2005 Notebook: Weak XXII
gratuitous image
28 May 2005
No. 8,010 (cartoon)
This can’t continue.

It always has; it always will.

29 May 2005
I spent a delightful afternoon with Isabel; she was extraordinarily beergarious. And so was I.

30 May 2005
Sloth Pays (Again and Again)
Scott arrived at the lab in a thirsty mood.

“Hey David,” he called, “got a spare bottle of wine?”

“Sorry comrade,” I replied, “I’m out.”

“Looks like it’s time for a run to the liquor store,” Scott said.

“I reckon so,” I agreed.

“Let me know when you get back,” Scott concluded.

I got distracted by a long, delightful phone call that lasted almost two hours. When I returned to the communal space, I discovered Scott had purchased a case of cheap, red wine.

Listen, don’t let anyone tell you different: sloth pays.

31 May 2005
Not Rusting on Laurels
I love Benita, so I told her the truth:; I told her she was resting on her laurels. For some curious reason, she heard me say “rusting” on her laurels. And for some bizarre reason, she felt relieved that she was merely resting on her laurels, not rusting on them.

gratuitous image
1 June 2005
My First Canon
I got a small, new camera today to take to Korea. For more decades than I’ll acknowledge, I’ve preferred Nikons to Canons. That changed recently when some greedy idiots at Nikon decided to encrypt part of the digital image so that they can only be manipulated by Nikon’s mediocre software. I agreed with Sammy’s assessment of the situation: “Nikon is totally fucked, in the negative sense.”

And so it is that I got a nice, new Canon digital camera that provides unencrypted data. I used the camera’s tiny, wireless remote control to take my first photograph, one of those stupid, self-referential gimmicks that are a bane of contemporary aesthetics. Of course, I did so without reading the operating instructions, so it’s out of focus.

That’s fine. After a banal idea poorly executed, things can only get better.

2 June 2005
Close Shaves
Frederick forwarded me a story about a Wisconsin couple’s marital difficulties. It seems that Theresa L. Hedtke suspected her husband was having an affair. Before discussing the sensitive topic, Hedtke bound her husband’s hands with duct tape.

Duct tape?! Are people in Wisconsin really that primitive?

Hedtke then interrogated her husband, and used scissors to encourage him to be honest. Although she told police she never intended to cut anyone, Mr. Hedtke needed fifteen stitches to repair his mangled penis after some presumably intense questioning. The brief news report didn’t mention what, if anything, the husband said. In any case, he clearly didn’t say the right thing.

The story didn’t seem strange to me; a friend told me a similar tales a few years ago. My friend B. reported that when her husband came home one day she knew he was having sex with someone else. She couldn’t explain how she knew, I guess it’s one of the many things women can intuit that men can’t begin to fathom. Despite increasingly vigorous inquiries, D. denied he was sleeping with anyone else. Or, to be more accurate, he did until B. had him pushed against a wall with a very sharp butcher’s knife pressing gently against his throat.

The blade proved to be an excellent aide-mémoire, and D. suddenly remembered that he wasn’t sexually monogamous after all. That’s what I call a close shave!

Personally, I think that sharp steel objects have no place in personal exchanges. But, since I’m surrounded by lovely, honest friends who communicate well, I would say that, wouldn’t I?

3 June 2005
What a Card!
I had a lovely time at Roberto’s party last night. I spent most of the night drinking whiskey on the balcony with Sophia, Roberto’s cousin from Milano.

We talked for hours until, at five this morning, it was time to call it a night ... or maybe a morning.

“Would you give me your contact information” I asked.

“I enjoyed talking with you,” Sophia replied, “but I don’t think you want to know me; I’m a horrible pessimist.”

“After talking with you for hours, I know that,” I acknowledged, “and that’s one of the reasons I think we could be good friends. Pessimists have low expectations, no?”

Sophia laughed and gave me her card, and that was that.

4 June 2005
Colleen’s Improbable Inspiration
Colleen arrived at the lab in an extraordinarily good mood.

“Why the big smile?” I asked.

“I was a bit depressed when I got here,” Colleen said, “but when I was walking down your alley I felt this huge gust of wind blow down the street. The blast sent a grimy, plastic bag soaring fifty meters into the air.”

Colleen smiled. I waited for the conclusion to her story, but she provided none.

“So why the big smile?” I repeated.

“I know this sounds improbable,” Colleen explained, “but just then I knew in my heart that I could soar just like that piece of trash.”

I knew the kind of bag she was talking about; the desperate homeless people use them in lieu of toilet paper. I was going to mention this, but instead decided to let Colleen enjoy her curious inspiration.

last weak  |  index  |  next weak

©2005 David Glenn Rinehart