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17 December 2010

No. 471 (cartoon)

I had my dog killed.

I’m very sorry to hear that. What happened?

She bored me.

18 December 2010

Diego, The Amazing Transparent Cat

I’m in Maia’s beautiful home in a rural Oregon valley. She and Mark went to Hawaii to escape the rain; I moved north in search of the rain and to take care of Diego, their amazing transparent cat.

Diego’s obviously a wily cat to have eluded the local mountain lions and/or cougars that prey on smaller kitties. What’s not so readily apparent is this: he has a semitransparent head. I never noticed it until I looked at a snapshot I made of him, and saw the carpet in the background through his ears. It looks like a stupid computer graphics trick, but even I am above such visual idiocy.

The clearly visible lines seen through his ears strongly argue that Diego, the amazing transparent cat, really is. Maybe that’s how he successfully eludes larger pussy predators. Transparency would explain a lot.

19 December 2010

Dr. Rahmer’s Drain Rammer

I have many conceits, but my hair isn’t one of them. Even so, I must comment on how bright and shiny my locks are this morning, thanks to a chance accident.

I took a shower in the guest bathroom, and used the only shampoo in the tub. As I was drying, I looked in the mirror and noticed my scalp was reddish pink. It looked like I was having an allergic reaction, but I have no known allergies.

My head was hot and itchy an hour later, so I went back to the bathroom to examine the shampoo. There was none; I’d cleaned my hair with Dr. Rahmer’s Drain Rammer, Düsseldorf’s Master Drain Cleaner. (Without my glasses, I’d been unable to read the label in the shower.)

I can’t recommend Dr. Rahmer’s demoniacal creation; even the bright and shiny hair just isn’t worth it.

20 December 2010

Glenn Gould and Me

Almost no one knows that Glenn Gould was my babysitter when my family lived in Toronto.

He didn’t really like the job, so he spent as much time as possible at the piano. Instead of his usual classical repertoire, he mainly played New Orleans stride piano, some boogie-woogie, and even the occasional rag. He hummed along, of course, but one time I distinctly heard him sing-say, “the blues.”

I couldn’t remember exactly what I heard as a child, of course. All my memories are on old reel-to-reel audio tapes my father made. Elias told me he was selling his ancient tape machine, so I listened to the tapes one last time. At least two of the tapes had disintegrated, so I threw all of them away. I’d rather remember what my blues babysitter played than listen to the scratchy, hissy tapes, anyway.

Almost no one knows that Glenn Gould was my babysitter when my family lived in Toronto. That’s because I never told anyone. Until now.

21 December 2010

Winter Solstice Eclipse

This is the first time in three hundred and seventy-two years that one can see a lunar eclipse on the winter solstice. Well, one could in theory, but this one can’t in practice because I’m in a deluge in the Oregon woods. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s rained in Oregon every winter solstice since 1638. Since meteorological records don’t go back that far here, I’ll have to stick with my safe guess.

22 December 2010

Bull’s-Pizzle

Sophia sent me a bit of surrealist writing that really wasn’t, even though they really was.

You starvelling, you eel-skin, you dried neat’s-tongue, you bull’s-pizzle, you stock-fish—O for breath to utter what is like thee!—you tailor’s-yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing tuck!

Well, it seems that William Shakespeare wrote that. At least that’s what Sophia claims, although I suspect it may be a Shakespeare probability hoax. But the point is intention, not authenticity. It’s allegedly an insult; she sent it just to abuse me.

At least I’m on her mind.

23 December 2010

Live Oregon Potato!

Barbara and I went hunting today, and she nabbed a rare Oregon potato (Solanum tuberosum imber imber imber).

Wow!

They’re fiendishly hard to catch. As soon as they sense approaching footsteps, they writhe, wriggle, and burrow down ten or twenty centimeters. The spud Barbara caught squirmed and flailed as soon as she pulled it from the cold earth. (Oregon potatoes have an extremely high metabolism; they’re warm enough to produce barely visible steam on the surface of the moist forest floor.)

Barbara’s catch flailed and thrashed so violently that I only made one blurry photograph before the struggling tuber twisted out of her hand and back into the ground.

I was sad that I flubbed my brief photo opportunity, but neither of us cared that the potato escaped. Oregon potatoes are inedible because of their high selenium content. (That would explain the rubber glove in the photograph.)

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©2010 David Glenn Rinehart