Computers have made great advances in the recent time, but nowhere faster than sound. Digital formats like real audio, MP3’s among others have changed the ways we use our computers. We are even using computers as long distance telephone networks using the Internet. . We attach speakers, microphones and off we go. We record entire albums in digital format and with programs such as real audio’s jukebox we scan a database of tunes and create our own play lists of favorites. It was just two days before my birthday when I purchased an album entitled Bleecker Street, an album of 60’s folk songs and also the title of a Paul Simon tune. I popped the CD in the drive told real audio to do its stuff and sat and listened while it was faithfully copying the tunes to my hard disk. “ I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now.” Wafted through the air as I hummed, sang along and reminisced of times gone by. The sixties always bring fond memories I was 15 at the beginning of the sixties. The nice thing about computers these days is the ability to do more than one thing at a time. The technical term is multitasking. Another of my hobbies is chess. Playing chess has also reached the Internet. One can play chess 24 hours a day against other fanatic's, insomniacs and others that populate the Internet community. You simply run a program that connects you to the server providing a graphical chessboard interface and before you know it you are caught in the heat of battle. The program I use to connect to the Internet Chess Club provides sound effects from a plop as you pick up pieces and replace them on another square to a clank when you've suddenly been checkmated. I was playing well and my rating (a numeric measure of ones playing strength) went up over a hundred points. It would of course go down on other days, but the hope is always there that you are improving and the rise is just a reward for hard work. Having made progress and not wanting to take a chance on losing those precious points on the same day I decided to peruse my other haunts on the net. About that time my wife returned from work. Talk of the day commenced, what have you been doing, anything interesting happen today, kind of stuff. I commented that I had purchased a new CD, Bleecker Street, folk songs of the sixties sung by modern artists. I was back to my humming and singing, I was so much older then I'm younger than that now". I told her I had it on the hard disk and would be happy to play some for her. Paul Simons Bleecker Street and Bob Dylan's My Back Pages Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now. I sang in my sweet tenor voice. My wife of course began admonishing me to let her listen, she didn't want to listen to me sing, wives can be so unkind. We continued to listen for a moment, and I began to feel uneasy, what was that popping sound. I hadn't heard it on the previous tune but it was quite regular now. And then no sooner had it appeared than it was gone. Perhaps I would have to rerecord that song. Then started (John Sebastian's Darling be home Soon) and I began to sing along again, "But I've been waiting since I toddled, for the great relief of having you to talk to". Some of us live under the illusion that we sing as well out of the shower as we think we do in the shower. Gail was quick to point out that I had promised not to sing. I stopped singing but continued to hum lightly, but I continued to hear my voice "For the great relief of having you to talk to." The realization was sudden, should I tell her or just let her figure it out, there was no way to avoid embarrassment, somehow my voice along with recording were faithfully replaying from the hard disk, but how could that be. A few moments later the answer presented itself. Sitting right in front of me a microphone used for other computer applications had obviously accepted input and real audio had combined that with the CD for a truly hideous sing-a-long, my wives evaluation That also explained the plop plop as coming from the chess game through the computer speakers captured by the microphone and combined with the CD for a very unusual cacophony of sounds. I figured out how to disable the microphone when not in use, and avoid such embarrassments in the future, or perhaps I've discovered an inexpensive karaoke machine.

Posted by Norm at 9:13 PM | Permalink

I want to speak to the despisers of the body. I would not have them learn and teach differently, but merely say farewell to their own bodiesand thus become silent. "Body am I, and soul"thus speaks the child. And why should one not speak like children? But the awakened and knowing say: body am I entirely, and nothing else; and soul is only a word for something about the body._ Friedrich Nietzsche

