I just received an e-mail from a client who mentioned that she wanted to call, but didn't have my phone number with her. I was preparing to mock her for not looking in a phone directory or calling information when it occurred to me to wonder: When I ported my land line number to a cell phone, did I vanish from phone listings?

Not that I'm curious enough to actually check, of course.

From Salon, reprinted surreptitiously.

Nice 67 Y.O. male has brush with mortality
It was pretty clear how lucky I was to be walking out of that hospital relatively unscathed
By Garrison Keillor

Sep. 16, 2009

The doctor who saw me in the E.R. wrote in her report: "nice 67 y.o. male, flat affect, awake, alert and appropriate." I had appeared with slurred speech and a balloon in my head, had driven myself to United Hospital in St. Paul, parked in No Parking, walked in and was triaged right in to a neurologist who trundled me into the MRI Space-Time Cyclotron for 50 minutes of banging and whanging that produced a picture of the stroke in the front of my brain, so off to the Mayo Clinic I went and the St. Mary's Hospital Neurology ICU and was wired up to monitors. A large day in a nice 67 y.o. man's life.

I stayed at St. Mary's for four days of tests and when I left, a neurologist shook my hand and said: "I hope you know how lucky you are." That was pretty clear as I walked down the hall, towing my IV tower, and saw the casualties of serious strokes. Here I was sashaying along, like a survivor of Pickett's Last Charge who had suffered a sprained wrist. My mouth felt fuzzy but I was essentially unscathed, though touched by mortality. Which I have been on the run from for a long time. I never wanted to be a nice 67 y.o. man. I still have some edgy 27 y.o. man inside me.

But when the doctor talks about how you must go on a powerful blood thinner lest a stray clot turn your fine intellect into a cheese omelet, you must now accept being 67 y.o. and do as he says. You had intended to be a natural wonder, an old guy who still runs the high hurdles, but mortality has bitten you in the butt.

I like this hospital. St. Mary's is a research and teaching hospital so you get to observe troops of young residents go by, trailing close behind Doctor Numero P. Uno, and watch them try to assume the air of authority so useful in the medical trade. The nurses, of course, are fabulous. Like many nice 67 y.o. men, I am even more awake and alert around attractive young women (though I try to be appropriate). A tall, dark-haired beauty named Sarah brings me a hypodermic to coach me on self-administered shots of heparin, and without hesitation I plunge it into my belly fat. No man is a coward in the presence of women.

Nurses are smart and brisk and utterly capable. They bring some humor to the situation. ("Care for some jewelry?" she says as she puts the wristband on me.) And women have the caring gene that most men don't. Men push you down the hall in a gurney as if you're a cadaver, but whenever I was in contact with a woman, I felt that she knew me as a brother. The women who draw blood samples at Mayo do it gently with a whole litany of small talk to ease the little blip of puncture, and "here it comes" and the needle goes in, and "Sorry about that," and I feel some human tenderness there, as if she thought, "I could be the last woman to hold that dude's hand." A brief sweet moment of common humanity.

And that is a gift to the man who has been struck by a stroke: our common humanity. It's powerful in a hospital. Instead of a nice linen jacket and cool jeans and black T, you are shuffling around in a shabby cotton gown like Granma in "Grapes of Wrath," and you pee into a plastic container under the supervision of a young woman who makes sure you don't get dizzy and bang your noggin.

Two weeks ago, you were waltzing around feeling young and attractive, and now you are the object of Get Well cards and recipient of bouquets of carnations. Rich or poor, young or old, we all face the injustice of life -- it ends too soon, and statistical probability is no comfort. We are all in the same boat, you and me and ex-Gov. Palin and Rep. Joe Wilson, and wealth and social status do not prevail against disease and injury. And now we must reform our health insurance system so that it reflects our common humanity. It is not decent that people avoid seeking help for want of insurance. It is not decent that people go broke trying to get well. You know it and I know it. Time to fix it.

My friend David went to see the current "West Side Story."

http://davidellisdickerson.com/2009/09/who-cut-the-frabber-jabber-west-side-story-at-the-palace-theater/

Clearly, Facebook and I have different understandings of the word "friend."

I've had a bug up my butt about the stupidization of "The Fantasticks" for years. Details below, but first, go listen to at least a little bit of "My Girl." We'll get back to it shortly. http://snipurl.com/rn6u6

Some background is required; I'll try not to be too arcane.

Old-school composers had an assumption about the people who would perform their songs: that they'll figure out when to breathe. If you look at sheet music prior to the "songwriter era" that started in the 1960s, you'll notice that most of the melodies are written without rests, or with very few. Trained singers would know where to break phrases, and be capable of sustaining notes when necessary. This is all part of interpreting a song.

