2005 Notebook: Weak V
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30 January 2005
No. 3,628 (cartoon)
Pathos becomes me.

No, you’re just pathetic.

31 January 2005
An Exemplary Horrible Person
Dennis told me about an old man that lives alone in a cabin a few miles down the road from him in the Sierra; he described him as one of the most abhorrent people he’d ever met. The old codger is unabashedly racist, cruel, misogynist, selfish, homophobic, and more. The interesting part of the story was that the old man knew he wasn’t fit to live in society, so he’d intentionally isolated himself at the end of an old logging road.

Dennis only met the old man once. At the end of their brief conversation, the hermit said, “You know this is the last chat we’ll have.”

“I appreciate that,” Dennis replied.

1 February 2005
My New Diet
I’ve always admired the way great scientists have experimented on themselves. Can this contraption fly? Will this vaccine work? Let’s find out!

It is in that spirit of discovery—and an unquenchable thirst for knowledge—that I’m seeing how long I can survive on only espresso, peanut butter, and red wine.

So far so good!

2 February 2005
Dummer Rings Truer
I read that the administraitors of a two hundred and forty-two year old private high school in Massachusetts are considering changing the name of the institution. Apparently, some marketing hucksters think “Dummer Academy” is a problematical name. (Once upon a time, Governor Dummer donated land and money to the school, hence the name.)

Personally, I like the institution’s name. I’d much rather have graduated from the Dummer Academy that the Interlochen Arts Academy; Dummer rings truer.

3 February 2005
Meeting Laurie
I’ve been talking to Laurie—who I met through a friend of a friend—for some time about an art project. Finally, she came over to the lab tonight. Since we’d never met in person, I complimented her on her bravery.

“I’m glad you came by,” I greeted her, “even though I might have been an ax murderer.”

“I never worry about ax murderers,” she replied, “they’re quick.”

We enjoyed three bottles of wine with dinner, and nothing particularly dangerous transpired.

4 February 2005
Maggie announced that she was having a bad day.

“How bad?” I asked.

“I feel like I dropped a coin in a pinball machine then turned into the ball,” she explained.

“Play with the cards you’re dealt,” I advised. (I love to mangle metaphors.) “I suppose you should stay in in play as long as you can and go for bonus points.”

“Stick with your cards,” Maggie demanded. “The pinball game is all my mine.”

As I learned later at some expense, I really shouldn’t have done what I did, but I couldn’t resist. I gave her a big push that sent her falling into the couch.

“Tilt!” I yelled.

Big mistake, one of many.

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©2005 David Glenn Rinehart