Stare.
 
2003 Notebook: Weak V
 
   
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30 January 2003
No. 5,732 (cartoon)
I’ll never forgive you.

That means you’ll never forget me.

You’re more abhorrent than I thought.

31 January 2003
An Increasingly Tiresome Contemporary Mantra
Scientists go on and on and on some more about stopping time. So what? I have photographs of friends from thirty years ago. They’re as frozen in time as ancient insects in amber. I think scientists take science much too seriously, just as artists take art much too seriously.

I believe that I just discovered the essential nexus between art and science.

Art and science, art and science, art and science. “Art and science” is an increasingly tiresome contemporary mantra. And now it could be time for a nap.

1 February 2003
Need Another Seven Astronauts
Neil woke me up with an early-morning phone call.

“David,” Neil queried, “What does NASA stand for?”

“Need Another Seven Astronauts,” I replied on somnambulist autopilot.

“So I guess you heard,” Neil said dejectedly.

“Let’s see if I understand what’s going on before my first double-espresso,” I said. “You woke me up with a joke that’s twenty-years old to tell me another space shuttle’s toast.”

“Actually, the last shuttle blew up only seventeen years ago,” Neil replied. “Until this morning, that is.”

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2 February 2003
Martini Rice for One
For years, I’ve never been able to cook the right amount of rice for a solo lunch. I inadvertently cook too much, with predictable results. But that was before I discovered a second use for my martini glass.

It turns out that the same humble glass that delivers a modestly-sized cocktail also serves as a perfect measure for rice. One glass of rice, two glasses of water, the odd vegetable or two, perhaps part of something that used to swim, and it’s lunch. With a provocatively empty glass.

3 February 2003
No More Play, No More Art
Lou Harrison died yesterday. A heart attack at eighty-five. Not a bad way to go, I suppose.

I never really appreciated Lou’s music; he was too intelligent for me. I do, however, fondly remember visiting him at his home in Aptos, California. Dr. Wiles, who accompanied me on the introductory trip, looked at the Pacific Ocean vista and opined, “it must be wonderful to listen to the ocean.”

“Hell, no!” Lou replied. (This was some fifteen years ago, so I’m paraphrasing.) “How can anyone think with all that noise?”

I inherited that lovely anecdote from Lou along with two beautiful quotes.

“There are so many musics that I’m attracted to. I’m fortunate that I laid out my toys on a very large acreage when I was very young.”

“When there’s no more play, there’s no more art.”

Very large acreage, no more Lou play, no more Lou art.

4 February 2003
Meeting Johnny Winter
Julianna invited me out for drinks tonight, so I of course accepted. (Even though I have no manners, even I know enough not to decline a free drink.) When I sat down with Julianna at her table, I immediately recognized one of her guests.

“Forgive me for asking,” I began, “but aren’t you Johnny Winter?”

Johnny nodded, in passing.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t sure,” I said, “you look completely different from the way I remember you from high school.”

“That’s very strange indeed,” Johnny agreed, “you look exactly the same as you did fifty years ago.”

I smiled, blushed, and left.

Johnny Winter is an hombre!

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©2003 David Glenn Rinehart