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Weak XXV

18 June 2024

No. 7,436 (cartoon)

I’m twenty-five thousand days old today.

Does that mean anything to you?

Yes. Six hundred thousand hours, one and a half million minutes.

19 June 2024

Twenty-five Thousand and One

As noted in yesterday’s cartoon, I turned twenty-five-thousand days old yesterday; that’s a million and a half minutes.

I can’t remember many minutes in particular, and the dozens I can recall after lots of effort are roughly split between spectacular rapture and abject terror. I survived the latter mostly unscathed and I’ll always treasure the former.

I’d guess that I’ve spent about a third of the other minutes asleep; I’ve been very fortunate that way. As for the remainder, most were spent in a comfortable fog, which is where I am at the moment as I make up nonsense and pass it off on anyone who’s wasting their precious minutes reading this.

20 June 2024

Trader Joe’s Ends Segregation

I went to Trader Joe’s to buy a bottle of cheap wine instead of the cheap swill in five-liter bags I usually drink. It may have been a lateral move in terms in terms of quality, but I can’t bring that much wine to a dinner party. After all, the other guests might polish it off leaving me nothing to drink before bed.

Anyhoohow...

I asked the store manager where I could find the Two-buck Chuck wine dba Charles Shaw since the shelves displaying low-budget wine were empty. He cheerfully explained that the wall of cheap wine was gone and that they now stocked the bottles by varietal, i.e., chardonnay with the other chardonnays, merlot with the other merlots, et cetera.

“I hope you rethink that,” I suggested. “The other arrangement was easier for a lazy guy like me.”

“So you preferred the segregation?” he asked.

That question put me in a sticky pickle of a potential trap since the manager was as black as he was jovial and cheerful. I had to think quickly, and this was one of those rare occasions where I did.

“Of course not,” I replied, “but as white trash I feel more comfortable with the caste system.”

Whew, that was a close one!

21 June 2024

A Certain Solution

Iris lovingly chastised me for drinking too much after reading my many fictitious accounts of doing just that.

“Alcohol isn’t the answer,” she sternly declared.

I was tempted to ask if that depended on the question, but I avoided the pointless debate trap by getting all scientifical on her.

“I’m certain any modestly competent scientist you ask will agree that alcohol is a solution,” I responded.

“David,” she replied, “shut up and drink.”

All’s well that ends well!

22 June 2024

Funkball the Brewster

What do John Cage and John Cale have in common? I’m glad you asked. No, really, thanks for that.

I admire both musicians. I’ve never listened to their music but that’s irrelevant; I quote them often. For example, here’s how John Cale explained how he came up with the title for a new song, Funkball the Brewster.

“I made it. I made it like I make breakfast.”

That’s music to my ears, and it tastes like art!

23 June 2024

TT

I told Anonymous, one of my closest friends, that I could read her like an open book.

“Oh really?” she replied with a raised eyebrow. (She’s good with the eyebrow trick.)

I assured her that she was an open book to me, but that a lot of the chapters were missing and the pagination was out of order for what was left.

“I guess you might be able to read me like a book after all,” she admitted.

(This notebook entry has been sanitized for my protection.)

24 June 2024

Mid

I whinge a lot about Kids These Days; that’s my prerogative if not my duty as an olde would-be curmudgeon. But I’m nothing if not fair, balanced, and facetious, so I’m expressing my gratitude to the kids who converted “mid” from an adjective or preposition into a noun.

Mid?

I won’t try to define it, since Stephen Marche already did.

In my son’s usage, things that are “mid” are things that are essentially average or slightly below. You can’t really complain about them but they produce no joy. They’re often the result of the refinement of market research to the exact level where tepid consumer acceptance is achieved. Everything in Starbucks falls into the category of “mid.” So does everything in an airport. It’s a brilliant, precise word for a world full of mild disappointments, where the corner bakery that used to do some things well and other things poorly has been reliably replaced by yet another Le Pain Quotidien.

And that concludes another notebook entry I’m gonna call mid.

25 June 2024

Bucatini no. 15 Satellite in Simulated Lunar Orbit (Sputnik Tribute)

I think Bucatini no. 15 is out of this world, so that’s where I visualized it when I made Bucatini no. 15 Satellite in Simulated Lunar Orbit (Sputnik Tribute).

Coming next weak: more of the same.

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©2024 David Glenn Rinehart