Hospital news, going digital, knowing things

RUSHING THINGS . . . . Reading Chi Trib, I found quite an item in the obits.  Advice: always read the obits, an ongoing chronicle of comings and goings, emphasis on the latter, in which the noosepaper almost always gets it right, even dousing some of its endemic, genetic, inbred zest for gossip and other bad news.

This item, however, in the obit for an apparently admirable woman who died at 91 after a long life as wife, mother (of 5), widow, and school teacher, has the news that Oak Park has a “Rush West Suburban Hospital.”  This encompasses a major change that no local paper has uncovered, since West Sub has been owned by the Resurrectionist Sisters for several years and Oak Park Hospital has been a Rush Medical Center affiliate for as many.

TELEPHONY . . . . Meanwhile, back at the old homestead, we are without landline telephone, having had AT&T in our house yesterday to digitalize us stem to stern.  Painless as it occurred, painful in the aftermath, as James, who was a pleasure to have around for five or six hours, had not connected my desk phone to anything and (not his fault) had left us w/o a dial tone while central office finished the digitalization.

My subsequent mistake was to make two calls to the U-Verse help people when one would have been enough.  The first gave me Ashley, who correctly decided our internal connection problems called for a repair person to make a house call, which he or she will do tomorrow afternoon, the earliest time available.  The second, made for no good reason to tell them we had a dial tone (which turned out illusory) gave me Gregory, who incorrectly analyzed the problem and wanted to cancel my repair person, which I did not do, arguing that I still had the office-phone connection problem.  More later . . . .

STIMULATING . . . . Again to Chi Trib, where Jonah Goldberg’s column leapt at me off the page with his quite readable notations about government knowing best (not) and “everybody” knowing what works (not).  Everybody knew Iraq had weapons of mass destruction, for instance, everybody in Dan Rather’s CBS shop knew those Texas National Guard memos were legit — everybody knew until everybody didn’t.

So it is with the grand moguls of government-directed finance — or Citigroup– and Robert Rubin-directed, for that matter — how things will or would work.  Stimuli don’t work, at least didn’t since World War II, Goldberg says, citing economist Bruce Bartlett.  Why he doesn’t note its most famous failure, under FDR, I don’t know.

Spirit willing, flesh weak as usual

I had the poem by Shelley in mind, “To a Skylark,” when I named this blog, not the play by Noel Coward, and was confirmed in that a few months back at a performance of the play at Pleasant Home/Festival Theater, Oak Park.

The various lines came trippingly from the tongues of the players, and nobody fell down. But how many times can an audience respond heartily to the joke of a man talking at once to late and present wife, the one a shadow of her former self, i.e., a blithe spirit?

The ghost has her lines heard by the husband, he has his heard by both wives, and the present corporeal wife has hers heard by the other two. Get the picture? Spirit makes crack, husband replies to spirit in middle of conversation with live wife, who thinks he’s getting snarky with her. Etc. etc., over and over, signifying next to nothing.

But Coward so wants us to laugh, and we so want to on a playgoing night, that most of us do. I didn’t, after the first two or three, and bent over, staring at the floor for relief. This elicited a heartfelt response from the man behind me, who tapped me on my shoulder and asked if I was all right. I was sitting next to one easily taken, not mistaken, for my wife, who might be expected (accurately) to care a lot for my welfare; but he apparently thought her not caring a whit for me and my supposed trouble.

It was like being touched by the beadle in an 18th-century English church, the man in charge of being sure no one slept during the sermon. I told the man I was all right, but my answer should have been, “Depends what you mean by not all right.” But I did not cotton to discussing the play right then, and let it go where I let it.

Sartre smoked

The grave of Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Be...
Jean-Paul and Simone's grave, to which their paths of glory led

* The cigarette was brushed out of Jean-Paul Sartre’s hand for an exhibition in 2005.  Sartre smoked, but not in the commemorative picture years after he died.  He was also one of the great sexual athletes of history.  So was his lifelong love, Simone de Beauvoir, a switch-hitter whose girl friends captured Sartre’s fancy now and again.  One of these resisted his advances and near broke his haunted heart, however.  It was not easy being a king of sex, so uneasy lies the head wearing that crown.

— from Jean-Pierre Boule’s review of TETE-A-TETE: The lives and loves of Simone de Beauvoir and Jean-Paul Sartre, by Hazel Rowley (Chatto and Windus) in TLS 3/17/06

* We hear complaints about senseless acts of violence, but never praise for sensible ones.  Is this wise?

* At Bread Kitchen during Xmas week, “Tum te tum tum” (Drummer Boy) overhead for the thousandth time this season is bad enough.  But what of the woman at the next table picking up on it and humming along lightly?

* Comedian Shelley Berman had a shtick where he spoke of dropping ashes in his lap while driving.  Parked at a light on a busy street, he brushed furiously at his lap, looked up and there was an elderly female bus passenger looking at him censoriously.  Likewise, I looked down while on a Bread K stool and saw that my belt was undone and my fly was unzipped.  Oh boy.

* Old joke, but in view of recent highly publicized developments, is it time to revive “Crook County” as replacement name?  No?  Whatever.