Posted by Norm at 9:52 PM | Permalink

Metafilter can be a delightful place to visit, great links insightful comments, a nice place to spend some time. Other times it's just the same old names posting the same old crap. Trolls (posts designed push everyone's button's no new content), double posts (it's already been posted and discussed), self posts (post referring back to one's own site) in short just so much bullshit. My son Chris pointed out a passage from Nietzsche's Thus Spoke Zarathustra from the section entitled "On Passing By" which is apropos. First though a short explanation is in order. Zarathustra is the prophet of an ancient Persian religion called Zoroastrianism. Nietzsche uses Zarathustra as a character in his most famous work Thus Spoke Zarathustra. One day Zarathustra is passing by this city that he does not like and his ape, there is this character in Thus Spake, called "Zarathustra's ape". He is called this because he has gotten good at expressing himself as Zarathustra does. Anyway he jumps out and goes into this long rant about how the city sucks and how the people are swine in a way similar to one of Zarathustra's earlier speeches in the book. Zarathustra somewhat annoyed by the negativity then says that he is indeed nauseated by this city, but that is why he no longer spends time there. He says, "This doctrine, however, I give you, fool, as a parting present: where one can no longer love, there one should pass by." I think I'll take his advice and not pass by Metafilter quite so often, or at least be more selective when I do.

Posted by Norm at 8:37 PM | Permalink

Tournament Chess is a timed game. You can be winning on the board but lose if you run out of time. On the Internet Chess Club hundreds of people from all over the world play chess 24 hours a day, you can always find a game there. Grandmasters, International Masters and the rest of us play there every day. You will even find my friend Igor Ivanov (The picture is from the U.S. Championship) Igor's handle at ICC is IgorIvanov, my online name is (surprise) onegoodmove.
The Benko Gambit is a defense to White's opening move d4 it's popular with players who hate defending and would rather attack. In exchange for a pawn black gets open files and a lot of pressure on the h8-a1 diagonal. Players of the Black pieces also like the fact that they can play the first dozen moves without paying much attention to what their opponent is doing. This can be useful if you have problems with time trouble. On the other hand ignoring your opponent can have deadly consequences as an opponent of mine discovered. This game had a time control of 3-0 that means that each player had to complete all his moves in 3 minutes. The line I play here is very aggressive and Black has to be very careful. (update) I've included an additional eight examples from games I played on ICC. If you're interested in learning more about the Internet Chess Club just click on the link for more information.

Posted by Norm at 4:24 PM | Permalink

I like to alternate my reading between more serious works and light fiction, although lately its been more light than serious. The fiction is usually a mystery of sorts, I find an author I enjoy and usually end up reading everything they've written. Favorites, well I always enjoy Janet Evanovich and her Stephanie Plum mysteries. She has some of the most interesting characters ever created. Stephanie works as a bail bond enforcement person. You'll love Lulu and Ranger and Stephanie's family is well - Grandma loves going to funeral's and is not above peeking into a closed casket, you'll find yourself laughing out loud. Evanovich numbers her books, One For The Money, Two for the Dough, she's up to Seven Up, all quite delightful, I used to enjoy Sue Grafton, but she seems to have run out of steam. Hers are the alphabet books, A is for Alibi, B is for Burglar, she just finished P is for Peril, but the stories are starting to get really repetitive. I think her next book should be Q is for Time to Quit. But if you've never read Grafton, the early books are quite fun. I also like John Sanford, although his novels are a little, well, if you like Hannibal Lechter, you'll feel right at home. Lately I've been reading Stuart Woods, who really knows how to create a page turner. I have found the Stone Barrington, excop attorney character to be a favorite. Woods does get a little carried away with the sexual prowness of Stone, seems every woman he meets finds it necessary to fulfill his latest sexual fantasy. We should all be so lucky. The stories are well thought out and not always predictable. For his mysteries that don't feature Stone Barrington, I liked Santa Fe the most. If you're a mystery reader leave a comment letting me know who you like and why.

Posted by Norm at 12:48 PM | Permalink

"Our own body is in the world as the heart is in the organism... it forms with it a system." - Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Phenomenology of Perception; passage translated by David Hilditch in his Ph.D. thesis, At the Hear of the World (Washington University, 1995)

from Andy Clark's Being There

A nice way of looking at the role of brain, body, and enviornment, the mental realm being so much more that just the brain.

Posted by Norm at 10:08 PM | Permalink

A wonderful site, one of the best I've seen in a long time, just had to share.

Edge
To arrive at the edge of the world's knowledge, seek out the most complex and sophisticated minds, put them in a room together, and have them ask each other the questions they are asking themselves.

Posted by Norm at 12:51 AM | Permalink

It is interesting how memory works, I've been exchanging emails with Igor recently which got me thinking about that sweet woman he calls his own, Elizabeth. Well Elizabeth and I used to play some duplicate bridge years ago, she is a very good player and thanks to her great play we took first place in a local game several weeks in a row. Well I'm getting off track here so I'm thinking of playing bridge on Saturday nights and remember a Saturday night long ago when my sister Janna and her husband Bill were over to play some bridge, which leads to the following story. Funny how memory works, well not to keep you waiting any longer.

