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An Artist’s Notebook of Sorts

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Weak XI


13 March 2014

gratuitous image

No. 3,679 (cartoon)

I love to make art.

It’s a shame that you can’t.

14 March 2014

A Literal Metaphor

Cheryl isn’t doing well, not well at all. As she put it, “I’m literally hanging on by my eyelashes.”

When I pointed out that no one could literally hold onto anything of substance with her or his eyelashes, she explained that she used the word “literally” as “a literal metaphor.” She hung on to the premise of her specious argument by her eyelashes, then lost her grip and literally fell into the abyss of absurdity, metaphorically speaking.

15 March 2014

There’s Nothing Funny About Chappaquiddick Jokes

“You’d tell me if you died, wouldn’t you?” Stephanie asked.

I was tempted to ask her how I would know, but I knew that would be the wrong answer. I knew any answer would be the wrong answer, because Stephanie has the amazing ability to wrap a frigid, dark cloud around any silver lining.

If I told her I wouldn’t tell her if I died, she’d probably accuse me of abandoning her. Whether it’s having the last sip if wine or getting out of subway before her (or after her), abandonment is always a good way to find me guilty.

And if I did promise to contact her when I died? That’s new territory, but I’m guessing that she’d find that creepy, possessive, or worse.

I ended up telling her I’d drive off that bridge when I came to it. She scowled, informed me that Ted Kennedy was a great public servant, and decreed that there was nothing funny—nothing funny at all—about Chappaquiddick jokes.

I was relieved; I got off lightly.

16 March 2014

Sarah’s Grandmother’s Last Words

Sarah told me that she could never forget her grandmother’s last words, “There are probably more eggs coming on the train.”

“I hate to say it,” I replied, “but they don’t seem unforgettable.”

“Perhaps not,” she agreed, “but they took on more significance for me because she never said another thing before she died over four years later.”

17 March 2014

Water’s Just Not Worth the Risk

Before I tell the stupid story about what happened when I spilled wine on my new computer, I’ll explain that the reason I have a new machine is that I spilled water on the old one a week ago. Stupid redux!

In 1982, I bought my first computer (a Kaypro II), along with a printer and a case of beer. I opened a beer, then tried to figure out how to turn on the computer. I’ve been drinking at my computer ever since without incident. Until this month, that is.

The water fried the first computer’s screen, so I put it out to digital pasture as a server. When I spilled wine all over its replacement, I took the machine apart, soaked up all the moisture I could, then let it dry overnight. I’m using it right now; it’s fine.

I’ve learned my lesson. From now on, I’m only drinking coffee or wine at my computer, not water: it’s just not worth the risk.

18 March 2014

gratuitous image

Frozen Salmon

Almost a dozen years ago I went fishing with Huey on the Pacific Ocean near here. I killed a salmon and pedaled home with the fifteen-kilogram fish protruding from my backpack. That was the first and last time I did that.

Today’s salmon was typical: a frozen slab of skinless, boneless flesh enclosed in a sterile, airtight plastic envelope. I imagine every other fish I eat will also come from a grocery store, not the ocean.

Who cares: fish on my dish is my wish!


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©2014 David Glenn Rinehart

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