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12 November 2011
No. 8,001 (cartoon)
I can’t tolerate you unless I’m drunk.
No wonder we get along so well.
13 November 2011
Don’t Fear the Typo
My learned friends tell me that one of the most consistent “features” in nearly six thousand of these notebook entries is the abundance of grammatical and typographical mistakes. (I am admittedly a piss-poor proofreader, and would welcome any help a more discerningor at least competentreader might provide.) Here’s something I want all of my fastidious friends to know: my myriad errors are more afraid of you than you are of them.
14 November 2011
Putupap or Pampoen Koekies Perquisites
Brewster’s flying to South Africa tonight to give a lecture. I told him that seemed silly to fly halfway around the world to address an audience when a video link would allow him to convey the same information.
“That’s technically true,” he agreed, “but you have to look at the exchange from both sides. If I stayed here, I wouldn’t get any putupap or pampoen koekies, would I?”
15 November 2011
States of Jersey: Twenty-Three Jersey · New Jersey Diptychs
July found me in Jersey, also known as the States of Jersey, the Isle of Jersey, Olde Jersey, et cetera. Jersey found me bored, with nothing to do except eat fish and chips, whinge, and photograph cigarette butts.
So I did.
I’d planned on photographing the same stinky subject in New Jersey, but I changed my mind when I was walking along the Hudson River in Manhattan. My artistic license makes it technically possible for me to do anything I want, so I made my New Jersey photographs in New York. I was completely comfortable with my decision, since cigarette butts littering the sidewalks are a clear manifestation of the New Jersey aesthetic. And anyway, I could see New Jersey in the distance, so Manhattan was close enough for my purposes.
I used a different camera and lens in New York, so the American butts are bigger than their European counterparts. That was clearly a mistake, one I justified by noting that everything’s bigger in the United States.
States of Jersey: Twenty-Three Jersey · New Jersey Diptychs is a waste of time; enjoy.
16 November 2011
Gratuitous Photo of the Weak: Jersey Shore
Just as I cheated by claiming my Manhattan photographs of cigarette butts were made in New Jersey, I decided to use a photograph I made in July in Olde Jersey for my photograph of the weak.
It’s not much of a photograph; I made it for Noah because he asked me to send him a photograph of Jersey. He didn’t like it, and asked me why I bothered to take a picture of a big rock. The obvious answer was because he asked for a Jersey photo. The less obvious answer was that I appreciated the excuse to photograph a white cloud against a dark sky; old habits are hard to break.
17 November 2011
Pizza, the Newest Vegetable
The Guardian, a generally respected English newspaper, reported that the United States Congress passed a resolution declaring that pizza is a vegetable. I was pleased by the news, and fantasized about planting pizza seeds in a beer garden.
Unfortunately, the story was nothing more than unjustified Yank bashing, quite shocking given the publication’s well-earned reputation for justified Yank bashing. In fact, the congressional debate involved the nutritional value of tomato paste; the word “pizza” was never uttered.
But never mind the facts. President Reagan, suffering from senility and dementia, declared that ketchup was a vegetable. Who’s going do doubt me if I claim his mindless cronies have declared pizza to also be a vegetable? And so, as far as I’m concerned, moronic politicians have deemed pizza to be a vegetable.
With enough agribusiness investment, I may live long enough to see row upon row of pizza plants growing in the nearby vineyards. How scrummy is that?!
18 November 2011
A couple of my computers decided to up and die on me almost simultaneously. Normally, this would occasion a trip to a computer repair shop. But, since these were Apple computers, I had to go to the “genius bar” at an Apple retail store. Why an otherwise decent company decided to call its technicians “geniuses,” this I do not know.
A chipper young man named Felipe greeted me, and asked how he could help.
“Let’s start with a large Scotch and water,” I suggested, “hold the water.”
He asked if that was a joke, and I told him it was. It was the worst kind of joke, one that required me to explain that was a silly way of ordering straight Scotch. Eventually Felipe understood, and explained that the genius bar didn’t provide drinks, just computer advice.
I told the genius that I felt that I’d been duped, and was planning on filing a complaint with the Federal Trade Commission. In response, Felipe took me into a private meeting room. After I signed a seven-page nondisclosure agreement, he poured me a large vodka cocktail, the kind the late Apple confounder Steve Jobs often enjoyed.
After a second drink, the genius admitted he really wasn’t a genius, and that he had no idea why my computers no longer functioned. I thanked him for the drinks and lack of help, and told him not to feel bad. After all, it doesn’t take a genius to concoct a decent cocktail.
19 November 2011
Meeting the Father of Teledildonics
I ended up having lunch with Ted Nelson today, sort of. I sat far away from him at a large table; I was glad I had an excuse for not talking with him. I knew that he was one of those legendary Internet hombres, but I was only only aware of one of his accomplishments: he coined the word, “teledildonics.”
Teledildonics, also known as cyberdildonics, is something of a mystery to me. Throughout history, the sex industry and the military have been early adopters of new technologies. I can guess why the armed forces aren’t funding teledildonics research; after all, their job description is to make war, not love. I have no idea why private enterprise hasn’t capitalized on popular glove thy neighbor sentiments.
I wanted to discuss teledildonics with Nelson, but didn’t. Not only do I know nothing about the subject (in spite of all the time I spent with Dr. Graham), but cyberdildonics is not a safe luncheon subject with strangers, even here in Sans Frisco.
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©2011 David Glenn Rinehart