Saturday night, Mr. Bill, and a bridge game provided the ingredients for a very amusing for most, somewhat embarrassing for some, evening. The entire cast consists of my wife Gail, my oldest son Tim, Chris a rowdy thirteen year old, two dogs, Buff a cockapuff or some such, a mongrel named Mr. Bill, and my sister Janna along with her husband Bill. Our regular (irregular is closer to the truth) bridge game takes place whenever Bill, an incurable workaholic, falls off the wagon and allows himself some leisure time. It was just such a night, Bill wasn't working and a game was arranged. We had been playing for several hours when the goodies ( the typical salty variety) began to run low. Bill needed a drink of water, and Janna noticing his plight asked Chris who was standing near the sink, if he would get Bill some water. Chris, who spends a good part of his time on the computer slaying dragons, said sure. Janna said put some ice in it please, Chris looked puzzled but said okay. The game continued, Bill making four hearts on a nicely played hand. Several minutes passed, when Bill said, "Hey what happened to that water?" Janna turned to Chris and said, "Aren't you going to get Bill his water?" Chris said "I did." We all turned toward Chris and there across the room on the floor was Mr. Bill's dog dish filled with fresh water, the ice cubes bobbing on top. The roar was tremendous and the laughter lingered most of the night. Bill was really embarrassed realizing he had lost his water to the dog. An unconvincing laugh was his response. Chris was bewildered, but pleased with his unintentional joke. The incident has been a source of amusement ever since, seldom do we see Bill and Janna without the boys asking Bill whether he would like a drink of water, or one of them taunting him with, here Bill, here Bill, good boy Bill, or simply calling his name and then pretending they meant the dog.

Posted by Norm at 11:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I spent last Sunday chatting with my son Chris and watching Igor Ivanov's final game in the US Championship. I then sent Igor an email congratulating him on a great tournament and remarked that the final Ivanov vs. Lapshun was so complicated that I wasn't sure if he was winning or losing. During the game I suggested the move 23. g3 which Igor commenced to play. I told the others observing the game what a genius I was. Here is Igor's comment about the move "23. g3 was an obvious mistake after 23. Be2 Qd2 24. g3 - now - White is winning" he continued "after 23. g3 ?? Qd1+ 24. Kg2 Rd2 - a move I failed to estimate properly I felt that everything is lost I cursed the day I learned to play chess ... " later in the game when it became obvious that g3 was not a good move another observer said well onegoodmove (my handle on ICC) you got us into this mess how do you suggest we proceed now. So I went from genius (in my own mind) to fool. Chess can be a cruel game. Igor says that although made out of desperation 25. h4 was a very good move, and that everything was back under control after 28. Kh3 The great players like Igor put their mind, heart and soul into the play and with one mistake and it can go from a win to a draw or loss. Igor's great technical skill and imagination secured the win in this game. The difference between the great players and the rest of us is not only their chess skills, but being able to control their emotions in positions like this one. To view Igors games Click Here it will take some time to load and display be patient. Click Here to download as a .pgn file.

Posted by Norm at 5:03 PM | Permalink

I just began reading Andy Clark's delightful book Being There Putting Brain, Body, and World Together Again

"Well, what do you think you understand with? With your head? Bah!" -- Nikos Kazantzakis, Zorba the Greek
"Ninety percent of life is just being there." -- Woody Allen

The introduction does a great job of defining what the book is about. The mind is more than, as Andy puts it "a combination logic machine filing cabinet." It is first "an organ for controlling the biological body." We must make decision quickly before the predators get us a difficult proposition if all mind consists of is a "a disembodied logical reasoning device" There are and have been attempts like CYC (short for "encyclopedia") which attempts to create a knowledge base that includes a significant fraction of general knowledge. Creating a system that can reason from inference. Andy argues that this approach will never be more than a useful expert system. One of the problems with this type of system is "the lack of coupling between the system and real world problems of action and sensing."
He offers an interesting analogy between a coakroach and an automobile with similar capablilites. "Such a car would be able to sense approaching vehicles, but ignore those moving in normal ways. If it deteted an impending collision i would automatically initiate evasive action taking in account the road surface, orientation." In order to avoid other dangers created by the evasive action. You can see the problems with the logic machine filing cabinet approach to artifical intelligence. A coakroach, it seems is way ahead of any efforts so far, and nicely demonstrates why that is.

