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28 May 2013
No. 8,077 (cartoon)
Which story is true?
29 May 2013
Igor Stravinsky’s “Le Sacre du Printemps” premiered one hundred years ago today, and what an opening night it was! The audience was so outraged by the music and dance that they rioted, with fisticuffs even! I’ll never create anything remotely as brilliant as “The Rite of Spring,” so I’d settle for merely annoying a bunch of reactionaries. I doubt I’ll even do that; it’s getting increasingly difficult shock people without resorting to using proven formulae such as necrophilia or bestiality.
When I was a teenager, the orchestra I was in performed “Le Sacre du Printemps.” My lips still hurt when I remember that; Igor gave me directions for things I wasn’t quite able to do on my French horn. Despite what I thought was my familiarity with the piece, I just learned the second half of the work’s name: “Tableaux de la Russie païenne en deux parties,” or “Pictures of Pagan Russia in Two Parts.”
I wonder why people stopped naming babies Igor?
30 May 2013
Drinking and Biking
When I was a boy, my dentist always gave me a penny toy from Hong Kong. I’m easily bribed, and I’ve liked dentists ever since. Don Nguyen is my favoriteand currentdentist. He communicates well, and is perhaps the Sherlock Holmes of dentistry. When Dr. Lahman had dental problems, he asked her is she drank orange juice late at night. She did.
Today, he noticed some inflammation in my gums, and asked me if I breathed through my nose or my mouth when I was on my bicycle. I thought about it for a bit, then replied that I always breathe through my nose unless I’m climbing a steep hill. He concluded that I needed to drink more to prevent dryness in my mouth, so I picked up a dozen cans of frosty Rainier Ale on the way home. As I pedaled back, I realized that I never ever breathe through my nose when I’m on my bike. Never ever! I wonder why I couldn’t remember that in the dentist’s chair?
The moral of this story is obvious: drinking and biking go together like biking and drinking!
31 May 2013
Administraitors at the Chicago Sun-Times fired the newspaper’s photography staff, all twenty-eight of ’em. And without even a pro forma thank-you note for making their crappy rag look much less mediocre than it is.
Who needs photographers, anyway? They gave the reporters phones with built-in cameras to photograph news events. But: if a camera turns a writer into a photographer, why didn’t they get rid of the writers and give the photographers word processors?
1 June 2013
Enrico’s looking for love on the Internet. It doesn’t seem like a particularly efficacious way of finding romance, but I suppose there isn’t such a thing unless you believe in arranged marriages.
He showed me an amusing message he received from a woman in Ulsan.
Nice to Meet You I have been in Korea, working at Carey, women are good. Next time we were married willing to live abroad. I'm the current single good ties, I wanted to.
The Korean’s difficulty with English was understandable, but the illiterate woman in Mississippi had no such excuse: she’s looking for a guy who “always wears condemns.”
I shall never refer to a condemn as a condom again; perfect!
2 June 2013
Abbie showed me a video from forty (?) years ago documenting the musical ensemble Roxy Music performing on the British Broadcasting Corporation’s television program, Top of the Pops. That’s when I saw the unimaginable: Brian Eno whapping a tambourine.
Repeat: Brian Eno was whapping a tambourine. With vigor, even.
Let me make this clear: there’s no one I admire more than Eno, even if he did whap a tambourine in his misguided youth. I did much worse, but that’s the difference between Eno and me: he’s famous and I’m not.
There’s a lot to be said for anonymity. And if you don’t believe me, ask Eno.
3 June 2013
Gratuitous Photo of the Weak: Rose Garden
I never thought I’d appreciate a photograph of a rose, but I like the one I made. But I would say that, wouldn’t I?
4 June 2013
The Executioner and the Pleasantly Purring Pussy
Doctor Wahlberg is taking a road trip with a beautiful woman, so I’m taking care of his cat. He left me with all the usual data, plus a curious directive:
If “something” happens to us, contact the executor ...
Hold everything; I’ve never dealt with an executioner before. If they get jailed for jaywalking in Analdrip, Idaho, am I to instruct the executioner to firebomb the police station? If one or both of them is in the hospital awaiting some flavor of transplant, when do I call the executioner?
I’m going to ignore the executioner instructions and just keep the pleasantly purring pussy pleased.
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©2013 David Glenn Rinehart