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11 December 2013

No. 33 (cartoon)

You have a geranium in your cranium.

Flower power!

12 December 2013

You’ve Been Warned

T Lavitz, the keyboard player in my band, died 7 October 2010. He died too young, but that’s what I say about almost anyone except Dick Cheney. When I learned of his demise, I decided to stop making music for six hundred and sixty-six weeks. But one hundred and sixty-six weeks later, I changed my mind. I just disbanded my ensemble this morning: done, kaput, the end. It was fun while it lasted.

After a healthy burrito and Rainier Ale lunch, I started a new band with the same Dadaist name. I got the idea from Lou Reed when he dissolved his group. Here’s how he explained his decision to a former bandmate.

“There is no more Velvet Underground. But I’m going to start a new band called The Velvet Underground, and would you like to be in it?”

Thanks for the idea, Lou. And thanks for tickling the ivories, T. But that was then; it’s now time to unleash some horrific, abominable noise.

You’ve been warned.

13 December 2013

The Urination Diet

Alina told me that her new diet was working, and that she’d lost a kilogram.

“That’s how much a liter of beer weighs,” I noted. “Is it by any chance called the urination diet?”

That proved to be the wrong thing to say. She chided me for not being supportive, for not appreciating the pressure women are under to be lithe, and so on.

I apologized for being insensitive; that was the right thing to say. I added that I too had probably lost at least a kilogram during the course of our conversation. I think that was probably the wrong thing to say, but I can’t be sure: she hung up the phone without congratulating me on my minor accomplishment let alone saying goodbye.

I could probably make a lot of money if I could write a two-hundred book, The Urination Diet. Nope; I’m just not that creative.

14 December 2013

Subway Sadist

I was sitting in a nearly empty subway car when a salarywoman entered the carriage carrying a large, steaming pizza box. She scanned the car, then sat down beside me.

That never happens. Most riders take one glimpse at my unkempt hair and grungy cycling clothes that were recently featured in Homeless Monthly, then sit as far away from me as possible.

I was surrounded by a cloud of greasy, odoriferous pizza vapor molecules, probably the survivors of an office party. The pizza fumes wafted out of the box and up my nose, just like in the cartoons.

She ignored me and read a book in Spanish, so I couldn’t even strike up a conversation that might lead to a high-cholesterol treat.

There’s only one possible explanation of her inexplicable behavior: she has to be a sadist. And a rather accomplished one, at that.

15 December 2013

How Unnerving ...

Police arrested Jerrod Metsker for allegedly murdering nine-year-old Reann Murphy. The two were neighbors in an Ohio trailer park. Metsker hasn’t been tried, let alone convicted, but ...

If I were casting a movie and needed someone who looked like the kind of guy who’d kill a little girl and leave her body is a trash can, I wouldn’t even bother auditioning anyone else after seeing Metsker’s head shot. I try to avoid prejudices, I really do. But that face ...

I wonder why I’m using ellipses when I generally avoid them ...

I must be channeling Herb Caen, how unnerving ...

16 December 2013

The Antonym of Discombobulated

Jacob showed up for dinner rather inebriated. Quite drunk, in fact.

“How are you feeling?” I asked. “You appear to be on the verge of being legless.”

“Au contrary,” he protested. “I’m thoroughly combobulated, actually.”

We had a nice meal. I guess he couldn’t have been that drunk if he could remember the antonym of discombobulated.

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©2013 David Glenn Rinehart