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An Artist’s Notebook of Sorts

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Weak LII


24 December 2014

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No. 6,258 (cartoon)

You’re going to get better soon.

Tell me a lie I haven’t heard.

I really mean it.

25 December 2014

The One Good Thing About This Wretched Holiday

There’s only one thing I like about Xmas: after today, I won’t be exposed to this Christmas poppycock for another nine months or so.


26 December 2014

Soulmates, Joined at the Liver

Fenton and Beatrice announced that they were unambiguously inebriated. Their slurred words were redundant given their body language.

“We’re soulmates!” Fenton proclaimed.

“Joined at the liver!” Beatrice added.

Normally I’d be appalled at such crapulous behavior, but who am I to blame them for turning to drugs to deal with the alleged holidays?

27 December 2014

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Leica Bag

I have an old plastic bag with a Leica logo on the side. It’s not very useful for anything these days, not unlike my old Leica film cameras. The iconic logo has such sentimental value that I can’t bring myself to divest myself of either the cameras or the bag, which may or may not be made from fine German plastic. Maybe I should put my old Leicas in the Leica bag and get two birds stoned. Or, more likely, I’ll just leave the nostalgic items in a box buried in the back of the closet where they belong.

28 December 2014

Want to Hear Something Stupid?

Vencentio asked me if I’d like to hear something funny. Whenever someone asks that question, two things are certain. They’re going to tell you regardless of whether you say yes or no, and whatever they say won’t be funny.

I told Vencentio that his question was indeed funny and tried to change the subject. My ploy didn’t work; he insisted on describing some stupid video of some stupid puppy playing with some stupid kitten. He seemed crestfallen when I told him that wasn’t funny because cat didn’t kill the dog. I added that the only funny mongrel films are canine snuff films.

“That’s sick!” he protested.

“And funny too!” I added. “Please don’t tell me anything allegedly funny again that doesn’t involve a dead dog.”

He took my sardonic reply seriously; that should be the last time Vencentio asks me if I want to hear anything funny for perhaps the next half hour or so.

29 December 2014

I Should Have Known Better

I told Olivia that I’m visiting family in Reno, Nevada. I should have known better. (I Should Have Known Better is a great title for the autobiography I’ll never write until I’m dead.)

Olivia asked me if I shot a man just to watch him die. I don’t know why everyone asks me this when I tell them where I am; Reno doesn’t seem particularly dangerous or violent. In fact, the town seems to be full of harmless, somnambulistic gamblers.

I’ve never physically hurt anyone let alone fired a bullet at someone who didn’t ask for it, so I had to come up with an explanation of why I went to Reno in addition to the pleasant company. I killed a six-pack of Rainier Ale just to see it die, and now all’s well.

30 December 2014

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666 Box

Iris sent me a ridiculous gift, a box with “666” printed on the top. When I opened it, a little illuminated demon popped up and started blinking at me. I was too alarmed to stifle a yawn.

The piece was poorly designed: when I opened the box, the “666” turned upside down to become “999.” That’s too bad, because six hundred and sixty-six is actually a most interesting number. Six hundred and sixty-six is a triangular number, the sum of the first thirty-six natural numbers. It’s also a repdigit, a palindromic number, one of the indices of prime Padovan numbers, and even a Smith number of all things.

I know Iris intended the present as a reference to hallucinatory, superstitious biblical myths, but I would have been happier with the numbers six six six rendered by a brilliant typographer.

31 December 2014

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My Marriage With Shelly

Shelly legally married me this afternoon, but Shelly and I are not legally married. I am a digamist; she is not. This sort of thing happens all the time in San Francisco, and merits no elaboration.


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©2014 David Glenn Rinehart

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