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An Artist’s Notebook of Sorts

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Weak XXXIV

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20 August 2012

gratuitous image

No. 5,322 (cartoon)

Looks like it might rain.

It’s just an alcoholic fog.

21 August 2012

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Gratuitous Photo of the Weak: Highway Burrito

For reasons too complicated and implausible to explain, I found myself blasting down the peninsula freeway this afternoon with Yasunori Hirai, the Hitachi executive driven from Japan because he didn’t really fit in with the corporate culture there.

“The Veyron [the Bugatti we were in] and Yuni [his Korean wife] made the Japs fucking crazy,” Yasunori explained. “That’s why they sent me into corporate exile in Silicon Valley. Just like the briar rabbit!”

I suppose referring to his Nipponese colleagues as “Japs” might be another factor. And then there are the burritos.

“You cannot get an honorable burrito in greater Tokyo,” he pronounced. “You cannot get a decent burrito anywhere in Japan. You cannot find a passable burrito in the entire fucking Asian continent.”

He went on to expound on the greatness of the pseudo-Mexican staple, noting that putting the rice on the outside (sushi) instead of the inside (burrito) was an egregious user interface blunder worthy of his Sony nemeses.

He explained this to me while eating a burrito gigante, talking to his nefarious overlords in Japan, reading his email, and occasionally decelerating when the car’s central monitor beeped and blinked gentle aural and visual alarms that we were going over two-hundred kilometers an hour.

I enjoyed the high-adrenaline Bugatti ride; who wouldn’t? I was equally happy to take the train back to San Francisco. Unlike the multi-million dollar spots car, the train provides Internet access and a bathroom.

22 August 2012

Critiquing Critiques

Annalee flew all the way to the wrong coast to attend some sort of weeklong art camp near Boston. She paid a lot of tuition money for the program, which included many critiques of her work. That seems like a waste of time and money.

I’d be happy to pay to avoid the greedy sadists who manage airlines. A zillion people a year spend huge sums to visit San Francisco; why would any sensible person—or me, for that matter—pay money to leave here? And why would anyone pay for a critique? Everyone I run into is eager to provide seemingly unlimited criticism without the least hesitation, and without any expectation of remuneration.

With such generous friends and such insufferable airlines, I’ll never go to an art camp on the wrong coast, or anywhere else for that matter.

23 August 2012

Fried and Pickled Bag of Protein

Kiliaen’s in trouble again, and asked for suggestions.

“You might think about thinking,” I suggested.

“That never did me any good,” he replied. “A brain’s really just a bag of protein, and I don’t trust it.”

I can’t really blame him; he fried and pickled his protein a long time go.

24 August 2012

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PIPES

Amelia and Patrick showed up at my place with a surprise: bagpipes! That’s never happened before, so I took advantage of the situation to make my stupidest film ever: PIPES. It’s less than a minute long, but it’s so annoying, tedious, and vapid that it seems much longer.

25 August 2012

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My First Hundred Million Dollars

I just became a millionaire a hundred times over. If that sounds like monopoly money, that’s because it is. I was playing the game of Monopoly on my nefarious computer, and ended up with a situation in which no one could go bankrupt. And so, I let the game run for some time, eighty-nine thousand, seven hundred and forty-one minutes to be exact. That’s over two months of playing around the clock.

I made $66,859 an hour, even more than Willard Romney leeches in the same period! I was debating what to do with my new fortune when I accidentally deleted it. Oh well, easy come, easy go, easy come again.

26 August 2012

Another Photograph I’ll Never Make

Neil Armstrong died yesterday. I always wanted to photograph his foot—the first human foot to touch the surface of the moon—but never will. That’s what I get for procrastinating.

Sid suggested that I photograph my foot and claim it was the late astronaut’s. I have no hesitation about prevaricating, misleading, lying, and making forgeries, but Sid’s obviously great idea had a fatal flaw. Armstrong’s the most famous man on the moon, and quite well known on earth as well. I only steal when there’s little chance of getting caught.

27 August 2012

Florida’s Republican Culture

The Republicans are meeting for a political convention in Tampa, Florida. The local police established a security zone around the gathering, and announced plans to confiscate rocks, bottles, and sticks. They’ll seize slingshots, too, but not firearms. Florida law protects the rights of citizens to carry pistols, rifles, and assault weapons, but not slingshots.

That makes sense. It’s wise of the authorities to allow people armed only with sticks and stones to get into an altercation with those packing superior firepower.

Stare.

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©2012 David Glenn Rinehart

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