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Weak XXVII

2 July 2019

No. 5,683 (cartoon)

Everything you know is wrong.

I know that.

Then it’s not true.

3 July 2019

Great Show, No Encore (2009 Rerun)

There are many fine deaths a musician may choose when signing out: drug overdose, shotgun blast to the face, drug overdose, semisuicidal motorcycle accident, drug overdose, drowning in the vomit following a drug overdose, that sort of thing. But Mark Sandman died the musician’s preferred death.

There he was ten years ago today, performing with his ensemble Morphine on stage at the Giardini del Principe in Palestrina, when BANG: heart attack. Lights out at forty-six, no encore. Finito; quick and clean.

Forty-six is certainly a better age at which to die than twenty-seven, an expiration date enjoyed by a number of famous musicians. More importantly, Sandman was doing his best work when he died, unlike musicians such as Eric Clapton and Paul McCartney who should have retired one way or the other when they were twenty-seven.

Sandman left the audience wanting more; what a great way for a musician to go.

It’s rerun time this weak; that was one of my favorites from the twenty-three 3 July entries I’ve made since 1995 ...

4 July 2019

Victoria’s Philosophy (2014 rerun)

“I think too much,” Victoria declared, “therefore I am too much!”

Who could possibly disagree with her?

It’s rerun time this weak; that was one of my favorites from the twenty-three 4 July entries I’ve made since 1995 ...

5 July 2019

Ms. Wilson’s Curious Preference (1998 rerun)

The party wasn’t over in the morning, so we all went down to the Three Cooks Cafe for breakfast. The Three Cooks is known for serving gluttonous portions, and they didn’t disappoint today. I was one of the few people who joined the Clean Plate Club; several other people couldn’t finish everything on their plate. (Is that a metaphor for something?)

We took the leftovers back to the compound and gave them to Wilson, a Vietnamese pot-bellied pig. The people who named Wilson didn’t know a lot about pigs; Wilson is a sow. It was agreed the Wilson’s full name is Ms. Wilson, although no one knows what her first name is.

Wilson grunted in appreciation at the smorgasbord strewn on the lawn; the first thing she ate was the leftover ham. (Is that a metaphor for something?)

It’s rerun time this weak; that was one of my favorites from the twenty-three 5 July entries I’ve made since 1995 ...

6 July 2019

No Guns of Any Kind, Musicians, Pets, Food, and Beverages (2012 rerun)

The Hotel El Panama has a curious restriction. “It’s strictly forbidden: Bring into the hotel: guns of any kind, musicians, pets, food, and beverages.”

Musicians?! There’s a reason for that.

Panamanians were humiliated when American neocolonialists invaded their country in 1989 to capture Manual Noriega. The dictator took refuge in the Vatican nunciature. That led American troops to launch what remains perhaps the most absurd psychological military operation in history. They surrounded the embassy with huge speakers and blasted the would-be refugee with horrible music at deafening volumes. The opera-loving Noriega surrendered after ten days.

Even though the tyrant was by all accounts a despicable scumbag, Panamanians were nevertheless upset by the violation of their sovereignty. That’s why loudspeakers throughout the country now pump out wretched music incessantly. As a result, every Panamanian can withstand months of the most brutal aural assault.

And that brings us back to the Hotel El Panama. Why ban musicians from guests’ rooms? They might be good musicians, and weaken Panamanians’ ability to withstand a sustained attack of horrific sonic dreck, that’s why.

¡Viva Panama! ¡Viva Billy Idol! ¡Viva Panama!

It’s rerun time this weak; that was one of my favorites from the twenty-three 6 July entries I’ve made since 1995 ...

7 July 2019

Space-time Continuum Shortcut (2000 rerun)

I left Sydney—the city, not the actress—at eleven this morning and arrived in San Francisco at seven o’clock on the very same morning. I arrived before I left! Apparently, the clever pilot accomplished this feat by flying through yesterday.

I know very little about the sciences in general and geography and navigation in particular. Nevertheless, it seems obvious that air travel would be more efficient and enjoyable if all airlines took advantage of such gaps and warps in the space-time continuum.

I’m going to savor one of my four bonus hours meditating on an El Farolito burrito. I’ll then review all the notes I made on the plane to see whether or not I can figure out what happened to the missing time.

It’s rerun time this weak; that was one of my favorites from the twenty-three 7 July entries I’ve made since 1995 ...

8 July 2019

Only Users Lose Drugs (2004 rerun)

I’m at Shannon’s place, waiting for her to get ready for our hike. I brought food and drinks, which is really all that’s needed for a few hours in the woods. Or so I thought.

Shannon, on the other hand, insists that she must bring some marijuana. I generally don’t care what my friends do or don’t do; their business is their business. I’m starting to get just the slightest bit annoyed, though, since I’ve been waiting almost an hour while she searches for her missing drugs. For some reason, she can’t remember where she hid them.

It’s rerun time this weak; that was one of my favorites from the twenty-three 8 July entries I’ve made since 1995 ...

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©2019 David Glenn Rinehart