Well, as they say I've only just begun and whether you are interested or not if you check in from time to time you'll probably hear more.

Update: Just noticed David Weinberger had some comments on Andy Clark's "Being There" in his archives and discusses the CYC again here

Posted by Norm at 2:30 PM | Permalink

"Will cognitive Sciences change the way we think as much as other sciences" a fascinating question here is a link I think you'll find interesting Click here

Posted by Norm at 12:10 PM | Permalink

"The attraction of everything problematic, the delight in an X, however, is so great in such more spiritual, more spiritualized men that this delight flares up again and again like a bright blaze over all the distress of what is problematic, over all the danger of uncertainty... We know a new happiness" -Friedrich Nietzsche

Posted by Norm at 2:00 PM | Permalink

"In the world everything is as it is, and everything happens as it does happen: in it no value exists--and if it did, it would have no value." -Ludwig Wittgenstein

Posted by Norm at 10:30 PM | Permalink

What an enjoyable afternoon and evening hanging out on ICC, The Internet Chess Club watching the US Championship. Igor Ivanov (a friend) was playing Yuri Lapshun. Quite a battle, and during the game I was chatting with my son Chris. "Wanna hear a great quotation" he says. "Sure" I reply. We start lots of conversations this way. Thoughts without content are empty, intuitions without concepts are blind." Kant "Cinn and I have been annoyed because philosophy of mind seems really still to be stuck on the same old problems of the empiricists vs the rationalists" he continues. (Cinn his partner also studying philosphy/cognitive science at Sheffield.) "Remind me in a nutshell the difference between the rationalists and empericists" I say. Empiricists think we get all our knowledge from experience, rationalists think we get it all from reason. This distinction between empiricist and rationalist is really crude of course. They each think we get some knowledge from both. Kant really did make some philosophical progress, if only to give the standard dualisms there dying breath, unfortunately people don't seem to realize that. In modern philosophy there is still talk of "representations" and there "contents" but this distinction is illusory, "thoughts without content are empty" Kant wasn't pointing out some special class of thoughts, the empty ones. Empty thoughts are not thoughts at all if representations are nothing without there contents, then why is there a distinction between representation and content. So there you have it damnit, fuck representations. This idea is in John McDowell's book Mind and World Interesting stuff I think I'll post it on my blog. "You should quote me on that blog page. I hate dualisms!" - Christopher Jenson. Well Igor won his game finished with 5.5 out 9 a decent score and it looks like GM Nick de Fermian and GM Larry Christiansen will tie for first. Well, I think I'll read for awhile and then call it a day.

Posted by Norm at 8:09 PM | Permalink

"You must have chaos in your soul to give birth to a dancing star." Friedrich Nietzsche

Posted by Norm at 12:41 AM | Permalink

Well, I've started using Movabletype for my Weblog, had a few problems setting it up but nothing too serious, and when I did have problems I posted on their board and got almost instant help. I'd heard about it before and actually been to their page, but it seemed complicated, and didn't seem to offer that much more than other options. I have previously download and used GreyMatter, its a nice interface but seems to require a higher skill level to do anything special with it. I've also set up a couple of Blogs on Blogger it is the easiest way to get going in Web Journal's, but I don't really like having to rely on whether there server is up or too much traffic to the site slowing everything to a crawl. Of course the price is right, I'm glad its there. Anyway after reading a thread on MetaFilter Link about a pending Blogger announcement, several writers mentioned Movabletype and how much they liked it and some of the features I hadn't noticed in my cursory examination of it. So I looked again, liked what I saw and this is the result. I look forward to learning how to use it more effectively, I can see huge potential for improving the Weblog experience.

Posted by Norm at 3:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I was talking to my son Chris the other day, well actually using instant messages; hooray for the internet. Chris is a graduate student at the University of Sheffield studying Philosphy and Cognitive Science. Anyway he's complaining about the credit card he got over there called the Electron Visa, how some places won't take it, not a positive experience so far. "I suppose it's to be expected", he said "after all it's the Electron Visa only good for a negative charge." I suppose that means when you charge something they pay you. Sounds like a pretty good deal to me.

