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An Artist’s Notebook of Sorts

Last Weak  |  Index  |  Next Weak

Weak XLIX

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3 December 2013

gratuitous image

No. 2,238 (cartoon)

I’m so very bored.

Where did our desperation go?

4 December 2013

gratuitous image

Strange Koala Sex Spam

Juli Weiner may or may not be a genius, but the person who wrote the headline for her Vanity Fair piece, “Science Explains Strange Koala Sex Spam,” most certainly is. Who could possibly resist the temptation to read an article containing the words, “strange,” “koala,” “sex,” and “spam,” illustrated by a photo of a terminally cute critter?

Not me, that’s who.

5 December 2013

Nelson Mandela

My greatest hero is Nelson Mandela. What a man. Incarcerated for twenty-five years, he was released in 1990 and he hasn’t reoffended. I think he’s going straight, which shows you prison does work.

I didn’t say that; Ricky Gervais did. Since everything else has been said about the death a great person today, I think I’d repeat a very bad—and thus good—joke. I think Mandela might have appreciated the irreverence, but now it’s too late to ask him.

6 December 2013

Not a Perfect Day

Today isn’t a perfect day, but it is a perfect number. In fact, six is one of only six perfect numbers under forty million; here are the other five: 28, 496, 8,128, 130,816, 2,096,128, and 33,550,336.

I don’t know what a perfect number is either, so I noted a couple of examples:

1+2+3=6

1+2+4+7+14=28

And so on and so forth. Perfect!

7 December 2013

A Bloody Idiopathic Condition

Weird things happen in Tennessee.

Seven years ago Michael Spann started to cry. There’s nothing wrong with that, except that there was: he was crying blood. After visits to some of the best clinicians in the world, this was his diagnosis: he has an idiopathic condition. In other words, the experts don’t know what his disease is or what causes it; they haven’t a clue.

According to the report I read, the main problem he has with his most curious ailment is finding a line of work where coworkers and the public are comfortable with an hombre who bleeds from his eyes.

I’m curiously relieved by this story for a couple of reasons. Most importantly, it reminds me of how fortunate I am to enjoy inexplicably great health. A corollary: I may be an idiot, but at least I don’t have an idiopathic condition. And even more importantly than most importantly, I’m relieved that I’m not in Tennessee.

Tennessee is where the weird things happen.

8 December 2013

Mr. Mojo Risin’ at Seventy

Mr. Mojo Risin’ was born seventy years ago today; so was James Douglas “Jim” Morrison. That’s not a coincidence; Mr. Mojo Risin’ is an anagram of Jim Morrison. And if you don’t believe me, ask any L.A. woman.

9 December 2013

Involuntary Art!

Amelie showed me an old, curiously shaped brass doorknob.

“Look, it’s sculpture!” she exclaimed. “I just invented involuntary art!”

I decided not to tell her that “involuntary art” was a synonym for “readymades,” which have been around for almost a century. I’ll let her discover Marcel Duchamp’s oeuvre on her own. Having said that, I doubt she ever will since she hasn’t yet.

That’s just as well; Amelie can go to her grave thinking that she invented involuntary art.

10 December 2013

Serves the Little Tyrant Right

I was enjoying a pleasant dinner at Lina’s place until her young son Noah assaulted the dining room. The little terrorist shrieked and wailed until he got the attention he sought.

“That’s quite enough, tiny man!” Lina declared. “That’s way too much steam, my little kettle. Go to your room right now!”

Noah screeched and howled, but soon left the room.

“Did you really think calling him tiny man and little kettle was going to calm him down?” I asked.

“Of course not,” she replied. “I said that to annoy him. Serves the little tyrant right.”

As always, I’m so very glad I’m barren.

Stare.

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©2013 David Glenn Rinehart

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