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Weak XIV

3 April 2023

No. 7,105 (cartoon)

I wish I could be with everyone I love all the time.

Have your ashes mixed with theirs when you’re all dead.

That’s what I needed, fresh thinking!

4 April 2023

Aspirational Target

Andrea opened a bottle of wine when I showed up at her studio this afternoon. Nothing unusual about that. She poured me a glass. Nothing unusual about that. She poured herself a glass. Hold it ...

“Didn’t you tell me that you weren’t going to drink during April?” I asked.

“I guess I did say that, didn’t I?” she replied with a shrug.

“What happened?” I continued.

“That really wasn’t a promise or a commitment,” she explained. “It was more of an aspirational target, or something like that.”

“I’ll drink to that!” I agreed.

And we did.

I’m grateful to Andrea for introducing to the concept, “aspirational target.” What a valuable addition to my library of weasel words!

5 April 2023

Good Riddance of Bad Rubbish

I’m quite enjoying my fourth year in a row of living out of a travel backpack, and I love helping my friends move when I visit. Selfishly, though, it makes me glad that I am not encumbered by all the crap that accumulates over the decades. I'm not saying they are hoarders, but I'm not saying they're not, either.

I’m not feeling smug at the moment, since I came to an uncomfortable realization when I was looking through my notes—this is, after all, a notebook of sorts—searching for something about which to write. Although it’s true that I have relatively few physical possessions, I had to admit that I too was hoarding a lot of things I’ve never used and probably never will.

I’m talking about hundreds of notes that I’ve been looking at for a decade or more that will never make it into a notebook entry, so I wiped out most of them.

I started by deleting all of the unusual words. Like the dusty bag of lentils that’s been in Elaine’s cupboard for many years, if I haven’t found a way to work “holus-bolus,” “susurrous,” or “otiose” into one of these notebook entries by now it ain’t a-gonna happen.

All of my Yogi Berra and Samuel Goldwin quotes are gone. That’s no great loss since they’re easy to find again. And anyway, I’ve already cited or plagiarized the best of them.

Most of the items I relegated to the rubbish bin were snippets such as, “Clearing a path for penguins to Antarctica with a Zamboni machine” or “Is white a color?”

The whole exercise was simple and painless; I was done in under an hour. Now my cupboard of ideas is almost empty, but I’m not complaining. It feels great; it will be years before I see a dusty bag of conceptual lentils in there again.

6 April 2023

The Béarnaise Sauce Punch Line

Alphonse’s stony expression didn’t change after I told him the old joke about the priest, the rabbi, the chorus girl, the watermelon, and the Béarnaise sauce.

“C’mon,” I pleaded. “You gotta admit that was funny.”

“I ain’t gotta admit nothing,” he grumbled.

“But that’s a classic!” I protested.

He announced that he was taking the fifth, and poured himself another glass of rye. As the fog of sobriety lifted, Alphonse became more reflective.

“I still don’t think your hoary joke was funny,” he maintained, “but there was one line that was maybe just a bit funnyish.”

“Thanks for keeping an open mind,” I replied.

That happens all the time; I have no idea why some people just can’t admit they like the salacious Béarnaise sauce punch line.

7 April 2023

The Art of Stealing

Sometimes I read a piece of art criticism that’s so stupid, unimaginative, vapid, and incomplete that I can almost prove it mathematically. Today, I’m talking about a review of the new “exposé,” WHAAM! BLAM! Roy Lichtenstein and the Art of Appropriation.

The documentary claims that hundreds of Lichtenstein’s pieces are based almost entirely on the work of the artists who drew the originals for comic books. That uncontested claim is easy to prove. Lichtenstein, who died in 1997, always unapologetically said his images were lifted from pulp publications, so where’s the news?

The filmmakers made a powerful emotional argument with an interview with Hy Eisman, a ninety-six-year-old artist who inked a comic that Lichtenstein appropriated. Or lifted. Or stole. Whatever.

“It’s called stealing. I worked like a dog on this stupid page and this guy has twenty million dollars to show for it. If it wasn’t so tragic, it would be [funny].”

There’s just one problem with Eisman’s lament. At first, this appears to be a clear case of moral outrage, but: the image Lichtenstein stole never belonged to Eisman, who produced the comic book panels on a “work for hire” basis. In lay terms, that means the victim in this case is the publisher who never challenged the copyright of the artwork it bought from the impoverished artist.

So yes, let us lament the bad judgment of the gifted hacks who drew Lichtenstein’s originals. Too bad the youngsters who fueled the comic book bonanza were so innocent that they foolishly sold all the rights to their work for four dollars a page.

Yep; Lichtenstein was an artist and thief extraordinaire; it’s a fine line. The comic book publishers who owned the artwork Lichtenstein stole never complained; they presumably ran a lucrative business in the days before licensing became a profitable spinoff, so who cared what some weirdo was doing?

And so, let us appreciate the important lessons from WHAAM! BLAM! Roy Lichtenstein and the Art of Appropriation. Artists, when you appropriate/reference/steal ideas, cover your tracks. And kids, if you sell your soul, at least keep the rights to your work instead of giving them away for a pittance.

Consider biting the hand that feeds you; it may not your friend ...

8 April 2023

Useful Medical Advice

Had he not died thirty-some years ago, my father would have been one hundred and three years old today. His brother Don made it to ninety-five, in part because he heeded his doctors’ orders. I wonder how long my father might have stayed around had he been told to do more of the things he enjoyed and less of the unpleasant things he avoided instead of the reverse.

I was reminded of this when Kurt’s acupuncturist recommended he start every day with a small glass of vodka since it’s good for the heart. Too bad Glenn never got such good medical advice; his ticker might have lasted a few more pleasant years.

Coming next weak: more of the same.

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©2023 David Glenn Rinehart