an area we cover.
did you ever have the feeling: Why do you think we drink?
the most lewd and vulgar video webcam jailbait girls: Someone’s auditioning for a sequel to The 40-Year-Old Virgin.
“Svatební průvod” means something like “wedding march” in Czech, but this song somehow doesn’t sound particularly matrimonial, if you know what I mean, and I think you do:
The lyric, by Czech composer Jiří Grossmann (1941-1971), is set to a possibly recognizable tune. I include the 45 sleeve of the single for reasons of Cute Overload.
I was as flabbergasted as anyone, I suppose, when I heard that John Tyler (1790-1862), 10th President of the United States — he was William Henry Harrison’s Vice-President, and succeeded to the office on Harrison’s death in 1841 — has two grandsons still alive today.
Still, there is always Something More Amazing. Apparently an actual motion picture of someone born in the 1700s exists:
From the YouTube description:
This scene is a part of the very first film shot produced by the Manaki Brothers. Despina, Janaki and Milton Manaki’s grandmother, was recorded weaving in one high-angle shot. For no apparent reason, the first shot made in Macedonia, in the Balkans in fact, made by these two cinematography pioneers, contains peculiar symbolics: at the moment when the grandmother Despina spins the weaving wheel, film starts rolling in our country.
The movie from 1905 is created in standard technique, without sound, in black and white and 35mm.
At the time, according to a Manaki memoir, Despina was 114 years old, making her one year younger than John Tyler.
This is 16 DeLong Street in San Francisco’s Outer Mission neighborhood, and it can be yours for a mere $350,000:
This 1906, um, structure is billed as being “in need of work.” “Why bother?” was my immediate thought. Bill Quick, who lives in SF, is probably closer to the mark:
It’s actually a better neighborhood than my own. And forget that “fixer-upper” stuff. This is a teardown. They’re asking a third of a million for the lot.
How big a lot, you ask? Says the news article, 1,633 square feet. This 765-square-foot house — not really that small, says the guy who looked at a couple of 800-ish homes while house-shopping in 2003 — therefore occupies about 47 percent of the lot; if you did that in my neighborhood you’d be accused of McMansioning.
Still, in my neighborhood land is valued, per the county assessor, at around $100,000 per acre. For this little slice of nothing in San Francisco, all 0.0375 acre of it, they’re asking $9.3 million per acre.
Or … is it?
Apparently that’s her real name; certainly the Hawks are a real team. (60-22 last year, losing to Cleveland in the Eastern finals.)