Posted by Norm at 2:44 PM | Permalink

I spent the evening playing in a 15 0 elimination tournament on Internet Chess Club . In an elimination tournament if you lose you are out. Most tournaments these days are Swiss Style where you play every round win or lose and like scores are paired each round. There are also round robins where you play every other player in the tournament. 15 0 means that each player gets 15 minutes for the entire game. I am a 'tomato manager' on ICC tomato is the program that does pairings for a tournament. The manager just makes sure it goes smoothly taking care of any problems that come up. It's nice to be able to run a tournament when you want to play. In the first round I played a player rated 2190 using the handle GroovyChick she (?) dropped a queen on about move 10 and resigned. The second round I had the black pieces a Caro Kann and was fortunate enough to win Click here for the game. The final round it was my turn to drop a piece, a rook, oh well second place and a satisfying second round.

Posted by Norm at 11:35 PM | Permalink

"It is more convenient to follow one's conscience than one's intelligence, for at every failure, conscience finds an excuse and an encouragement in itself. That is why there are so many conscientious and so few intelligent people." Nietzsche

Posted by Norm at 2:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I picked up the mail on my way to work and upon returning to the car noticed the left front tire was a little low. No time to fix it then, but something I needed to take care of sometime during the day. Later in the morning I needed to go to the bank, and figured that would be a perfect opportunity to fill the tire. I pulled into the Holiday near the office only to find a sign on the air hose indicating it was out of order. No problem there was a station a few blocks away, I'd stop there. Of course I'd forgotten that Rainbow station on the corner of State and 33 rd had closed several months before, I scanned the lot no rainbow I looked to the heavens no rainbow there either. Not to despair, I'd take care of my business at the bank and visit the Chevron at Main and Thirty Third on my way back. No signs on the air hose it was looking good, I got out of the car took the cap off the offending tire and grabbed the hose. I applied the hose to the valve, but alas it sounded like more air was escaping than going in. I examined the hose only to find that it was damaged and was never going to work. Not good, the tire now had less air than when I arrived. Well there was another Holiday only half a block away. I slowly drove the half block worrying that I might damage the tire, pulled into the Sinclair only to find another sign stating the air was not available. I couldn't believe it can you? I proceeded slowly down West Temple to 21st South turned right and pulled into the 7-11 on the corner I could see the air hose, ah no sign, well a sign but it simply said that it would cost me fifty cents for the air. I unscrewed the cap once again, deposited the fifty cents in the appropriate slot good I could hear the compressor working. Would I finally succeed? There seemed to be air going into the tire, slowly but at least it was working. I stopped momentarily and checked the pressure it was up from the twelve when I started to seventeen, for fifty cents you'd think the air would come out faster. I reattached the air hose and pressed the button, it was working but very slowly, I started wondering how much time I got for fifty cents, at this rate I wasn't sure If I would finish, and at that very moment there was silence. I took out my air gauge a dandy I purchased form the car guys on public radio. I pushed the button to reset it then placed it on the valve and pushed the button. Thirty-five pounds. I sighed, a bit of air escaped from my lungs.

Posted by Norm at 10:31 AM | Permalink

Truth is just the name for what it is impossible for a person to doubt."- Oliver Wendell Holmes This quotation is taken from Louis Menand's The Metaphysical Club a delightful book about the history of Pragmatism in America.

Posted by Norm at 1:26 AM | Permalink

"Did I wake you?" he says, and so it begins.
"No" I reply, "you didn't wake me." I wipe the sleepiness from my eyes.

"I'm in a lot of pain, I would like to go to the hospital," he says. "I'll be right over," I say. I drive faster than I should, but he's my son. Why isn't the Prevacid working? We've seen several doctors. They think it's acid reflux, but still no definitive diagnosis. The blood tests results are due back today, but his pain is here now. We've given them symptoms, history, but still nothing.

We know the routine at Emergency, $40.00 co pay and the nurse's questions. "On a scale of 1 to 10 how would you rate the pain? One being mild, 10 the worst you've experienced," she says.
"An Eight," he says.
"The doctor will be with you in a minute" she says.

