2001 Notebook: Weak XLXI
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17 December 2001
Go Go Gone Gone
I was saddened to see that San Francisco’s Go Go Market went out of business, and surprised to learn that it had been around for forty years.

I’d expected Go Go Market to go out of business for years. After all, how can a store that doesn’t stock Rainier Ale stay in business? I’ve brought the owner’s suicidal commercial behavior to the attention of my local Rainier Ale dealers, just in case they foolishly choose to stock less efficient adult beverages in lieu of a brew that appeals to a more discriminating palate.

One can’t be too careful when it comes to Rainier Ale.

18 December 2001
Used Rocks
I was zooming down Telegraph Hill, and spotted a store advertising “Used Rocks” in the window.

Used rocks?! Who’d buy a used rock? Maybe the store sold used locks, or used docks, or used socks, or used nocks, or used hocks, or maybe even used pocks. By the time I realized I was completely confused, I’d sped at least a hundred meters past the curious sign. I was too lazy to pedal back up the hill, so I kept on flying.

Used rocks?!

19 December 2001
Another Pleasant Ride
Some woman in a new age hippie dress came up to me at Amelia’s party and generously gave me some free dietary advice.

“You’d better be careful with all those habanero and chipotle tacos with Rainier Ale,” she kindly advised. “After all, your body is a temple.”

“Not at all,” I replied, “my body is an amusement park.”

She harrumphed and walked away.

I went for another spin on the roller coaster. Wheeeeee!

20 December 2001
I just ran across Bryan Mealer’s brief review of David M. Friedman’s new book, A Mind of Its Own: A Cultural History of the Penis. The reviewer did a good job, and didn’t waste my time with any of entomological details. The piece did, however, provide some interesting etymological insights.

Take these passages from Genesis, for example:

    And Abraham said unto his eldest servant of his house, that ruled over all that he had, Put, I pray thee, thy hand under my thigh


    And the servant put his hand under the thigh of Abraham his master, and sware to him concerning that matter.

According to Friedman, translators were too prim and prudish to call a rose a rose, and used “thigh” instead of testes and/or penis. In other words, Abraham had his servant swear an oath on his reproductive bits.

That sounds a bit extreme, but I suppose it was to be expected in those days. The miserable servant couldn’t have put his hand on the bible, since the bible had yet to be written.


And, speaking of which, a couple thousand years ago, young men in Rome used to wear a certain locket called a fascinum. Each fascinum featured an image of an erect penis inside. Even today, we still use a derivation of the word spawned by those ancient Roman lockets.


21 December 2001
Glenn Albert Rinehart Memorial Drinks
My father, Glenn Albert Rinehart, died ten years ago today. Like so many other events in his life, I don’t think he planned to die on the winter solstice, it just happened to happen that way.

My father was nothing if not easygoing. He said that he didn’t want a big fuss when he died, but that it would be a good idea to buy a round of drinks for everyone when he was gone. And so it was that I headed off to visit some friends with a bottle of good whisky and as much beer as I could carry on my bike.

I got there at the end of the day, told everyone that the drinks were on dad, then left after a couple beers. I came back to my friends’ business for another drink after enjoying a burrito, and found nothing but empty bottles.

Glenn would have liked that.

22 December 2001
Troy told me he’d just shipped his new piece, FishWish, to a gallery in San Diego.

“What’s FishWish?” I asked.

“It’s one of those trendy pieces with lots of computer monitors and blinking lights and all that crap,” he explained.

“I’ve never thought of you or your work as trendy,” I responded.

“Thank you,” Troy replied. “FishWish is a Trojan Horse, or maybe a Trojan Fish.”

Troy went on to explain that the piece was organic as well as digital. In addition to the computer monitors, FishWish also featured five piñatas filled with rotting salmon heads.

“I dropped the piñatas at the post office this morning; I figure it will take ’em a week or so to get there,” Troy said with a smirk. “One of the gallery’s curators once told me that my work stinks; I’m sure she won’t be disappointed.”

“Very thoughtful of you,” I agreed.

23 December 2001
The Little Drummer Boy Must Die
I’ve been thinking a lot about Elvis Presley recently, and not just because of all the forty-five thousand calorie holiday meals. Elvis used to carry a pistol around his mansion, and shot a television set when he didn’t like the programming.

Cheeseburgers and pills forever!

Every time I hear “the little drummer boy, a rumpa-pum-pom,” I regret that I don’t carry a gun. I could have emptied a couple of fifteen-round clips on this morning’s walk to North Beach.

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©2001 David Glenn Rinehart