But over the years, as I understand it, the powers that be at "The Fantasticks" didn't want anybody interpreting anything. They wanted the songs to sound exactly the same from show to show, and from production to production. So sometime in the late 1980s I think it was, a revised vocal score was published, and suddenly the melody lines were full of rests. A mind-numbing number of rests. So that every incarnation of the show sounded the way it was "supposed to." (Side benefit: When untrained singers were cast, they wouldn't have any long phrases or sustained notes to butcher.)

The trouble with this is, the more you force phrasing on a singer, the more you kill her artistic soul. Turning singers into robots is a perverse act for a show that says stifling creativity ("plant a radish, get a radish") is a bad thing.

Somewhere along the way (the 2006 NYC revival?), something else changed. I haven't seen the current staging, but I did just finish playing a few days of auditions for an out of town company, and I presume the musical director's insistence on faster tempos was informed by that.

More arcana. Songs' arrangements get structured based on various elements. Instrumentation, key, tempo, style, atmosphere. And when you decide to change some of that after the fact, there are repercussions. I bet you still have that "My Girl" groove in your head. Okay, hear that bass line. Bom, ba da da da da, Bom, ba da da da da ... Great. Now speed it up 20%. Doesn't work at all, does it? If you want "My Girl" at that tempo, you need a whole new arrangement.

Maybe increasing the tempi of the songs was another compensation for incapable singers. Maybe somebody wanted the running time reduced. Maybe it's like with Igor Stravinsky, who famously conducted his compositions faster as he got older because, he explained, he got bored with them and wanted to get them over with. Whatever the cause, the effect is that the music I love is damaged, and this makes me sad.

From the boilerplate for a consumer survey for which I did not sign up (*survey provider's name withheld):

By participating in the Service, you authorize * to access records of your spending and savings in your personal accounts, including but not limited to your credit card and bank accounts, using *'s secure, computerized system, and authorize your third-party account providers to provide us with such information. Where applicable, you also authorize * to record your Web-surfing behavior. You agree that * assumes no responsibility and shall incur no liability with respect to the acts, omissions, or determinations of any such third-party account providers.

Anybody else find this creepy?

Time Warner Cable downloaded a new OS into my HD DVR last night. Their proprietary Navigator system replaces the Passport system they were leasing from its manufacturer. So far, I find the following changes:

1. Cannot set a manual recording.
2. Cannot play in slo-mo mode.
3. Cannot fast-forward or rewind in 15-minute jumps.
4. Turning closed captioning on/off now requires six steps through menus and lists instead of two.
5. Maximum FF and REW speeds are noticeably slower than before.
6. There is no longer a 60-minute buffer available when returning to "live" after watching a recorded program. [Edit: Maybe there is. I've belatedly discovered that the buffer is displayed differently now, and all of the channel changing noted below contributed to the confusion as well.]
7. The channels playing live and in the background (second tuner) seem to have a sort of interdependence that I don't yet understand. I tried switching to the background channel and changing it, then switching back to the other channel. That channel was not what it was supposed to be. (Specifically: Watching 716, should have had default channel 1 on tuner two. Instead, there was a movie channel, 677, playing there -- one that I had not tuned to. I changed it to 666, then switched back to tuner one. That tuner was now showing 677, the movie channel I'd tried to switch away from. I am mystified.)
8. Finding a program title in the ABC menu means moving through a 4x10 grid (numbers on top row) instead of 6x6, and all letters remain active always. Formerly, only the possible next letters would be active. Result: Title searching is much slower and more annoying.

Shorter version of the above: Grrrr.

It's Proms season, and I'm listening to the "Celebration of Classic MGM Film Musicals." Accompanied by a very large orchestra, according to the program page,

Kim Criswell, vocalist
Sarah Fox, soprano
Sir Thomas Allen, baritone
Curtis Stigers, vocalist
Seth MacFarlane, singer

Okay, I understand (but don't endorse) segregating the the-ya-tuh people from the opera folk, but just because Seth MacFarlane is the creator of "Family Guy," he's not a vocalist? Jeez.

Not a bad concert, by the way. It'll be available until next Saturday at http://www.bbc.co.uk/proms/2009/whatson/0108.shtml

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Got a call from Chase Visa today. They wanted to know if I made a $3.49 purchase today. Seemed like a very small amount of money to trigger an alarm, so I asked if the merchant in question was one they'd had problems with. Sure enough. There was also a $1 charge from earlier in the week that wasn't mine. It's a little creepy to know that my financial activities are so closely monitored, and more than a little annoying to have to update the various automatic bill payments linked to that card -- especially since I won't have the new account number for several days.

Title of Friday's "Eureka": "Welcome Back, Carter"
Headline on the current Entertainment Weekly cover: "Welcome Back, Potter"
Three times is a trend.

Majorly decompressing from the National Puzzlers League convention in Baltimore these past few days. The nitrite overdose I had for breakfast today isn't helping matters any. But a little gastric upset can't compare to spending four days with some of the smartest, funniest and most interesting people I know. It's my honor to be a part of the group.