Only curtains separate patients in the E.R. They offer as little privacy as the gown one dons upon admittance. The walls are an antiseptic white. Snatches of conversation ride the currents of hope and pain. Waiting is the worst part. Pain doesn't wait. "Is it a heart attack?" an anxious wife asks.
"I don't think so, but we need to run additional tests," the doctor says. A construction worker, still in his work clothes is brought in on a backboard. He has difficulty talking through his obvious pain. His breathing is labored. "Do you feel this" the doctor says, "how about this?"

He doesn't respond. He groans. He can't even shake his head. A young man behind the curtain to our right has appendicitis; an MRI shows an inflamed vermiform appendix. He is in no obvious pain. He asks the doctor if he could wait a couple of days to have it removed. He has the lead role in Bye Bye Birdie, and there is no understudy. The doctor explains what happens when an appendix ruptures and says, "It's either bye bye appendix or bye bye Conrad." The boy sighs, resigned to the seeming injustice.

"I understand you're having some pain Michael," the doctor says. "Yes," says Michael pointing to a spot just below his sternum. The doctor examines him, asks more questions. He tells us since you're a male it's probably an ulcer. If you were a female, I would bet on a gallbladder. Haven't they listened to the history? I had my gallbladder out at 21 my son is 19. Blood tests, ultrasound, x-rays, the results are back and they've narrowed it down to the gallbladder or Hepatitis. They're thinking of more tests. The surgeon on call reviews the labs and the ultrasound. He tells the emergency room doctor that no further tests are needed because it's his gallbladder. The surgeon, white coat, stethoscope, smile etched on his face introduces himself and sits down. "The ultrasound is somewhat unclear," he says "but considering the blood tests it is certainly your gallbladder." He produces a clipboard with a piece of clean white paper. "I've done this so many times I can do it upside down," he says drawing a gold-capped fountain pen from his pocket. He draws an almost perfect diagram: the liver, bile duct, the gallbladder, the entrance to the pancreas where a stone has lodged causing pancreitis, and on to the small intestine. Writing upside down, he neatly labels the pancreas. He is pleased with how it turns out. His smile broadens. He draws an X across the gallbladder showing the intended result of the operation. He details the risks one percent this and two percent that. I don't want to hear about the risks, he's only 19.

"We'll admit you to the hospital and remove it in the morning" he says. Morning comes, I follow his bed to the 2nd floor; this is where the surgery will take place. I'm allowed to go into pre op with him. The Doctor comes by and says, "Are you ready to get this done." Is he asking me? My mind screams no I'm not ready. I hear Michael say "yes". What else is he to say?
"Doctor take good care of my boy," I say.

"I'll do my best," he replies. Somehow I'm not reassured, well perhaps a little but it's not enough. I want guarantees where guarantees are not given. "How long will the procedure take," I ask. I'm calling it a procedure now? "About an hour and a half," he says.
An hour and a half seems like a long time, but I have no point of reference. I squeeze Michael's hand, force a smile, tell him I love him, and leave for the waiting room. I check in with the silver haired waiting room receptionist, a senior citizen volunteer. She will find me when the doctor is finished. I sit down, nothing to worry about I say to myself. I start reading the paper. There is a young man sitting near me. Why doesn't he look worried? What's wrong with him? Doesn't he know any surgery can end in disaster? Another man, older, looks distraught.
"This is maddening." I say to no one in particular.
The old man slowly raises his head, catches my eye and says, "Yes my wife was supposed to be out in two hours it's four and a half now." He lowers his head and resumes his private vigil. "My wife is getting her tubes tied," the young man says. "We have four daughters," he continues as if that explains everything. "Who are you waiting for?" he asks. "My son" I say "he's having his gallbladder removed, a fairly simple procedure." Why do I add that, am I trying to reassure myself? "McDonald family, John McDonald" the receptionist barks. "Is anyone here waiting for John McDonald"? A teary eyed, middle-aged woman rises from her chair. "Yes," she says. "Come right this way," the receptionist says.
It's been 40 minutes. Not much longer to wait. It will be such a relief.

