free (and worth it) subscription

An Artist’s Notebook of Sorts

Last Weak  |  Index  |  Next Weak



10 September 2011

gratuitous image

No. 1,118 (cartoon)

You’re ignoring me.

Who are you?

I miss your hatred.

11 September 2011

Splatting Revisited

It’s now been a decade since nineteen people hijacked four jets and crashed them here and there, including into collapsible New York skyscrapers. The subset of tragedies I remember from that day is the number of people who were trapped in a burning building and had to choose between burning to death and jumping to their deaths.

It’s hard to imagine what I’d do in such a situation. Thinking about it abstractly, I suppose I’d take the plunge. That would avoid the searing pain of being burnt alive, and would provide a once in a lifetime experience of an extended free fall.

Survivors tell of hearing the bodies land near them; they made a sound that was perhaps best described as, “splat.” I’ve had such falls in my dream, but always awoke from the terror of falling before I hit the ground. I wonder how many people were conscious when they hit the pavement, and how many passed out on the brief trip down?

12 September 2011

Gutenberg’s Other Second Book

A few weeks ago I reported that Gutenberg’s second book was a treatise on the precarious state of the publishing industry. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t.

I just learned that Gutenberg followed up his bible by publishing Laxierkalender, or Purgation-Calendar, in 1457. The laxative timetable was printed on a single sheet of paper, so is that a book? Learned people have been debating that question for over half a millennium; I have nothing to add.

13 September 2011

Learning to Speak Russian from Seventy-Eight Raccoons

I flatter myself that I’m carrying on some of my great—both figuratively and literally—Uncle Lawreston’s creative eccentricities. Just this afternoon I told Selena about how he lived in the basement of his otherwise empty house, and recounted the story of how he learned foreign languages from seventy-eight [revolutions per minute] recordings.

“He learned to speak Russian from seventy-eight raccoons?!” She exclained.

“Absolutely,” I replied.

I thought it was easier to lie than to explain what a seventy-eight record was, so I did. Lie, that is.

14 September 2011

Texan Humanitarian Ammo

Michael Brown’s charged with assaulting his fourth wife by throwing a couple of heavy vases at her. The former doctor (authorities yanked his medical license because of cocaine use) has a history of violence; he previously admitted to beating his third wife almost a decade ago.

So far, this is just another story of reprehensible behavior, but there’s a twist that makes it noteworthy. After the bad doctor ran out of vases for ammunition, he also threw another weighty object: a humanitarian award.

Who else but a Texan would think of that? Texas, oh what a state to be in!

15 September 2011

Very Friendly Italian Gatherings

Silvio Berlusconi, the epitome of a sexistpigdog, is under investigation for all sorts of illegal activities—such as having sex with child prostitutes—at his bunga bunga parties. (As a semantic aside, why isn’t coining “bunga bunga party” a crime?)

Berlusconi denies—quite unconvincingly—hosting orgies. According to his lawyers, Niccolo Ghedini and Piero Longo, “They were nothing but friendly gatherings.”

Shouldn’t orgies be described as “very friendly gatherings?”

That’s enough wordy musing for today.

16 September 2011

A Predictable Fortune

Three months ago I had a pleasant lunch (salmon and broccoli, yummy nums!) with Dr. Rosen. It concluded with this prediction inside my fortune cookie: “Remember three months from this date. Good things are in store for you.”

What a safe, worthless prediction. Good—no, make that great—things are always in store for me. That’s why I’m an artist: infinite riches.

17 September 2011

Sugar Dummy

Clarissa’s complaining about her husband Charlie. Again and again and again some more. His most recent outrage was putting Demerara sugar instead of Turbinado sugar in the tea he served her in bed this morning.

Shocking! Appalling! An outrage!

“I never expected to end up with a sugar daddy,” Clarissa lamented, “but I never thought I’d end up with a sugar dummy like Charlie, either.”

Using Demerara sugar instead of Turbinado sugar, how frightful! Instead of firing him, Clarissa benevolently forgave his fox paws. I think Clarissa not only knows that she’ll never have a sugar daddy; I believe she appreciates that there may not be another man on the planet who’d tolerate—let alone serve—a princess like her.


Last Weak  |  Index  |  Next Weak
©2011 David Glenn Rinehart

nothing nothing nothing nothing