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Weak XXXVII

10 September 2024

No. 3,754 (cartoon)

I’m worried about your mental health.

I told you that I’m not suicidal.

That’s what I mean; you’re not thinking clearly.

11 September 2024

Call Me Nostradamus

Sid and I were jabbering on about balderdash and blarney when he made a stupid interjection commensurate with the volume of rum he’d had to drink.

“Do you know what I think?” he asked.

“No,” I replied, “but you can call me Nostradamus because I know you’re going to tell me.”

My answer puzzled him. He asked me if Nostradamus was “the guy with the church in Paris that burnt down.” He got even more confused when I told him that he was thinking of Notre-Dame cathedral, and wondered aloud why a French church was named after an American football team. And although this seems improbable, things went calamitously downhill from there.

We enjoyed a pleasant afternoon; sometimes it’s great to be a guy.

12 September 2024

Ig Nobel Yawn

I was looking forward to reading about the Ig Nobel Prizes that were just awarded. Usually I can cite a couple of the more interesting projects and call it a notebook entry, but not today. I didn’t find anything worth mentioning.

I have to write something, so here ya go: kangaroos cannot jump backward. That’s not Ig Nobel Prize material, but this year it’s more interesting.

13 September 2024

Insert Plausible Explanation

Gerrit finally responded to the email query I sent him over a week ago; here’s how it began:

[Insert plausible explanation for inexcusably tardy reply.]

Brilliant!

If I were a geek, I’d program my computer to begin every one of my replies that way as the default.

14 September 2024

Thieves and Literature

A miscreant burgled a flat in Rome, and you’ll never guess what he took. So I’ll tell you. He took his time. He took his time reading Giovanni Nucci’s The Gods at Six O’Clock.

The perp is in jail, but received support from a surprising quarter (or some other fraction). Nucci offered to send him a copy of the book, adding, “he was arrested halfway through reading it. I’d like him to be able to finish it.”

That’s the anecdote, now here’s the good part. Nucci, whose book is about The Iliad, added that Hermes, the god of thieves and literature, is his favorite divinity.

15 September 2024

Taking the Stairs

Alicia is on a crusade to have half of the escalators in the world renamed. She argues that moving stairs that take you down a floor don’t escalate you, and should be called deescalators. She’s not stopping there; she is simultaneously demanding that the names of elevators should be changed to elevator/deelevator since the contraptions go up and down.

Her campaign isn’t going well. Some “deescalator” supporters are balking at the unwieldy “elevator/deelevator.” And then there is, of course, more infighting.

Half of the semanticians are demanding umlauts, e.g., deëscalator and elevator/deëlevator, and the rest consider the idea an abomination and a shameful affront to all that is good and right in the world.

And as for me? I’m taking the stairs.

16 September 2024

Photography’s Bicentenary

Nicéphore Niépce made the first photograph in the world—and perhaps the universe as well—two hundred years ago today.

Maybe.

At least that’s what Niépce told his brother in a letter written a couple centuries ago.

“The image of the objects is represented there with astonishing clarity and fidelity, down to the smallest details, and with their most delicate nuances.”

Historians argue—that’s what historians do—that his claim doesn’t count since he didn’t preserve the original. Everyone agrees that we’ll be seeing more photography “bicentennials” in the coming years.

I believe John Herschel is the one who made the first photograph in the 1840s, that’s when he coined the word “photography.” (Niépce referred to his process as “heliography,” or “writing with the sun.”)

17 September 2024

Disgusting Toothbrush

Years ago I thought about photographing the toothbrushes in every home I visited. I abandoned the project before I started, since I’d be violating everyone’s trust if I made the images surreptitiously. If I asked permission, I’d only see clean, newish toothbrushes.

The series was stillborn, but the other day I came across a toothbrush on a visit to Santa Cruz that was so disgusting I couldn’t resist photographing it. It appeared to never have been rinsed let alone cleaned in decades. The bristles were filthy and misshapen with pieces of food from weeks ago still lodged in them; they looked like they were growing out of the primordial slime that covered the handle.

The repulsive image is more than just another vomitous photograph, it’s also a visual cautionary tale: the owner just had several teeth extracted.

Coming next weak: more of the same.

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©2024 David Glenn Rinehart