The old man hasn't moved for the past 30 minutes, the waiting must be hell. The young man, whom I learn is a transmission mechanic, is telling me how he dropped out of school, and how he has a good career. He offers me a discount on transmission service. He removes a business card from his wallet. I listen politely without really hearing. He puts the card back in his wallet and sits down. " Eunice Smith, is someone waiting for Eunice Smith" calls the receptionist. The old man stands and follows the receptionist. Is it good news or bad? I don't even want to know. More names are called and more go to discover the fate of their loved ones. It's been an hour and twenty minutes, it could be any time now. An hour and forty-five minutes have passed.
I resume reading a book. Paul Bowles The Sheltering Sky it's good, but not particularly cheerful. Its two hours now. I pretend not to worry.
I stand. I start pacing. I gaze down the hall to the operating room hoping to see Dr. Leckner. For a while I thought his name was Lecter, like the doctor in Silence of the Lambs, but Jodi Foster isn't in the waiting room. I continue to gaze down the hall leading to the operating rooms; other doctors come and go but no Dr. Leckner. I'm about to ask the receptionist to check on Michael's status, but she's on the phone again. "I'm sorry," she says to some unseen person, "all I know is she's in Four South." She hangs up. "It must be difficult dealing with families that are under a lot of stress," I say. "Yes" she says, "that one would be even more stressed if I told them all I know." Thoughts I didn't want to think are now displacing those I was clinging too. I walk back and forth. "Does my walking bother you," I say. I don't care, but I say it anyway. "Could you check and see if he is in the recovery room yet?" "What's his name?" she asks,
"Jonathan Jenson?" I say, "it's Michael to me, a childhood change, I'll tell you about it sometime when I'm not so stressed. " No, not yet" she says.

Can't she be a little bit supportive? Can't she say the doctors always seem to underestimate the time it takes? Can't she? Two and a half hours, my imagination is out of control, has something gone wrong? "Jenson, Jonathan Jenson is there someone here for Jonathan Jenson," she says. My stomach is in knots. They're calling me. I'm led to a private room. Why a private room, I've seen doctors just come to the lobby, smile, and tell the family all is well. "The doctor will be with you in a moment," she says "just sit down and relax." Relax? I remain standing. I see a doctor coming down the hall; yes it's Michael's doctor. He enters the room. I'm trying to read his eyes, his expression. "It went well" he says, "It was a lot messier than we expected, but the procedure went well." The details that follow are stored in the foggy part of my memory. In the place where what is real and what is not remains unclear. "How long will he be in recovery?" I ask.
"We like to keep them about an hour," he says "you can wait in the lobby at Four West they will have to bring him right past you". I go to Four West and wait. Two hours later they bring him. He looks tired, but okay. He's okay!

Posted by Norm at 7:43 PM | Permalink

I always feel a bit uncomfortable riding with someone I haven't ridden with before. That was exactly the situation I found myself in at 7:15 on a Friday morning. Rising before the sun, something I try to avoid, I headed for the rendezvous spot. I considered staying at home and when the inevitable where are you call arrived claiming I had overslept. I’d tell them I'd meet them at the destination so as not to make us late. I considered it, but overcame my fear and arrived at 7:10. I parked my car, and waited for the others to arrive. At exactly 7:15 all parties were present. I took a seat in the back secured my seat belt and hoped for the best. Rick, a gregarious soul, translation a salesman, was our driver. We began with the standard small talk, the early hour, the weather, but it wasn't long before the conversation took a strange turn. It didn't seem strange at first, but well you'll see what I mean.

Rick must have noticed my nervousness and tried to put me at ease, explaining that he had just purchased new tires Big O's best. "They’re a little bit noisy at low speeds, but they last forever,” he said. We took Interstate 80 east out of Salt Lake and began the long ascent to the summit. We were on the road only a few minutes speed at a constant 70 when Rick remarked. "See much quieter at highway speeds." Oh, yes I thought he's talking about the tires. Fifteen minutes later as we approached the summit the car a late model Chrysler Concorde shifted into a lower gear. Rick seemed a little bit embarrassed. "I've got the small V-6 in this car it bogs down a bit on hills, even with only the driver" he said. “But it gets really good gas mileage. I recently got 29 mpg on a trip to Las Vegas. That was with just the wife and me in the car". He looked relieved as we cleared the summit and started down the other side. “These new cars provide all sorts of valuable information”, he said. He’s punching buttons on a small LCD display just above the rear view mirror. The display reads forty-seven degrees Fahrenheit another button, eight degrees Celsius. Still another now its thirty-one miles per gallon.

“We're going down hill” I remark.

