2005 Notebook: Weak III
gratuitous image
15 January 2005
No. 7,564 (cartoon)
We’ve been through a lot together.

It was all your fault.

16 January 2005
A Remarkable Transformation
I finally ran into Stewart after many years of phone calls and email. After recounting a chronology of my last few years, Stewart opined that I’m going through a remarkable transformation.

“Really?” I asked. “I feel like I’ve been in a stasis for some time.”

“Not at all,” Steward replied, “it’s like watching a butterfly turn into a worm.”

I squirmed a bit; I knew he was right.

17 January 2005
Two-Hundred Thousand Three-Dimentional Nudes
Harold Lloyd, who earned his reputation acting in early films, was also a bit of a shutterbug. He made some two-hundred thousand three-dimensional photographs of nude young women. I had a look at some of the photographs, and they’re delightfully cheesy. He photographed would-be starlets, F-list actresses, and just about any woman willing to undress for his camera beside his swimming pool and/or fountain. And the story gets better: he used a variety of hokey props, including candy canes and fishing poles. How hilarious! The images are atrocious; I can feel my sperm count dropping.

Lloyd made seventy-eight films, but you’ll probably never see them since he forbade them from being shown on television. Since his work hasn’t been in theatrical distribution since 1964, poor Harold will be remembered—if he’s remembered at all—for some mediocre photographs. Poor Harold; he should have known better than to craft his own legacy.

18 January 2005
Fiasco’s Source
Sharon told me that the word “fiasco” comes from an Italian word for a large container of wine. That explanation made perfect sense to me; I’ve seen enough of the awesome power of the grape to appreciate that it can, on occasion, be the catalyst for minor disasters.

It turns out that there’s a lot more to the linguistic story than that, but it’s boring.

19 January 2005
Irrelevant Environmental Considerations
Airbus has introduced a gargantuan new jet that seats some five-hundred and fifty passengers; it should provide new dimensions in airborne claustrophobia. Size is no big thing, but I did appreciate one statistic: the plane uses .029 liters of fuel per passenger mile, roughly seven percent better than a Boeing 747. If I’ve done my math right—always a dubious proposition—that means I’m burning less fuel when I fly than when I drive in a friend’s car.

Of course there are lots of other environmental considerations: jets spew pollution high in the atmosphere, use a different kind of fuel, that sort of thing. Fortunately, these technical details are irrelevant to me, since I don’t care about the environment.

20 January 2005
Emerging Artists
I went to an opening for “emerging artists.” The free wine was good; the art was not. Have they no shame? Have they no talent? Why an artist would exhibit anything before s/he’s emerged, this I do not know.

21 January 2005
Questioning a Meaning of Life
“What are you up to these days?” Paula asked.

“Very little,” I admitted, “I’ve been thinking about my three meanings of life, and I keep coming back to Kurt Vonnegut’s observation, ‘Listen: We are here on Earth to fart around. Don’t let anyone tell you any different!’ ”

“You piss away time like you’re never going to run out,” she scoffed dismissively. “You must think you’re going to live forever.”

I had to admit to myself—but only to myself—that I’d earned her contempt.

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©2005 David Glenn Rinehart