2010 — 28 July: Wednesday
The rate (clearly impossible) at which time is whizzing past not only reminds me of the opening lyrics from Steve Miller's "Fly like an eagle",1 but has forced me to conclude I've become an "oldie"! Still, it's sunny, I have a fresh cuppa at hand and a relatively limited set of things to accomplish today, and my optical lead from the iMac at the back of the living room to the AudioLab pre-amp at the front neatly fits into the final digital input and delivers delicious-sounding music back to me as I type.
It's 08:41 and, any minute now, I shall discard what niece #3 refers to as PJs and do something about breakfast. Yesterday evening was largely spent in a haze of tired thought assisted by some very fine music. Including a CD of a piano roll recording of Stravinsky's "Rite of Spring" played (literally) too fast for human fingers (but, apparently, at the tempo he actually intended for this favourite piece of music).
Off we go...
... on the supplies trail, and to pay for — and book a date to fit — the vinyl in my study. It's cheaper (just) than a week in the care-home :-)
Just gone 11:04 and now quite sunny out there.
Now, why does this...
... official denial...
When we asked why Dell had decided to sideline the Ubuntu PCs, the spokesperson said "this is not a permanent decision, and Dell remains committed to offering Ubuntu." However, the spokesperson couldn't confirm when, or even if, Ubuntu-based PCs would return to the website.
... remind me of the occasion (just over 22 years ago now) in the IBM Hursley Lab when, according to a surreal noticeboard diktat, we were informed that in order to "improve" the tea-trolley service,2 they intended to discontinue it? For those few of us who can still recall resident gentleman poet Les Blott:
You'll have to exhume a copy of my CICS Chronicle to find out what he actually goes on to say. Fifteen metal catering trolleys, each with an electric urn, were subsequently sold to staff by competitive tender. I would have bought one, but I can't drink that much tea in one "go". Besides, I didn't urn enough.
Bother! My salad is frozen, so I'm going to have to delay my lunch a bit while it sunbathes on the kitchen windowsill. It's now 13:47 already. How does that happen? [Pause] Lest anyone is wondering, a defrosted salad is definitely sub-optimal. Limp would be another good word for it. No matter; it still has nutritional value (I hope).
I've been listening more carefully...
... to that pianola recording that Brian lent me yesterday. Given that it wasn't captured during a concert performance, but by painstakingly transcribing the printed music score on to the blank master roll — making it, in essence, a digital recording — I have to wonder why it nevertheless contains slight variations in tempo and what sound like hesitations in the striking of some sequences of notes. Here's the sleeve should you wish to check it out:
Big Bro is due to take off from Heathrow in 30 minutes. I hope he remembered to swallow his chosen wonder pill to fend off all those lovely airborne viruses. It's 15:47 and though I've been taking things pretty easy I have to admit I'm still rather tired.
I recorded this when it popped up in 2005, but that won't necessarily stop me watching it again tomorrow night! Alan Plater was a class act. Time (17:05) for a cuppa, I think.
Difficult zero-sum games
I'd intended to comment on a piece by Simon Jenkins on the pointless, stupid folly of the carnage in Afghanistan3 which, it's fair to say, has once again stirred up some very polarised responses. But then I found this well-written article in the New Yorker — suddenly there was no contest:
The soaring cost of health care is the greatest threat to the country's long-term solvency, and the terminally ill account for a lot of it. 25% of all Medicare spending is for the 5% of patients who are in their final year of life, and most of that money goes for care in their last couple of months which is of little apparent benefit.
An excellent piece. Of course, dear Mama is not terminally ill in the sense that the patients described here are, but her quality of life is low. Big Bro and I both hope she will flourish (at least somewhat) in the care-home environment, but she's not getting any younger, not getting any stronger, and her mental capability is diminishing. Many, probably all, of her long-term memories are still "in there", but nothing new is currently being accepted for filing. She's frail, disoriented, frightened, and worried. As I've said, shoot me well in advance of my reaching 93+ in such a state.
It's 19:59 and I've recently enjoyed a blast of Omega 3 fish oils on toast (aka sardines...) — yummy. Perhaps they'll help me live forever?
In Christa's case, by the way, I wouldn't say her final treatment (radiation) was of little benefit, either. Although I'm sure it shortened her life overall, I could see it clearly also knocked a lot of her pain on the head for several weeks. And that alone was worth the "price" we paid. Among a brief flurry of emails she wrote on our 33rd wedding anniversary was this one to number #1 niece. She gave it the subject "Just a line from an old auntie" :-)
It must be more than a month or two that I wrote to you; and now it's like coming out of a deep abyss back to "normal" earth, what with ease of sitting and writing with my computer. It is such a RELIEF to be able to sit on a chair again (albeit with an appropriate cushion), without a lot of pain...
That was my indomitable girl.
Kids today, heh?
Having taken the trouble to get up and answer my phone (I don't always bother), let me share the exchange:
Me: Hello? David Mounce... silence Me: Hello? This is David Mounce... pause Voice of moron: Good for you. click
So it's my fault for being on the phone number dialled by a moron? My council taxes are being wasted within our educashun system. (Or could it just possibly be the parents?) Grumpy? No, not really!