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Weak XXV|

26 June 2024

No. 4,103 (cartoon)

I am quite unique.

But I am the most unique.

Then I am the uniquest.

27 June 2024

Whee! Whoa!

I was slowly creeping up the steep part of Fuerstenfeldbruck Avenue on my bike when I heard another cyclist shrieking as he careened down the hill.

“Whee! Whoa! Whoa! Whee! Whee!”

The disheveled guy with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth looked like he hadn’t bathed in at least a week, and he appeared to be out of control as he swerved from side to side. I immediately spotted his problem since I’m an experienced cyclist: he wasn’t touching the handlebars; he was using both hands to fold a sweater.

Don’t let no one tell you no different: insanity really is your best entertainment value.

28 June 2024

Martin Mull Is So Dead

None is so dead as he who no longer lives.

That’s my hasty obituary for Martin Mull, who just checked out at eighty. Good run, Martin!

Here’s the background to my ersatz tribute. Over the decades, I’ve cited one of his quotes at least ten times here, often at eight-hundred and sixty-day intervals: “None is so blind as he who cannot see.”

Now that Mull is gone, I’ll never rerun that quote again. (Until I do.)

29 June 2024

Tour de France Glory Hole

Well, here we are at the start of another Tour de France even though we’re in Italy, and ... wait, isn’t that Lance Armstrong over there? Well I’ll be danged if it ain’t!

He’s here to promote the updated version of his 2000 autobiographical book, It’s Not About the Bike: My Journey Back to Life. The shameless huckster is telling anyone who will listen that the new edition is so different and expanded that he’s renamed it, It’s Not About the Bike: Doping, Lying, Cheating, and Betrayal on My Road to Glory.

Everyone knows the tawdry tale after the shameful revelations from the last couple of decades; I wonder if he’ll sell enough copies to pay for his ticket back to exile in Texas.

30 June 2024

Duchampian Oxymoron

Derek opined that my recent piece, Ten Hundred Hours (Bucatino no. 15 and Butter Sundial Proof of Concept), was “Duchampian” because Marcel Duchamp frequently ate pasta and butter for dinner.

Oy ...

Even I know—on one of my good days—that it’s worse than pathetic to argue with an ignoranus, so I didn’t point out that being Duchampian is an oxymoron. And anyway, even though Ol’ Marcel was indeed quite the hombre, I’m pretty sure someone came up with the idea of combining pasta and butter a millennium or two before he did.

1 July 2024

The Check’s in the Mail

I mailed a friend a check today. It occurred to me while writing the check and addressing the envelope that I was doing more handwriting than I did in the first half of the year.

I don’t know what to make of that so I won’t.

Coming next weak: more of the same.

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©2024 David Glenn Rinehart