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Weak XXIX

17 July 2023

No. 8,742 (cartoon)

To thine own self be true.

That means more bourbon, right?

I canst not be false to anyone; pass the bottle.

18 July 2023

Hollywouldn’t, But I Would

I don’t follow Hollywould, but Hollywould stalks me. That’s how I know that actors as well as writers are on strike. They want more money and protection from new technologies.

They’ll get more money; that part’s easy. But I can’t imagine why studios would pay expensive meat actors instead of replacing them with cheaper computer-generated visual and audio equivalents. Turn the cast on and off; that’s what I call cinematic progress!

I’m looking forward to finding a computer program that can not only mimic me as I am now but would also evolve after my brain died along with the rest of me. If that ever happens, then I can retire from this wordy toil and let a machine write this hokum in perpetuity.

19 July 2023

Only Cats

It’s Wednesday; that means it’s time for drinks with my Talmudic scholar buddies. I know almost nothing about their work, and understandably so: after long days of religious studies, who would want to revisit business?

I broke the unwritten rule against talking shop when I showed a photograph I made in San Francisco’s Aquatic Park. Z’ev furrowed his brow when he read what someone had painted on a paving stone: NO GODS ONLY CATS. He turned to Josiah and started an animated discussion in Hebrew that went on for several minutes.

When they concluded, I asked Z’ev for a summary.

“You goys are meshuggeneh,” he explained.

I’ll drink to that! And we did.

20 July 2023

Sober Adjacent

The English language is rich in synonyms for being very drunk: crapulous, plastered, smashed, bombed, sloshed, sozzled, stinko, blitzed, legless, et cetera. There aren’t nearly as many options for describing someone who’s only had one or two drinks; that’s why I’m grateful to Moya Lothian-McLean for introducing me to “sober adjacent.”

From this day forward, I’ll never be inebriated again, just sober adjacent. Thanks, Moya!

21 July 2023

Cat Languages

Annalee told me that cats didn’t meow until they had to talk with humans many millennia ago. That’s when the pusses entered into an informal agreement with us: we’ll provide food and shelter if you protect us from ravenous rodents.

I’m not concerned that we have yet to develop a nuanced understanding of kittyspeak. Based on decades of personal experience, I’ve concluded that cats only meow three things: “I’m hungry,” “open the door,” and “pay attention to me.” And that brings us to Ace.

Ace doesn’t waste time meowing; he uses the same unambiguous language that felines used tens of thousands of years ago. He uses his claws and teeth to express dissatisfaction and urinates to mark his territory. Say what you will about Ace, but no one can deny that he communicates clearly.

22 July 2023

Slow Deer Killed Here

I discovered a dead deer in front of the Claremont Pleasure Palace when I returned home this afternoon. I don’t know what happened, but given the absence of blood on the pavement I’m guessing it was a fatal encounter with a fast car.

There’s an ancient warning sign at the scene of the accident, but the black paint on weathered plywood is almost illegible. And even if was illuminated, the message is unclear: “SLOW [silhouette of a buck] KILLED HERE.”

Perhaps it’s an admonition for drivers and cyclists to slow down, but I’m almost certain that no one’s ever read it unless s/he was standing in front of it. Or maybe it’s in remembrance of a slow deer that died there, but that’s improbable. The dead deer probably died after bounding down the steep canyon wall and onto the roadway in front of a speeding car or truck.

It’s too bad the deer died on the weekend instead of a day earlier. On weekdays, the animal control workers would have taken the warm body to the zoo to feed the lions.

The end.

Coming next weak: more of the same.

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©2023 David Glenn Rinehart