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An Artist’s Notebook of Sorts

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Weak VII


12 February 2024

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No. 2,701 (cartoon)

You’re everything I despise.

Then why are you with me?

Now I can stop searching and relax.

13 February 2024

What Do Professional Football Players Do?

What do professional football players do? They play football.

Do they landscape the field? Absolutely not. Do they wash and mend their uniforms? Most certainly not. Do they make travel arrangements from game to game? Of course not. Do they manage the team’s finances? Never. Do they clean up the stadium after a game? Negatory, good buddy.

And so, what do professional football players do? They play football. That’s all they do.

Now that we have that straightened out, let’s look back at Sunday’s big game that determined which team would be the world champions. (Only organizations based in the United States were eligible; we all know how that works.)

The score was tied at the end of regular play, so the game went into overtime. Now get this: players for the San Francisco Forty-Niners didn’t know what the rules were for overtime play. The organization pays members of the team over two hundred million dollars a year to play football, but they didn’t know what the rules were.

They lost; their ignorance may have cost them the game.

I’m speechless.

(It’s best to shut up when speechless, so it’s time to stop writing now.)

14 February 2024

Thoughts on VD

Jerry said that his daughter Megan canceled getting together with us tonight because she was too busy as the president of the board getting ready for a meeting tomorrow.

“Tell her that she may want to consider being a bored artist like me instead of a board president,” I suggested. “A life in business is an oxymoron.”

That sounded like a supportive thing to say, even though I knew even as the words coming out of my mouth that I was being completely disingenuous. (Sophists generally agree that being completely disingenuous is clearly better than lying.)

I’m almost never bored. Any time I’m on the cusp of being bored I lower my entertainment threshold even more. Why, it was only this VD morning that I wondered how many people Cupid had killed when he missed trying to hit someone in the love bone and punctured an artery instead.

I’m still pondering that one. How many hearts were punctured, not broken? I bet at least one of my nurse friends knows; I’ll have to ask one of these days.

I may not be all that intelligent, but at least I’m very rarely bored.

15 February 2024

International Conceptual Artist of the Year

I have a new line for the curriculum vitae I’ll never write: International Conceptual Artist of the Year.

Yep, that’s me!

I’m not so sure about the conceptual artist title. I’ve always eschewed being labeled and pigeonholed, but I’ve been called much worse. In any case, failure never went to my head and neither will this most recent award; I’m still steady as she goes until she goes no more.

I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve never heard of this prestigious award; I just concocted it yesterday. I fabricated the prized prize, I was the only applicant, and I was chosen by the sole judge, me. I agree with Bela Bartok, “Competitions are for horses, not artists.”

That’s also how I became editor and publisher of Greenpeace’s national magazine forty-some years ago, and much later became the Internet Archive’s first artist in residence in residence for seven years: I created those positions and was the only contender.

I think that’s a nice little idea. But that’s something the International Conceptual Artist of the Year would say, wouldn’t s/he?

16 February 2024

Brewda-toofah Revisited

In her never-ending, i.e., futile, quest to make me a better person, Suzette told me that I should delete my 11 January 2024 notebook entry because it was racist.


She said I shouldn’t have described the Japanese pronunciation of “bluetooth” as “brewda-toofah,” even though I parenthetically added, “I apologize for my complete incompetence when it comes to the phonetic spelling of the Japanese words I hear.”

My late friend Jennifer taught English in Japan. She was a Japanophile (yes, that’s a real word), and she was mystified why her students called a clear drinking vessel “a grass,” but “glass” covered the lawn.

I’m guessing that Suzette will be displeased or worse by what I just wrote. I’ll know soon; she remains inexplicably indefatigable and eager to change me even though that will never happen until I start wearing diapers.

17 February 2024

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Octopus Plus Octopus Equals ...

The above illustration shows two octopuses.

The above illustration also shows two octopi.

In addition, the above illustration shows two octopodes.

The above sentences show that the English language is a delightfully confusing mess.

18 February 2024

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Caboose Life

Dr. Arnold and I were discussing locomotive matters, a conversation that ultimately led to caboose life as it invariably does.

Ah, caboose life; that’s the life for me! I’ve been thinking about buying a caboose. The railroads no longer use them, so I imagine a used one wouldn’t cost very much. I’d befriend workers at the rail yard and attach my caboose to a train headed along the ocean or through the mountains.

Ideally, I’ll get a caboose with a wood-burning stove like the one in the January 1942 photograph Dr. Arnold produced from his collection. Look at how content those guys are: one is working at a desk, and the other is looking out the window at the passing scenery. The water on the stove is always hot and ready for the next pot of coffee. I’m sure there’s at least one bottle of hooch hidden in the filing cabinet.

Yessiree, caboose life is the life for me!

19 February 2024

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Bucatino no. 15 and Bucatini no. 15 (Diptych)

I’ve been eating different varieties of pasta my entire life, but De Cecco Bucatini no. 15 is the first one that appealed to me visually; that’s why I made Bucatino no. 15 and Bucatini no. 15 (Diptych), an art piece with a little built-in Italian lesson.

Coming next weak: more of the same.


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©2024 David Glenn Rinehart