2005 Notebook: Weak XVI
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16 April 2005
No. 5,258 (cartoon)
I’ll never forget you.

Keep trying.

17 April 2005
A Wee Bit Too Young and Much Too Old
Poor Gordon obviously wants Anna in the worst way, and that’s the way she thinks of him. And that’s about all they have in common, as far as I can tell.

“Looks like you rather fancy Anna,” I observed.

“Aye,” Gordon replied, “but she’s a wee bit too young for me.”

“I suppose so,” I replied.

I politely decided not to translate his comment into plain English: he’s much too old for her.

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18 April 2005
Muttly and the Psychopath
Muttly is a dog rich in mutt-like qualities, and thus easily lives up to his name.

“Muttly looks deranged,” I commented to Fearghas.

“He always gets that way when it’s time for his visit to the psychopath,” Fearghas confirmed.

“You live near a psychopath?” I asked.

“A two minute walk, if that,” Fearghas confirmed, “it’s very convenient.”

“Sounds like an uncomfortable arrangement at best,” I replied.

“The psychopath keeps Muttly sane,” Fearghas said, “You should take him on a little visit.”

I politely declined. And that led to a discussion that cleared up a critical misunderstanding: Muttly likes to walk along the cycle path.

19 April 2005
Leslie’s Lumbago
It looks like I won’t be seeing Leslie and Marjorie on this visit to their island; Leslie has lumbago.


Lumbago is one of those words I’ve heard from time to time without ever understanding what it meant. Synaesthesia, however, suggested a few possibilities, such as a tropical disease. Maybe Leslie came down with lumbago after being in Eden.

Lumbago also sound like one of those peripheral glands that one never notices, one of those organs that secretes the chemicals for growing toenails or something.

Concerned spouse: “How bad is it doctor?”

Surgeon: “The operation will be risky; the bullet is lodged next to the lumbago.”

Turns out that lumbago is something close to a pain in the derrière. I’m so relieved lumbago isn’t called by its logical synonym, Rinehart.

20 April 2005
Today is the twentieth day of April, or, as my North American friends would abbreviate the date, 4/20. And so it is that a number of Internet discussion groups are full of snickering references to 420, which is slang for marijuana.

As a lazy person, I can appreciate why someone would want to use a contraction for a four-syllable, nine-character word like marijuana. Unfortunately, 420 is but one syllable shorter. And although 420 is only three characters long, we already have a perfectly good three-character, one-syllable word for marijuana: pot.

In addition to being almost universally understood by the relevant demographic, pot has another advantage: it will never expand to eleven characters, i.e. “four-twenty.” I suppose I could go one with this silly comparison, but it’s tedious without the benefit of pot, which itself is no longer of interest.

And so, I’m headed back to the pub for ale, a more rewarding three-character, one-syllable drug.

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21 April 2005
I’m about near the end of my artist’s residency at The Old Chain Pier, so it’s time to actually produce something. And so, after much deliberation after many pints of ale, I decided to leave some treasure behind. I doubt many pirates based themselves in Edinburgh, but that was nevertheless my idea.

Of course, burying treasure begs the obvious question: why? Or, more accurately: what’s in it for me? And that’s why I decided to leave two alleged treasures.

The first treasure was of the traditional flavor. I hid a small note rolled into a tight cylinder that read, “Since you found this hidden note, I owe you a drink. Here’s how to contact me as of April, 2005,” followed by the relevant contact information. And just to make things interesting, I left a nearly identical note that read, “Since you found this hidden note, you owe me a drink.”

About the only thing I liked about this piece was that I wrote “Treasure?” on the outside of each note. Except for the odd signature, that may be the only time I’ve use a pen in the course of making purported art.

I wonder if this escapade will gain and/or lose me a drink?

22 April 2005
Bull Pucky!
I’m on Kinky Love Motions flight 33 from Amsterdam to Seattle, and I can’t use my computer until I finish my meal. And so it is that I decided to have a look at the mediocre movie that’s playing. In an act of breathtaking creativity, the stupid film has been dumbed down for the airline version.

As a result, all the potentially offensive expletives have been replaced by exclamations that couldn’t offend anyone. And thus I’m watching bad guys beat up, shoot up, and torture good guys and vice versa. And to express their pain and rage, the actors are screaming some quite improbable lines.

“Bull pucky!”

“Gosh darn you!”

“Oh shoot!”

“Holy smokes!”

“Jeepers creepers!”

And so on.

Although I’m generally opposed to censorship as well as pandering to the lowest common denominator, in this case the changes have transformed a mediocre drama into a something of a comedy. Nevertheless, it’s still bull pucky.

23 April 2005
Have a Pint for Me
Rather unimaginatively, I decided my residency in the pub should include drinking good ale, so that’s what I did. In fact, I drank for myself as well as for friends who weren’t able to join me for one reason or another. And that’s how I arrived at, Have a Pint for Me, Nine Pints of Fine Ale Deliberately Enjoyed at the Old Chain Pier on the Firth of Forth During the Month of April, 2005.

The piece really isn’t done. It wants to be on paper, but I’m not sure it’s worth it. And so, at present, it only exists as an ephemeral sketch on the Internet.

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©2005 David Glenn Rinehart