2005 Notebook: Weak XII
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19 March 2005
No. 4,407 (cartoon)
I think I hate you.

What took you so long?

20 March 2005
Why Is Sex Fun?
I listened to a fascinating interview with Jared Diamond on the radio today. He provided an engrossing historical perspective on human beings’ amazing, self-destructive stupidity. I was familiar with the a priori premise, yet nevertheless fascinated by his supporting arguments.

My favorite part of the lecture was Diamond’s acknowledgment of his failure. He admitted that he failed to come to a conclusion in his book, Why Is Sex Fun?

And that’s fine with me. Some things are better left to the imagination and/or empirical evidence.

21 March 2005
That Wilderness Smell
Every so often I find myself experiencing a false wilderness memory while cycling past Big Nate’s Barbeque. The smell of burning wood triggers recollections of sitting around campfires on backpacking trips in the wilderness.

The problem is this: I’ve never, ever made a campfire in the wilderness. I’m too lazy to cook with wood; I use a gas stove. Still, I’m grateful to Nate Thurmond for all the false memories.

22 March 2005
An Artist’s Vade Mecum of Sorts
Simon suggested that I call this faux journal “Vade Mecum” instead of “An Artist’s Notebook of Sorts.”

I looked up Vade Mecum, and read that it is “a useful thing that one constantly carries about” and/or “a book, such as a guidebook, for ready reference,” neither of which describes my alleged work.

“So why should I call my notebook Vade Mecum?” I asked Simon.

“Because ‘An Artist’s Notebook of Sorts’ is so boring,” he cheerfully explained.

23 March 2005
Bulimia Banquet
Somewhere in Florida, a piece of human meat named Terri Schiavo is about to die. Ms. Schiavo was more or less human until 1990, when her bulimic diet resulted in a severe potassium deficiency that stopped her heart from beating. No heart equals no brain, and so the forty-one year human organism turned into what is colloquially known as “a vegetable.”

After protracted legal battles lasting well over a decade, Schiavo’s partner finally won innumerable court battles that allowed his wife’s feeding tube to be removed to allow her a natural death.

Meanwhile, an alliance of cretins, imbeciles, and fascists—including the U.S. president, who represents all three—is trying to have the feeding tube reinserted. They want to generally impose their values on others, and specifically outlaw abortions, even in cases of rape or incest. Schiavo’s a convenient human (or vegetable?) pawn.

I think the feeding tube should be inserted, the way Ms. Schiavo might have wanted: for her to feed others. She could finally end her life with bulimia as she almost did fourteen years ago, and the her last discharge could provide a modest bulimia banquet for a presidential lunch.

24 March 2005
Cognizing Meat
Penultima wasn’t feeling well, so I gave her a massage. (Penultima’s parents did a lot of drugs back in the sixties, which may or may not be why they named her Penultima.)

“Sorry about my lack of technique; I don’t know how to read your body like a real masseuse would.” I apologized. “All I can feel is meat.”

“I suppose we’re cognizing meat,” Penultima mused.

I agreed, and gave up trying to read her confusing muscles. We enjoyed a very pleasant day.

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25 March 2005
My First Terabyte
I bought a new, very large (for 2005, at least) hard drive, and now have well over a terabyte of storage. I have to explain to some friends what a terabyte is, just as as I had to explain when a gigabyte was a dozen years ago. I’m not sure what comes after terabyte, but that’s probably how much storage I’ll have in a decade.

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©2005 David Glenn Rinehart