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An Artist’s Notebook of Sorts

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Weak XXXI

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30 July 2014

gratuitous image

No. 909 (cartoon)

Feel my pain.

Are you trying to bore me to death?

31 July 2014

Two-Meter Sex Toy

Lydia said she’d eviscerate me like a trout if I ever told anyone this story, so this anecdote has nothing to do with Lydia.

This morning, I drove an anonymous friend of mine to the hospital to get a colonoscopy. I tried to reassure her that she had nothing to worry about unless the doctor was wearing one of those huge Rolex Colonmaster watches, especially the 2009 model with all the sharp edges.

She was not reassured, so I tried another approach. I told her that even though she was about to meet a suave hombre who was going to shove a camera mounted on the end of a two-meter metal tube up her derrière, she was still in a good position to negotiate. I suggested that she tell the clinician that she’s open to new experiences, and that she should say, “where I come, a gentleman buys a lady a few drinks before thrusting a camera into her anus.”

She ignored my sensible advice, and was drugged and sore when I picked her up a few hours later after her ordeal with the creepy photographer.

Is chivalry dead? Probably.

1 August 2014

Disturbing Nonagenarians

Maia said she working with a group of people in their nineties, all of whom are in great physical and mental condition.

I am deeply disturbed by the implications of healthy old people. I wonder if this means that I should take better care of myself?

Nah.

2 August 2014

Subway Diplomacy

I don’t know how two of the world’s leading diplomats ended up on the same subway car as me, but there they were, engaged in a vigorous debate. I was too polite to get close enough to eavesdrop, so I could only catch a few words of their discussion.

The Caucasian man began every statement with, “You Chinese ...” The Asian man began every statement with, “You Americans ...” I didn’t hear much more than that.

The representative of the American people and the representative of the Chinese people were still engaged in their exchange when I left the train. I wonder if they ever agreed to anything? Probably not; politicians rarely do.

3 August 2014

Close Enough to Immortality

Sonja told me that I was acting like someone who thought he’d live forever. To her annoyance, I agreed with her. Better yet, she became more annoyed when I explained myself.

My world didn’t exist before I was born, and it won’t exist when I’m dead. That may not be a widely accepted definition of immortality, but it’s close enough for me.

4 August 2014

French Horn Silencer

I got hit in the mouth at the subway station in Oakland, split my lip, and now I can’t play the French horn. Even worse, it’s all true.

I was schlepping my bike up the stairs at the subway station as I’ve done a thousand times or so. As usual, I was carrying the bike was over my shoulder. Somehow, the handlebars pivoted rapidly and bashed me in the mouth. The good news is that my teeth are fine. The bad news is that I can’t play the French horn now that I have a bloody lip.

The bad news isn’t really all that bad, though: I haven’t been able to play the French horn in forty years. And even the cut in my lip doesn’t hurt that much, since I moved quickly to sterilize it with a liberal amount of medicinal whisky.

5 August 2014

Foetus Didn’t Age Well

I appreciated James George Thirlwel’s music thirty years ago; he recorded under several noms de music, including Foetus Under Glass and Scraping Foetus Off The Wheel.

I recently rediscovered those recordings on the Internet, and got quite a surprise: they were awful, just terrible: cheap drum machines and disco music. I deleted all the songs I copied except Wash It All Off. There’s something naïvely charming about the chorus, “You’ve got foetus on your breath.”

6 August 2014

In Defense of Surface to Air Missiles

This should be an easy entry to write; all I need to do is copy and paste what I wrote on 15 December 2012, change a few words, and insert a new quote.

Last month, some drunk Russians with surface to air missiles shot down a commercial jet, then got even more drunk on the liquor that fell from the sky (along with two hundred and ninety-eight people).

Predictably, apologists for the weapons lobby are defending their industry. The first surprise for me is that they didn’t send out a press release until today, when the spokesperson for the American Association of Machine Gun, Bazooka, and Flamethrower Manufacturers called for a nuanced discussion of the tragedy.

“Everyone here at AAMGBFM is saddened by the unfortunate aviation incident, but let us not rush to judgment. Many of us have met at least one airline passenger who deserves to be shot out of the sky. And let us remember that none of the deceased suffered as much as they would have had the killers used a potato peeler. AAMGBFM members treasure their constitutional right to own surface to air missiles, and use them responsibly, for target practice, hunting, and self-defense. Now is a time for responsible reflection, not a knee-jerk emotional response.”

The second surprise for me is that the AAMGBFM flacks didn’t mention nuclear weapons on the anniversary of the Hiroshima bombing. Perhaps they’re saving that for the seventieth anniversary next year.

Stare.

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©2014 David Glenn Rinehart

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