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Weak VI

5 February 2026

No. 1,738 (cartoon)

Does your family have a long history of alcoholism?

Yes, and it’s getting longer.

You’re working on the next chapter, aren’t you?

6 February 2026

Intentionally Blank (Cerrillos Road, Santa Fe)

I was walking down Cerrillos Road yesterday, oh yes I was, when I glanced to my left, and there it was: a blank canvas!

I used my artistic license, or my poetic license, or some other forged document to call it a blank canvas; it was only a small, white billboard in the back of an empty parking lot waiting for someone with no business acumen to pay for an advertisement there. Instead, I used my computer to put my message on it when I made Intentionally Blank (Cerrillos Road, Santa Fe).

7 February 2026

Looking for JF

Once upon a time, when Dr. Clem was a titan of industry selling his patented toxic waste pit liners, he would occasionally venture south of the Mason–Dixon line to visit his factory in Alabama, or some other sorry state. He was an enlightened despot, and took pride in calling his workers by their first names.

On one trip, he told the foreman that he wanted to talk with JF, a young man who’d impressed him on a previous visit, but neither she nor the plant manager had ever heard of anyone named JF. It took three minutes of backing and forthing before the manager solved the puzzle: “Oh, you mean Jeff!

(In case you didn’t get the punchline, take it from a Yankee: Southerners talk real funny.)

8 February 2026

The Late Bradley Arnold and Nine Dead David Rineharts

Riddle me this:

I had a nice, long chat with Bradley Arnold today. Bradley Arnold died yesterday.

“How can this be?” you just asked, even though you just didn’t.

No need to summon Sherlock on this one; there is more than one Bradley Arnold. The dead one was a mediocre Mississippi musician who performed for Donald Drumph, and won’t be missed. The latter is a friend from Interlochen, who, like me, is thriving in his twelfth sexennium.

That got me to thinking, as I occasionally do, so I asked the Internet about dead David Rineharts. There were a lot of ’em. Apparently David Rineharts aren’t built for longevity; I’ve outlived all of ’em except one. I’ve always thought cheap red wine was a decent preservative; perhaps I was right.

9 February 2026

Penes and the Olympics

I’ve seen a lot of headlines about penes and the Olympics in northern Italy. Well, two at least, but that’s a lot of press for the male genital organ that’s been around since the first human created the third one.

The first article investigated “whether ski jumpers were injecting their penises with hyaluronic acid in order to fly further.”

Wha wha what?!

The explanation sounded like some Haitian Vodou ritual, but we’re talking about coldly conniving Nordic athletes. Apparently, even a slightly larger bulge in the crotch increased a competitor’s “wingspan” (yep, that’s what it’s called), resulting in a longer, slower descent. I have no idea why that wind resistance wouldn’t slow the skiers’ ascent, and I’m not going to bother to investigate. Even the junkiest junkie knows better than to shoot up in his genitalia; I can’t understand why anyone would go through the pain, possible disfigurement, and worse, just to touch down on the slope a few centimeters downhill from competitors.

And then there’s the case of Vitruvian Man’s missing genitals. Someone at Rai, the Italian state broadcaster, redacted the hombre’s manly bits before they showed Leonardo da Vinci’s famous drawing. The idea of an Italian castrating another Italian is just too exasperating for words, and therefore, I now must conclude today’s Olympics reportage.

10 February 2026

Bucatino No. 15 Conductor’s Baton, Santa Fe (Homage to Ennio Morricone)

Through no fault of my own, I found myself enjoying the music Ennio Morricone composed for Sergio Leone’s spaghetti Westerns. The tracks sounded great, and should his work ever be performed in the American west, I hope the musicians will take my advice: Bucatino No. 15 Conductor’s Baton, Santa Fe (Homage to Ennio Morricone).

11 February 2026

Repelling After Eleven Thousand Notebook Entries

Today is my eleven-thousandth daily notebook entry, and that concludes my self-congratulatory note.

That pat on my own back doesn’t represent the fine entertainment value for which I am unknown, so I will also mention that an anonymous woman on the Internet bragged that she had “repelled down at [sic] thirty-eight-story building.”

She might have been telling the truth. It’s most improbable that she rappelled down the facade of a skyscraper, but it’s easy to imagine her repelling people going down thirty-eight flights of stairs or on a long elevator ride.

I know how I’d do it. I’d drench myself in a liter of patchouli oil, then get the loudest portable sound system I could carry. I’d blast out the most offensive music I could find, then “sing” along with it at the top of my lungs. And that’s just for starters.

That’s why I don’t make an effort to annoy or offend anyone. I’ve always done so effortlessly, thus it seems silly to put any additional work into it. It’s my gift.

Coming next weak: more of the same.

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©2026 David Glenn Rinehart