Stare.
 
2006 Notebook: Weak XXXVII
 
   
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10 September 2006
No. 6,140 (cartoon)
You’re being rude.

You’re being insignificant.

11 September 2006
Milking Thousands of Corpses
It’s been five years since big jets crashed like flies—gigantic kamikaze flies full of tons of explosive jet fuel—killing thousands of Americans here and there. That was, of course, certainly a tragedy, but then again that many people die every day in various civil wars thither and yon.

And today, every scumbag and shameless opportunist from the president on down is claiming that thousands of five-year old corpses justify their vile perfidies. Such unbelievably grotesque behavior makes conspiracy theorists’ claims that the government itself was behind the atrocities seem relatively plausible.

I wonder why Building Seven did collapse?

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12 September 2006
San Diego Cocktail Hours
I’m having a great time visiting Dick here in San Diego. Dick reminds me a lot of my late father; they were born a couple of years apart. There’s something about men of that generation I find quite endearing, especially when it comes to the cocktail hour.

Dick’s very generous with his bourbon, and I’m grateful. Whenever I hear him announce, “I think I’ll pour myself a drink,” I know there’s fun to be had. I suppose there are lots of stories, as well, but I can’t seem to remember any of them.

And so, I think I’ll pour myself another drink.

13 September 2006
No More Funeral Strippers
It’s not easy living under the yoke of communism (or capitalism either); just ask oppressed Chinese mourners. Grieving residents in the province of Jiangsu may no longer find solace in strippers at funerals. Sad but true.

According to the Beijing News, striptease artists at a farmer’s 16 August funeral were arrested after their performance. It’s like Ronal Reagan observed early in his senility, “When strippers are outlawed at funerals, only outlaws will disrobe in front of the dead.”

Of well, no one ever said it was easy being Chinese; I wonder what new strategy the citizens of Donghai county will use to draw an impressive number of mourners? I’d advise free corn whisky and Hunan popcorn.

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14 September 2006
The Only Good Mural in San Francisco
San Francisco is full of murals, most of which depict noble peasants and their doe-eyed brood, throbbing tractors, and gaudy rainbows. After seeing a number of these in succession, I sometimes I feel like I’m back in the Soviet Union. The problem, of course, is that this civic vandalism is designed by committees to get government “arts” administraitors to pay inexpensive laborers to execute the platitudinous designs.

A pox on dreck!

Fortunately, there’s one good mural in San Francisco; it’s at the Ace Junkyard. The mural on the corrugated-steel wall depicts no serfs, barnyards, or new-age nasties. Instead, the image features a head of a stupid dog and the tail of a cat(?) in front of a patchwork of paint swatches. Any mural featuring a worthless mongrel that’s not execrable to view is, if only by default, a good mural.

15 September 2006
Interesting, But Not of Interest
What’s more annoying, people who take art too seriously or artists who take themselves too seriously? I suppose it’s one of those transcendental questions like, “What’s the sound of one hand slapping?”

That’s why I’m grateful to Giorgio Agamben for answering the question without acknowledging it, which is perhaps the only way to address such an incorporeal query.

“Only because art has left the sphere of interest to become merely interesting,” Agamben observed, “do we welcome it so warmly.”

16 September 2006
The Devil’s Avocado
I’m having a most tedious lunch with Gerrit. I can’t make a simple, declarative statement without starting an argument. In short, Gerrit’s being really annoying, just like I usually am. Although I knew better than to acknowledge that he was bothering me, I did anyway.

“Do you have to dispute everything I say?” I asked.

“Don’t take it personally,” Gerrit replied, “I’m just playing devil’s avocado.”

Gerrit became visibly frustrated when I refused to acknowledge his malapropism; I was surprised that my gambit worked. I hope Gerrit learned his lesson, and won’t try again to see if he can be even more irritating than me.

17 September 2006
Fornication Pants
I just read that Mormon leader Brigham Young described denim work trousers, or blue jeans, as “fornication pants.” I wonder what words the scandalous old polygamist would have used to describe very short skirts?

I’d guess he might have referred to such a miniscule garment as, “heaven’s gate.” (That was not a reference to the Heaven’s Gate cult of suicidal idiots.) If I ever meet someone from the LSD church, I shall inquire.

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©2006 David Glenn Rinehart