2004 Notebook: Weak XXXV
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28 August 2004
No. 7,144 (cartoon)
I gave you everything.

You’ve never given anyone anything.

29 August 2004
Almost Dead Art
I had a wonderful dream last night about making an art piece that would almost kill patrons. In theory, members of the audience would be on the verge of death, then pulled back after getting a quick glimpse of the transition from life. I figure doctors know how to do those sorts of things.

The problem, of course, is the disconnect between theory and practice. It’s like Jan L.A. van de Snepscheut said, “In theory, there is no difference between theory and practice. But, in practice, there is.”

Also, I suspect I may have plagiarized the idea from Thomas Edison, who used to nap with a fistful of ball bearings in one hand. As he fell asleep in his chair, the metal balls would drop to the floor. After he awoke because of noise, he’d remember what was “on the tip of his mind.”

I don’t have a problem with plagiarism; I do it all the time. The trick is to steal from obscure sources. Looks like I won’t be giving anyone a near-death experience soon.

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30 August 2004
Seven-dollar and Twelve-dollar Wine
I usually take a couple of two-dollar bottles of good wine when I go to parties and dinners. Occasionally, I run into a silly snob who judges wine by how much it costs instead of how it tastes. That’s why I cover one label with a five-dollar note and the other label with a ten-dollar note. I enjoy asking pretentious twits if they prefer the seven-dollar wine or the twelve-dollar wine; they always go for the bottle with the ten-dollar note taped to it.

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31 August 2004
Frisco in the Great Steak of Texas
I rarely call San Francisco “Frisco” since I discovered “Sco” annoys even more people. Nevertheless, I was intrigued by my inadvertent discovery that there’s a city called “Frisco” in Texas.

The town’s Internet site claims, “Frisco offers an abundance of fun for kids of all ages in a safe, affordable and unique setting.” Sounds like a lie; a suburban hellhole in the desert doesn’t sound at all unique. In any case, I prefer a dangerous, unaffordable, and uniquer setting.

Having said that, I was impressed with Frisco’s big cultural event, “The Great Steak of Texas.” According to the press release, “This one-of-a-kind festival will feature the best of Texas, showcasing the Beef Industry in Texas ... the days’ [sic] activities will include an opening parade and cattle drive, cooking contest using beef as the primary ingredient ...” And calf-roping too!

My favorite part about The Great Steak of Texas was the poster, which featured a model of Texas made entirely of animal parts! I guess these Texans aren’t as stupid as the unelected U.S. pResident would suggest.

1 September 2004
Every now and again, I learn about a word I can’t believe I’ve just discovered. Today, the word is sciolism, “a pretentious attitude of scholarship; superficial knowledgeability.”

My learned friends and I agree, that word was made for me!

2 September 2004
Avant Garde Isn’t
I was snooping around a friend’s apartment when I found a first-edition copy of Kenneth Patchen’s novel, Sleepers Awake. The first thing I noticed was that the typographer used the Avant Garde font. That font isn’t avant garde now; and I bet it wasn’t avant garde then, either.

3 September 2004
Alex’s Opening
I went to an opening at my friend Alex’s gallery tonight. It’s not really her gallery; she’s just running it as her new job. I didn’t care much for the work; everything was on the retinal end of the conceptual versus retinal scale.

I was dismayed to see the gallery has a “two drink maximum” sign at the bar.

“Alex, you need to work on the drinks policy,” I advised, “I really can’t appreciate a mediocre artist after only a couple of glasses of wine.”

“David!” Alex said blushing, “someone might hear you.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” I replied. “every mediocre artist who heard me say ‘mediocre artist’ assumed that I was talking about someone else.”

Alex looked relieved, and brought me several more glasses of wine. The show wasn’t all that bad, really.

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©2004 David Glenn Rinehart