ࡱ> jmkOh+'0h  $ 0 <HPX`HTM E. Ann Blacko. A Normal.dotk E. Ann Blacko6 AMicrosoft Word 8.0@^в@%@%^ s1eE D4-EE7A72650E36}E6DSTRM84G5՜.+,D՜.+,4 hp|   >    Title 6> _PID_GUIDAN{45D6B7C0-4986-11D1-8524-EE7A72650E36}E6DSTRM84G5 RUNNING FOR MY LIFE AT THE DOW-JONES RATE.



What Happened, Once Upon a Midnight Dreary



The other day I was running for my life on the treadmill at the University's cardiac rehab center (called CHAMPS, in defiance of decrepitude and death, presumably). Getting bored, I began to watch the giant TV set, put there to soothe scared patients. Usually nothing much is going on; they won't let us watch soap operas and the news is always dull -- it may be censored by cardiologists for all I know. But that Monday the censor must have slipped up.

I noticed increasing excitement on the screen. The announcers' voices acquired real gravity as they referred to " the American people" who shouldn't panic, "because the underlying fundamentals are sound." As it turned out, they were talking about a decline in the stock market. Of course I did start to panic, because my hope of a golden retirement, spent in snugly acquiring wisdom, is tied up with the Dow-Jones.

The first reported decline was only about one percent, which the news reader playfully called a "tumble." This was followed quickly by more scary words like plummet, plunge, free fall, meltdown and carnage. When the market was down 7%, we had graduated to "blood bath." All the time I was idly wondering what words newscasters would come up with for something serious, like the country going bankrupt, say, or an asteroid hitting Wall Street. Then it struck me that this was serious. A quick calculation showed that at four percent my planned trip around the world had been wiped out, five percent finished off the substitute trip to Florida, at six percent I was planning a quiet vacation at home, and at seven percent I wondered what home that would be.

On top of all this, the pulse rate monitor on my wrist fell to zero -- I don't know why. The physiotherapist said its battery was dead, but I thought maybe it had sensed impending doom. I kept working the treadmill though, because if I have to go, I prefer heroism. "Doing what he had to do to the end -- what a guy!" I count on people saying.

Throughout this episode, the newscasters had been babbling on, and when I turned to the TV again, they were interviewing Wall Street gurus. One of these said that the market was really down, and the other one that maybe it would go up again. And what do you know, it really did. At the end of the next day, I had my house back and was thinking Florida. The day after that Florida was off again, but at present it looks like maybe I can spend a long weekend in Des Moines. If my heart rate stays up, that is.

