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23 July 2023

No. 5,223 (cartoon)

I had a near-death experience.

Try harder next time.

You’re not the only one who’s disappointed.

24 July 2023

Remembering Julius

I started my day as usual by scanning the headlines over half a liter of forty-weight coffee. That’s where I came across this tragedy du jour: Julius the tortoise won our hearts—then died of a broken penis.

Ouchus maximus!

I didn’t read the story in case it described how I too might die from such an unfortunate affliction. There are some things just I don’t want to know.

25 July 2023

Felix Klieser’s Amazing Footwork

Art made with great difficulty doesn’t necessarily result in great art. I’m thinking of someone who made a mediocre, fuzzy landscape photograph and then deemed it to be an artwork of some merit because it was made on a collodion wet plate with a thirty-kilogram large format camera crafted from a block of Breccia Capraia marble. Crappy art is crappy art—or worse—no matter how much effort went into it.

And that brings me, and thus us, to Felix Klieser. He plays the French horn as did I when I was a teenager; I know from painful experience how difficult it is. The story I read reported that Klieser overcame an unusual obstacle to become an excellent musician. He was born with no arms, and thus no hands, and thus no fingers, so he uses the only other available digits: his toes.

I haven’t heard him play; I’m happy with my scratchy old recordings of Dennis Brain if only for the nostalgia. Still, I wonder if I could get past seeing a contortionist if I ever saw him perform. Oh well, that’s not my problem and it’s apparently not his either. He seemed quite happy—bordering on obnoxiously cheerful—with his life in the profile I read.

I think this is a great example of how one generates her or his own reality. Klieser could have been eternally bitter but he had better ideas, although I remain to be convinced that playing the French horn was one of them.

26 July 2023

Kiliaen’s Perfect Record

Things here are bollixed up in spades and Kiliaen blames me, of course he does. He argued that had I messed up earlier, we wouldn’t be in this pickle of a predicament now.

He always blames someone or something else for his woes. As far as I know, he’s never made a mistake, or at least not one that he’ll ever admit. Conversely, I’ve made so many varied screwups, flubs, gaffes, and five-alarm blunders that I’m happy to take the blame—but not the responsibility—for almost any accusation. Friends like Kiliaen appreciate me for taking the rap, and I’m glad to avoid unnecessarily inane arguments, that way I can save my energy for the necessarily inane squabbles.

27 July 2023

Then Do That

And this just in from the Jokes That Were Old Before You Were Born Department:

Patient to doctor: It hurts when I do that.

Doctor: Then don’t do that.

I thought of the hoary wisecrack when I went to Spike Milliken’s talk tonight. Instead of highfalutin artspeak, he explained his urge to create in straightforward English: “Making things makes me feel better than not making things.”

He wouldn’t have gone far in academia talking like that; what a lucky break! I enjoyed his talk even though it was quite unnecessary; his work spoke for itself without a trace of falutin.

28 July 2023

Receding and Reseeding

Sid wondered aloud why his hair was receding and not reseeding. I debated whether that was a question about biology or language, but not for long. I decided to avoid a silly debate by instead talking about lunch plans, a subject of great interest to both of us.

This nanostory has a happy ending: pizza and beer!

29 July 2023

SLOW DOWN! (Flat Tire)

I usually enjoy cycling, but not this afternoon. I got a flat tire on my bike, so I had to walk it up the steep canyon road for a couple of kilometers. I took advantage of my unlucky break to study my surroundings, something that’s too dangerous to do while pedaling.

I didn’t remember observing how tall the utility poles are, and I’m certain that I never noticed the sign admonishing everyone to SLOW DOWN! Since I hated to acknowledge that I’d welcome a rest, I justified a break by taking an unremarkable photograph I’ll probably never see again.

Coming next weak: more of the same.

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©2023 David Glenn Rinehart