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Weak XXV|

26 June 2022

No. 7,244 (cartoon)

My unspoken mantra is, “Fuck you!”

But you just said it.

Fuck you!

27 June 2022

Arrests and Convictions

Things didn’t go so well when Derek finally introduced me to Isabella.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” she began politely.

“Have you now?” I replied. “Just remember that an arrest is not the same thing as a conviction.”

“I’m sorry Derek blabbed about my little incident,” she winced. “I wouldn’t have been convicted had my damn lawyer not been so damn incompetent. Too bad he got disbarred after my trial and not before.”

So much for my “an arrest is not a conviction” joke. Perhaps one day I’ll tell one of them different kinds of jokes that other people repeat, the type that are funny.

Perhaps I will, but probably I won’t.

28 June 2022

Bad Visual Metaphor

Nothing happened today, so I’m looking at a photograph of a bricked-up university entrance I made in May. The physical barrier to higher learning is probably a metaphor for something banal or trite or worse, so I’m not going to even consider the hackneyed possibilities.

29 June 2022

Oak and Maple Sticks

When I went to an Internet store to buy a doojie for my camera I was presented with ads for a couple of pairs of drumsticks.

H&A Oak 5A Wood Tip Drumstick, Pair
$2.99

H&A Maple 5A Wood Tip Drumstick, Pair
$3.99

I’m a musician, not a drummer, so I couldn’t figure out why I was targeted for something I’ll never use. I was nevertheless fascinated by the offers.

Why does maple cost a third more than oak? Are drumsticks always sold in pairs, or can a one-handed drummer buy a single stick? Are there limbless percussionists who literally make headbanger music?

I’m probably overthinking this, or perhaps not even really thinking at all. I learned years ago how the system works: children and young adults are exposed to various musical instruments, and if none of them is a good fit they get a couple of sticks and become a drummer. Anyone who can’t figure out percussion is reduced to one stick and becomes a conductor.

30 June 2022

Pseudopede Playin’ Possum

I discovered a dead pseudopede on my studio floor this morning. (Some people call the scary wee critter a centipede, but it didn’t have anywhere near a hundred feet, thus it’s a pseudopede.) The beast was laid out on its back on the brick cooling board in a pleasing S pattern. I brushed the twisted corpse onto a postcard to move it to a more visually appealing neutral background, and that’s where the story finally begins.

The pseudopede was playin’ possum. It started convulsing, then writhing, and a second later it scurried off the edge of the card onto the floor. A second after that it disappeared through an invisible portal in the baseboard.

Clever that!

I find it handy that I don’t know much about bugs or words, that way I don’t have to know the difference between an entomologist and an etymologist. In this case, I’m especially grateful for my ignorance about myriapod arthropods which provided me with a lot of room for conjecture.

I think that the pseudopede was doing fine until it somehow ended up on its back with all of its legs in the air. It was finally able to get its legs back to work after I tipped it onto the postcard. Pseudopedes inflict horrible stings; I would have killed it if I wasn’t such an idiot.

This is probably a mistake, but I’m going with a romantic, anthropocentric ending. Some night the nocturnal predator will recognize me as the person who saved its life and give me a wide berth instead of planting its buggery stingers deep into my flesh.

And we all lived happily ever after (until I later spotted it and squished it).

1 July 2022

Waitographery

Before we go on, I’ll mention that there’s nothing wrong with your calendar or mine; today is not the first day of April.

A long time ago management weasels figured out it was more cost-effective to give underpaid workers with crappy jobs bloated titles instead of decent wages. That’s why we have custodial engineers instead of janitors.

Hilton Worldwide Holdings has taken the practice to new depths by calling waiters carrying a phone camera “waitographers.” They’re even providing them with worthless certificates, just like a real art school!

Bernie showed me the curriculum. Each waitographer is trained to incorporate at least two of the following components in a successful group portrait:

—cheeks bulging with food

—crimson faces from being drunk

—man looking down woman’s blouse

—green vegetable between teeth

—wine and/or gravy stain(s)

—glare and/or scowl

Bernie said he loves the program; he charges diners a fifty-dollar “premium service tip” not to interrupt their bland corporate meal with an intrusive photograph.

A waiter with a phone camera is a waitographer, a bartender who can pour different liquids into the same glass is a mixologist, and a crappy job by any other name will still be a crappy job.

Coming next weak: more of the same.

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©2022 David Glenn Rinehart