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Weak VII

12 February 2025

No. 3,917 (cartoon)

You don’t know what it’s like to be in my skin.

Itchy?

I barely notice the abscesses and lesions anymore.

13 February 2025

Narcissist versus Solipsist

It’s hard to find anything positive to say about the new dark ages, but I managed to find one whilst sailing in my Sea of Toxic Positivity: I’m enlarging my vocabulary.

Several of my friends were shocked—shocked!—when I admitted that I hadn’t heard the word “solipsist” before. But thanks to a nice little piece by John R. MacArthur, I appreciate his little lesson: Drumph isn’t a narcissist—he’s a solipsist. A narcissist loves praise and adulation, but a solipsist likes any kind of attention. That’s why Drumph was beaming when almost everyone across the political spectrum trashed his idea of evicting Palestinians from Gaza in order to build Drumph luxury hotels.

My crappy little dictionary defines solipsism thusly: “the view or theory that the self is all that can be known to exist.” A therapist friend hadn’t heard the word before either, so I suspect it’s something one picks up in a beginning philosophy course, along with how can I know what’s real and how can I tell if I’m awake or dreaming?

In any case, I’m afraid that “solipsist” will come in handy more frequently than I’d like over the next four grim years.

14 February 2025

Eighty Waterboys and a Bandleader

I read a brief interview with Mike Scott of Waterboys fame. People who keep track of such things have concluded that there have been some eighty Waterboys since the ensemble was formed over forty years ago, but that’s not because drummers kept dying as they’re wont to do. My computer’s grammar-checking software is going to have a digital hissy fit when it reads this, but Mike Scott is The Waterboys.

He said, “My skills as a bandleader have developed,” and that’s what he is: a bandleader, not an equal member of a coöperative. I should have recognized that the group was his baby. I’ve never made that mistake with other bandleaders with eponymously-titled recordings like David Bowie, Patti Smith, Jack White, et al. In retrospect, I suppose the Waterboys name was a good marketing move; who’d pay to see a Scot named Mike Scott in 1981?

I’ve always liked the poetic idea of a group of musicians proving that the whole is greater than the sum of the parts, but I suspect that’s more often than not a myth, as opposed to the realpolitik of the enlightened despot bandleader.

15 February 2025

Perfesser Emeritus Wahlberg’s Surprise Birthday Party

I threw a big surprise birthday party for Perfesser Emeritus Wahlberg this afternoon; it was a doozy! Why, had it not been for the copious supplies of medicinal beer I wisely stocked, I might just have died from a cholesterol/sodium overdose from all the greasy, salty snacks.

The perfesser was indeed surprised, not only because of the unannounced party but because I didn’t invite him. I pointed out that for decades he’s simply acknowledged another lap around the sun and has avoided any celebration, hence no invitation.

He couldn’t argue with my flawless logic, but he did ask who else was there. I explained that I wanted an intimate gathering, so I didn’t invite anyone else, either. He said he was grateful for my thoughtfulness and understanding, and suggested that we should repeat such a wonderful event again next year.

A tradition is born!

16 February 2025

A(nother) Cautionary Tale

I’m in my thirtieth year of publishing this notebook, and I don’t have an exit strategy. Maybe on 18 October 2029 after I’ve completed entry no. 12,345? My eightieth birthday (no. 14,617)? Or maybe I’ll just wake up one morning and decide I’m done.

I fear it’s more likely that I’ll end up like Evie Riski. She just joined the centenarian club and she’s been writing in her diary daily since 1936, with over thirty-three thousand entries. A cautionary tale indeed!

I really should figure out a graceful way to wrap this up; I shall add that to the long list of Things I Should Probably Do (But Won’t). I’m betting that procrastination will again triumph; that’s always proven to be a safe wager.

17 February 2025

Handsfree Shark Photograph

A Canadian tourist decided to photograph herself with a shark. I think that’s a great idea! It’s something I’ve considered doing myself: I’d plagiarize the Monterey Bay Aquarium press photo of an employee standing a meter away from a huge shark swimming in the background behind a thick sheet of glass.

Unfortunately, the vacationer skipped the glass barrier part; that allowed the shark to grab her by her hands, both of which were later amputated.

Sadly, the Darwin Awards were abandoned years ago, but even so, the sharkbait woman would not have qualified since she didn’t remove herself from the gene pool. If there’s a bright side to this tragedy, it’s that she’ll no longer be able to make suicidal self-portraits with a handheld camera.

18 February 2025

Confounded Rumors

Gareth told me that he heard an unfounded rumor that Buzz ... nevermind, that’s none of your business. And none of mine either, I suppose, when I stop to think about it.

As long as I was enjoying a thinking break, I thought about unfounded rumors. I concluded that a founded rumor would be too facty to be called a rumor, and that makes sense. I suppose that’s why Gareth is always spreading unfounded rumors; they make tawdry gossiping possible and very popular.

19 February 2025

Tuber Lust for Life

I keep my spuds in a lightless room in the basement next to the wine. That’s where I found quite a surprise when I went to grab a few taters for my soup in progress. One of the potatoes clearly had a passion for procreation that was so strong that one of its probing tentacles poked through the plastic bag in which it was imprisoned.

I photographed it to make Tuber Lust for Life; there was no other possibility. If Iggy Pop ever reissues/remasters/regurgitates his seminal 1977 album, Lust for Life, I think my photograph of the tuber’s protuberance would, with a little bit of tweaking, make a fine new album cover.

Coming next weak: more of the same.

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©2025 David Glenn Rinehart