Another button, "Right" he says, "We're averaging 24 miles per gallon. "

“I believe it's mostly uphill going to Evanston; Salt Lake is 4500 feet above sea level. Evanston must be six or seven thousand.” I said. That seemed to cheer him up. We continued on passing Echo reservoir.

“I don't believe I've ever seen it this low,’” he said. I agreed. “Look the boat ramp ends and the water level is even below that”. All of a sudden we're taking an exit, a view site. Let’s take a closer look he says. I'm not sure why we'll be driving along the shoreline for another 5 minutes plenty of time to see all I want to see. We don't get out of the car, sit and look for maybe 10 seconds and on our way again.

The sun is just creeping over the mountain as we begin the second half of our trip. It shines brightly into the car through the front windshield revealing a little dirt in the corner of the passenger side. Brent, who is sitting in the front seat squints as the sun shines in his eyes. Rick sees the reaction but somehow misinterprets it. “Look at that he says dirt on the windshield. I thought I'd cleaned that, I was up at 5:00 am cleaning, and I used Windex”

. Did he think we cared?

“This is embarrassing,” he said. “It was the Windex with vinegar I wonder if that has anything to do with it”. Suddenly he pulls off the road. I can't see what it is he is trying to avoid; I don't see anything in the road. He pulls to a stop, mumbles something about the windshield and goes back to his trunk. He reappears on the passenger side of the car a blue rag in his hand. He starts rubbing the windshield vigorously at the spot where he had noticed the dirt. Brent, being somewhat of a joker, and a little amazed at the performance we are witnessing keeps pointing to spots and saying I think there's a spot there oh and another here. Rick is like a puppet on a string the blue rag appearing wherever Brent points. Brent finally realizes that Rick doesn't see the humor in the situation and stops his pointing. Rick rubs for a moment or two longer and returns to the drivers seat. "This is really embarrassing he repeats, I really did think I'd done a good job on that window. We drive for a few miles more and Brent, or the devil in him starts gazing at the windshield as if he sees more spots. Rick a little panicked says right, why didn't I realize the dirt is on the inside. The blue rag reappears. He is now steering with his left hand and rubbing the inside of the windshield with the rag in his right. I'm starting to think my uneasiness was well founded. He notices my nervousness and stops rubbing, returning his full attention to the task of driving. I relax a little, Rick comments how its important to keep your mind on your driving, and relates a story about the time he hit a deer late one night on highway forty. “There were two of them” he said, “the first cleared the car to the other side of the road, the other doubled back, his mistake, his last. I took a good piece out of him. You can't imagine the smell of deer parts spread down the side of your car. Not to mention your windshield.” The mention of the windshield seems to divert his attention. He’s shaking his head; “I just can't stand this,” he says. Once again he was steering to the side of the road. I didn't look for a reason. I knew. Out came the blue rag and once again, he was rubbing, then leaning back examining the place he had just rubbed and renewing the assault on the windshield.

Brent started to point out imaginary dirty spots, until I said, “come on Brent we'll never finish this trip if you keep that up”. He smiled and stopped. A few minutes later Rick was back in the car. We were just miles from the Wyoming State Line when Rick noticed the flashing red light in his rearview mirror.

“Damn,” he said. “I’m sure I wasn’t speeding. “What the hell do you think he wants?” “I think we’ll soon find out”, I said. He pulled to a stop and rolled down the window.

The officer said, “please step out of the car sir.”

“What’s the problem?” said Rick climbing out of the car.

“I’ve been following you for the last 30 miles and to say the least you’re driving has been a little erratic. Have you been drinking sir?”

“I don’t drink,” said Rick.

“How do you explain your frequent stops, and what was that waving your hand at the windshield and swerving from lane to lane.”

“I was cleaning the windshield,” said Rick.

Beginning to write out a ticket, the patrolman said, “and with such a clean windshield sir I’m surprised you missed the no stopping or standing on freeway sign. .I’m citing you for reckless driving, and making unnecessary stops. I don’t know what your problem is, but I suggest you clean up your act.”

Back on the road at last. I was shaking my head and Brent was just smiling. .

Rick said, “Can you believe that guy, I felt like giving him a piece of my mind.”

“Right” said Brent “and find yourself in room with no windows to clean.

Posted by Norm at 3:14 PM | Permalink