It was unintentional, but I spent the day after America's Birthday celebrating England. Printed out UK crosswords in the morning and took them with me for the "Norman Conquests" plays. (The official line is that the plays can be seen in any order. I disagree. Seems to me some of the cross-play jokes work in only one direction, and there is a clear ending to the story.) Afterwards, couldn't get to sleep right away, so watched two episodes of "Hotel Babylon." Rule, Britannia!

Things are invisible until you need them. I'm in desperate need of a haircut, but austerity demands that I find an alternative to my regular uptown guy. So I'll just go to a neighborhood barber, right? Except I have no idea where to find one. I took a stroll yesterday, and noticed four places that I'm sure I've walked past thousands of times apiece without them registering on my consciousness. I've picked out the one that looks the most old-fashioned, and will visit it tomorrow.

Seeing Sherie Rene Scott's "Everyday Rapture" the day after the Tonys telecast was a lucky break. (Oh, wait, there is no luck. Never mind.) It was simply amazing, and unlike last night, reminded me why I love the theater. And also reminded me about the one thing I hate about the theater: its impermanence. The show closes Saturday, but I'll have a piece of it with me well beyond that.

Yesterday's NYT
Clue: Do, re, mi
Answer: CDE

Yesterday's Merl Reagle
Clue: Do, re, mi, perhaps
Answer: CDE

One of those clues is correct. The other is correct only 8.33% of the time. Not that anybody will dare to say anything about it.

Or, Maybe the kid falls down a lot.

From Entertainment Weekly: "Film producer Brian Grazer, 57, and The Starter Wife author Gigi Levangie Grazer, 46, finalized their divorce on May 21 in L.A. She will receive more than $13 million in a one-time payment, and $40,000 a month in child support."

The newest bizarre trend: Third time in three days that I've seen someone walking down the street while reading a book*. I'm proud to be a multitasker, but that's ridiculous.

*All three were women. Significant?

"I don't think we thought that that integration would be one of the lynchpins of us returning for a third season."

From http://sepinwall.blogspot.com/2009/05/chuck-chris-fedak-vs-renewal.html

I've owned three Master padlocks over the years. The combination to one was three odd numbers; the other two used all even numbers.

Anybody ever had a Master padlock that mixed odd and even numbers? It just takes one....

Finally made it back to the gym this week. There's a sign on the door:

*Please pardon our appearance while we restore our lobby and stairwell.*

I am here to report that the lobby and stairwell are exactly the same as they've always been. Clever devils.

1. I'm very fond of inside jokes, especially those found in television shows. Futurama's opening sequence had a couple of items that changed every week for the benefit of observant viewers; The Simpsons has been doing this since the opening was redesigned for high-def. And Stephen Colbert's word list changes every now and then (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Colbert_Report#Program_format). Sometimes what follows ACCLAIMED INCISIVE POWERFUL COURAGEOUS EXCEPTIONAL RELENTLESS is a real word/phrase, but more often it's a Colbertism like "gutly" or "factose intolerant."

Currently, the variable slot is filled by "PURPLE-MOUNTED," and I can't decide exactly where the joke is. Are the writers deliberately corrupting "purple mountain['s majesty]," or have they fallen victim to a mondegreen? No way to know.

2. The closed captioning on Inside the Actors Studio and IFC Media Project continues to amuse. IFC is owned by the notoriously tight-fisted Cablevision company. Odds are they assigned some intern or in-law to the captioning task, rather than pay anyone competent. (Cablevision also owns AMC, and the memory of the season 1 Mad Men captioning still burns.) But ItAS airs on Bravo, which is owned by NBC. Is Lipton pocketing the captioning budget? Or did Danny DeVito really go to beauty school and learn how to "quaff"?

3. I have finished proofreading The Worst Novel Ever Written. The author found a new way to surpass himself in the last few pages, as a character made an emphatic statement a) in caps b) in italics c) followed by two exclamation points d) followed by "he screamed." Just in case you weren't sure.

Also of note, the villain kidnaps a couple and their daughter at gunpoint. They drive (in the family's car) to a secluded spot in the woods. The next time we see them, the police are approaching, and what do they see? Mom and Dad are tied to a tree, and the daughter is bound to a table. It has already been established that the villain keeps the fold-up table in his own car trunk. How he got it into the woods and managed to tie up the family with one hand (he couldn't put down the gun, could he?) is left to the reader's imagination.

Does any reader possess sufficient imagination?

Finally caught up with the Crossword Tournament "Dinner: Impossible" episode that aired last week on Food Network. Since I opted out of the lunch, I was certain that I wouldn't appear anywhere in the hour. This belief was disproven within seconds. Go figure.

Would that I could direct you to a (legal) online video....