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An Artist’s Notebook of Sorts

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11 December 2021

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No. 8,379 (cartoon)

I drink to forget.

Forget what?

I don’t remember.

12 December 2021

God, Satan, and Pig Semen

Bishop Xavier Novell i Gomà is no longer a proper bishop. The Spanish Episcopal Conference stripped him of his godly powers; he is, “forbidden to administer the sacraments or engage in any teaching activity, whether public or private.”

Gosh, what did he do to get booted out of the church hierarchy? Run a financial scam? Molest children? Drink from dusk to dawn and back again? Of course not, holy men do that all the time. Nope; Novell went beyond the pale by getting married.

He might have gotten away with sleeping with a nun, as is tradition, but instead he fell in love with Doña Silvia Caballol y Clemente, a psychologist known for her satanic erotic novels. (Or maybe they’re erotic satanic novels, which are also of no interest to me.)

Caballol may make a nice income from peddling satan just as Novell used to by selling god, but now that he has to put esqueixada on the table his life has taken a worldly turn. The bishop emeritus now works for a business that harvests, markets, and sells pig semen.

No one can prove anything about the spiritual world, but pig semen is something in which anyone can believe with certainty.

13 December 2021

A Candle Factory and Not a Trailer Park?

Malcolm said he was amazed by the recent tornado carnage in Kentucky. I replied that I wasn’t; that sort of thing happens all the time.

He said I was wrong; he’d never heard of a major tornado disaster that didn’t involve a trailer park. As for the candle factory where so many workers died, who knew there was still a candle factory in the United States?

I had to agree with him. I haven’t bought a candle in years, and just assumed they were all made under horrible conditions by workers in third-world countries like Bangladesh and Cambodia.

After reading subsequent reports, I suppose workers in Kentucky aren’t treated much better. Employees who wanted to leave after the tornado sirens sounded were told they’d be fired. A manager even held a roll call to make sure no one left before the tornado leveled the Mayfield Consumer Products buildings.

“We’re heartbroken about this,” Chief Executive Officer Troy Propes said. “Our company is family-owned and our employees, some who have worked with us for many years, are cherished.”

Of course he said that; no competent public relations consultant is going to tell him to say anything else.

I believe that he may have been sincere about suggesting that he thought of employees as family. My therapist friends report that a lot of their clients don’t care whether some of their relatives are dead or alive.

14 December 2021

Experts Now Say

I never believed in making my bed. It turns out, I was right all along.

That’s the headline of a Washington Post article I sent to Ursula since she and have this little thing about beds. I added a short note admitting that I didn’t make it past the headline; I rarely do when it’s something with which I agree.

She said that I was an idiot for not reading John Kelly’s column, so I did. She was right; I enjoyed his writing. Here’s the crux of the croissant of his piece.

Experts now say you shouldn’t make your bed. Apparently, microscopic dust mites—the kind that feed on scales of human skin—love the warm, dark embrace of a neatly made bed. Leaving the bed unmade and exposing the sheets to light can cause the mites to dry up and die.

I love anything that begins, “Experts now say ...” That’s a mitey good argument indeed right there!

15 December 2021

Nothing Worse

Ross told me that Nerissa terminated their romantic relationship with a tawdry cliché by announcing that she’d fallen in love with her yoga instructor. (Who takes tennis lessons these days?)

“It doesn’t get much worse than that,” I lamented.

“Oh yes it does,” he replied. “She added that ‘she envied my freedom’ before saying goodbye.”

“Yep,” I agreed, “nothing worse than being free.”

He said he’d think about that, but I doubt he will. No one ever does.

16 December 2021

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Seven Swale Mouth Poles (Triptych)

I’ve been looking at these poles on and off for years, and decided to photograph the shifting shadows to make Seven Swale Mouth Poles (Triptych) on a recent sunny morning.

It might have worked better as a time-lapse movie, but I don’t do that sort of thing. It’s too easy for starters, thus my current inability to make such a film is irrelevant.


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©2021 David Glenn Rinehart

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