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Weak XXI

21 May 2021

No. 4,610 (cartoon)

I love you.

I love me too.

22 May 2021

Bombardier Cogswell’s Da Bomb

Bombardier Chelsea Cogswell is getting court-martialed for “behaving in a disgraceful manner” and “administering a noxious substance” while working in a military canteen. Those sound like dubious charges; what institutional food worker hasn’t been guilty of passing off a noxious substance as food? Disgraceful!

Bombardier Cogswell—what a great title!—is charged with serving her Canadian artillery battery comrades cupcakes with a special ingredient: cannabis. Here’s what the prosecutors claim happened next.

“All the members of W Battery who consumed the cupcakes, except one, allegedly experienced symptoms which included dehydration, overheating, fatigue, confusion, dry mouth, and paranoia.”

Maybe that’s true and maybe it ain’t, but they would say that, wouldn’t they? After all, their job is to attack, not present a fair and objective analysis.

I imagine her defense attorneys will point out that dehydration, overheating, fatigue, and more are to expected when firing live 155mm rounds from a howitzer, but I hope they are more creative than that in calling witnesses. Here are some lines for the defense witnesses to memorize ...

“It was an intense afternoon; I’ll never hear incredible bass like that again!”

“The flames from the barrel and the arc of the projectile were more beautiful than any words could ever describe.”

“Have you ever really looked at a howitzer? Have you ever actually seen a howitzer? I mean, have you ever actually really seen a howitzer?”

I wish I could provide her with great pro bono legal counsel, but I’m obviously an amateur bono, alas.

The trial is in August, but Bombardier Cogswell is always welcome for dinner at my place any time as long as she stays out of the kitchen.

23 May 2021

Happiness Is Not a Thing One Seeks

It’s extraordinarily rare that I hear good advice, so when I spotted this seventy-year-old letter from Carl Jung to Miss Harriet Hardy lying by the side of the information superhighway I sent copies to several close friends even though they needed no advice, insightful or otherwise.

January 24th 1950.

Miss Harriet Hardy
760 Grizzly Peak Blvd.
Berkeley 8.
California.

Dear Miss Hardy,

It is of course a somewhat hopeless task to advise an unknown person of the course of her life across the width of the ocean. I can only tell you one thing: that you should not set out to seek happiness for yourself. This would be a straight way to unhappiness. You better ask where and how you could be useful to whom. Happiness is not a thing one seeks. It comes to you as a reward for efforts.

Yours sincerely,

C. G. Jung

I was grateful to Dr. Fischler when she asked rhetorically if Jung would have given the same advice to a man. That very interesting unanswerable question once again reminded me of my limitations and prejudices of looking at the world as a white male.

I’m so very grateful for my stellar friends; they’re really smart so I don’t have to be!

24 May 2021

Cretinata!

Here’s the slug: Italian minister vows to find cause of cable car crash that killed fourteen

And here’s the subhead: Italy’s transport minister, Enrico Giovannini, has announced a commission to investigate the causes of the cable car accident

And here’s what I have to say: Cretinata!

And here’s what’s a-gonna happen. The government will assemble a prestigious commission that, after the requisite bribes, kickbacks, and other payoffs have been paid, will issue an ambiguous three-hundred page report that no one will ever read before the sun explodes.

Meanwhile, I can tell you today with absolute certainty why the cable car crashed to the ground: gravity.

I’m sure someone discovered gravity before Isaac Newton but never lived to tell anyone after getting hit on the head with a gondola instead of an apple. (It’s an Italian thing; you wouldn’t understand.)

25 May 2021

Truth Sandwich

I remember it well. Or at least I imagine I do, and that’s close enough for me.

When I was twenty or so, my Aunt Truth introduced me to Sidecars—a cocktail first concocted over a century ago—when I was visiting her in Chicago. After an inadvisably large number of the sugary-sweet drinks, she served me the best grilled cheese sandwich I have ever had in my life. I can’t recall the details clearly, but I suspect being borderline crapulous may have affected my culinary perceptions and memories.

Good times!

Later, I reverse-engineered that evening and discovered the formula for a Sidecar: three parts cognac and fruit liqueur to one part lemon juice. I don’t have the ingredients to replicate that incendiary formula, but after poking around my mother’s place this afternoon I found everything I needed to make my first Truth sandwich since that almost forgotten memorable visit.

Spread margarine on two pieces of white “bread” that contains more air and water than wheat. Put slices of Velveeta, a “pasteurized prepared cheese product,” between them and grill on both sides in a skillet. The bread browns nicely, the cheesy orange dross melts immediately. I can now see why I confused the greasy, breaded, rubbery glob with real food after lots of Sidecars, but now I wouldn’t feed it to a dog except as punishment.

And that’s the Truth. Sandwich.

26 May 2021

Ant and Fruit Fly Evolutionary Considerations

I noticed that ants were covering the sidewalk as I walked down the street this morning, and that got me thinking about evolution.

I’m not a Jain, and I’m sure I must have squished at least some of the scurrying insects with my boots. I would think that this is perhaps the first time in their evolution that ants need to worry about being smushed. Was that a problem before the advent of asphalt and cement pavement and sidewalks?

And speaking of evolution, I wonder what their next move will be? I probably won’t live long enough to find out. Ants evolve slowly and strategically, as if they’re playing a chess game that lasts for millennia. On the other hand, I know where fruit flies are headed: into my wine glass. Since they’ve been doing that for dozens of generations this month alone, I can only conclude that dying as a suicidal, alcoholic kamikaze is an agreeable way to go.

27 May 2021

Flint Institute of Good Engineering

About the only thing I know about the Flint Institute of Good Engineering is the school motto: “If It’s Working, It’s Good.” I like the minimalism of the blue-collar, good enough practicality, the opposite of German and Japanese perfectionists designing and building things without a fraction of a micron of error.

I spotted an interesting example of good enough engineering at the institution’s main entrance. Evidently the maintenance staff used a nasty chemical to melt the winter snow and ice that was so caustic that it also burned through the cement stairs. Rather than repair the damage, the clever clogettes and clogs came up with a simple solution to keep people from falling on the broken stair: three moveable metal stanchions anchored in cement blocks, with guardrails made from rope and cardboard tubes.

Someone moved two of the poles supporting the makeshift handrail against the wall, leaving the one in the middle tipped at a precarious angle. The unfortunate arrangement didn’t block the eroded stair. It wasn’t working, so it clearly wasn’t good.

I nevertheless appreciated the attempt. It’s probably a student project that didn’t work, and that’s fine. Whether it’s art or engineering, making things that don’t work is the best way of learning how to make ones that do.

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©2021 David Glenn Rinehart