At Random - Adrian Korpel





x2H`z CJhnH KLTUVW~,1$KLTUVW~,-2389:;Wg$-n:~ b ) k 4 { * o B K Y,QRSYZ`ae,-2389:;Wg$-n:~ b ) 1$) k 4 { * o B K Y,QRSYZ`a1$AB^_1$AB^_x2H` CJhnH Z55f6687J77X88l99v::; <<T==>*>>:?1$:??r@ AA2BBBBtCCzDEE"FFLG^GGxHH,MM:NNROODPVPP1$> RUNNING FOR MY LIFE AT THE DOW-JONES RATE.Running For My Life At The Dow-Jones RateThe other day I was running for my life on the treadmill at the University's cardiac rehab center (called CHAMPS, in defiance of decrepitude and death, presumably). Getting bored, I began to watch the giant TV set, put there to soothe scared patients. Usually nothing much is going on; they won't let us watch soap operas and the news is always dull -- it may be censored by cardiologists for all I know. But that Monday the censor must have slipped up. <BR><BR> I noticed increasing excitement on the screen. The announcers' voices acquired real gravity as they referred to " the American people" who shouldn't panic, "because the underlying fundamentals are sound." As it turned out, they were talking about a decline in the stock market. Of course I did start to panic, because my hope of a golden retirement, spent in snugly acquiring wisdom, is tied up with the Dow-Jones. <BR><BR> The first reported decline was only about one percent, which the news reader playfully called a "tumble." This was followed quickly by more scary words like plummet, plunge, free fall, meltdown and carnage. When the market was down 7%, we had graduated to "blood bath." All the time I was idly wondering what words newscasters would come up with for something serious, like the country going bankrupt, say, or an asteroid hitting Wall Street. Then it struck me that this was serious. A quick calculation showed that at four percent my planned trip around the world had been wiped out, five percent finished off the substitute trip to Florida, at six percent I was planning a quiet vacation at home, and at seven percent I wondered what home that would be. <BR><BR> On top of all this, the pulse#0P/ =!"#$%Running For My Life At The Dow-Jones RateSANTA CLAUS IS OKAY BUT ST. NICHOLAS IS THE REAL THINGSanta Claus Is Okay But St. Nicholas is the Real ThingThis year, on December 6, I celebrated St. Nicholas day. It's a dignified celebration I have tried to import from my native Holland for four decades, but Santa Clausean jollity always defeated me. This time I finally brought it off, with my whole family participating, including the six grandchildren. <BR><BR> St. Nicholas -- in contrast to Santa Claus, his jovial, back-slapping, ho-ho-ho cousin -- is a stately bishop with strong Calvinist leanings. Dressed in full bishop regalia of miter, mantle and staff, he rides the house tops on a white charger, on his way to mete out punishments and rewards to little children. When I was a kid, he would come to our school to read our misdeeds from a big red book with gold letters. We all sang "Welcome, welcome St. Nicholas...," when he entered the classroom, but our heart was not in it. Maybe because we feared his Moorish helper, Black Peter -- now about to fall victim to political correctness, I hear -- who carried a big sack for taking naughty children to Spain. Why to Spain was never entirely clear to me, I guess it has to do with the eighty-year Dutch war of independence that made the Spanish decidedly unloved. <BR><BR> Later, when I was in college, a fellow student and I would dress up as St. Nicholas and Black Peter, and go door-to-door to offer our services to parents. They'd invite us in to read the children's criminal file to them, and when that was over, we retired to the kitchen to collect our fee plus a glass of Dutch gin. Then we went on our way to the next customer, the way becoming less and less steady as the night wore on. Often we'd meet another St-Nicholas and his helper. This sometimes resulted in gin-blurred fights for territory at which the saints laid about mightily with their golden staffs. <BR><BR> For adults the custom is to exchange presents at night when the children have gone to bed. Gifts are supposed to come from St. Nicholas and should bear a rhymed message humorously exposing the recipient's character flaws. So on St. Nicholas day, Holland is awash in critical poems with limping meter and crippled rhyme. At our recent gathering the poetry was of poor quality though. Only my son-in-law, Clif, an engineer like myself, had come up with truly ugly stuff. His gorgeous, halting and sputtering St. Nicholas poetry was a feast for the ear. <BR><BR> One person was missing at our celebration, St. Nicholas himself. The children didn't particularly care, but I will rectify that situation next year. If I can only rent a bishop somewhere. "^^>__T``,gg:hhRiiDjVjjZkkpllmmm8nnFooNpp^qq1$ rate monitor on my wrist fell to zero -- I don't know why. The physiotherapist said its battery was dead, but I thought maybe it had sensed impending doom. I kept working the treadmill though, because if I have to go, I prefer heroism. "Doing what he had to do to the end -- what a guy!" I count on people saying. <BR><BR> Throughout this episode, the newscasters had been babbling on, and when I turned to the TV again, they were interviewing Wall Street gurus. One of these said that the market was really down, and the other one that maybe it would go up again. And what do you know, it really did. At the end of the next day, I had my house back and was thinking Florida. The day after that Florida was off again, but at present it looks like maybe I can spend a long weekend in Des Moines. If my heart rate stays up, that is. PZQQpRRSSS8TTFUUNVV^WWdXXpYYYPZZ^[[\\]]"^1$"^^>__T``1$ [$@$NormalmH <A@<Default Paragraph Font 2LU| Qa'h4x\#e.u$i< E S & J P > RUNNING FOR MY LIFE AT THE DOW-JONES RATE.Running For My Life At The Dow-Jones RateThe other day I was running for my life on the treadmill at the University's cardiac rehab center (called CHAMPS, in defiance of decrepitude and death, presumably). Getting bored, I began to watch the giant TV set, put there to soothe scared patients. Usually nothing much is going on; they won't let us watch soap operas and the news is always dull -- it may be censored by cardiologists for all I know. But that Monday`,) :?P"^`%12Unknown E. Ann Black[j< D p v   S _ z / 9 ; D ACjqaehn49x~\^ #(em.5uxil< E  S U     B D E G k m n p the censor must have slipped up. <BR><BR> I noticed increasing excitement on the screen. The announcers' voices acquired real gravity as they referred to " the American people" who shouldn't panic, "because the underlying fundamentals are sound." As it turned out, they were talking about a decline in the stock market. Of course I did start to panic, because my hope of a golden retirement, spent in snugly acquiring wisdom, is tied up with the Dow-Jones. <BR><BR> The first reported decline was only about one percent, which the news reader playfully called a "tumble." This was followed quickly by more scary words like plummet, plunge, free fall, meltdown and carnage. When the market was down 7%, we had graduated to "blood bath." All the time I was idly wondering what words newscasters would come up with for something serious, like the country going bankrupt, say, or an asteroid hitting Wall Street. Then it struck me that this was serious. A quick calculation showed that at four percent my planneH,) :?H%U   " # % u w x z  E. Ann Black5C:\Program Files\WS_FTP\korpel html\oct18_97.html.doc E. Ann Black8C:\My Documents\Korpel Web\korpel html\nov15_97.html.doc E. Ann Black8C:\My Documents\Korpel Web\korpel html\nov15_97.html.doc E. Ann Black8C:\My Documents\Korpel Web\korpel html\nov15_97.html.doc E. Ann Black8C:\My Documents\Korpel Web\korpel html\nov15_97.html.doc@D D |D < $BU| Q&< D I J P@QLQLQLP@P@P @QXLQLP$ @PLPMQDPPTPQSPSQYPYP^[Q\P\P`P@P#@GTimes New Roman5Symbol3& Arial"Ahe!&m!&\ !2 <HTML> E. Ann Black E. Ann BlackInformation58=%D DHCompObjDj0Table%D|DD``\ DG 4bjbjَ f ]8888 DD   $ f )  0       `=%8z Root Entry 0  F1%`=%Y1TableD``] :IWordDocumentFfDSummaryInformation(    " !/#$%&'()*+,-0123469:A@OBCDEGNKLMTPQRS?Z[Jx   U a | 1 ; = F ACip `dgm38w}[] "'dl-4twhk  R T     D F G I m o p r  " $ % ' w y z |  E. Ann Black5C:\Program Files\WS_FTP\korpel html\oct18_97.html.doc E. Ann Black8C:\My Documents\Korpel Web\korpel html\nov15_97.html.doc E. Ann Black8C:\My Documents\Korpel Web\korpel html\nov15_97.html.doc@  ( XT{  P@P@P @Q&2QL2P$ @P#@GTimes New Roman5Symbol3& Arial"Ahe!&e!&^ !2 <DocumentSummaryInformation58=%D DHCompObjDj0Table%D|DD``\5Dnknown E. Ann Blackgv   2 : u   Q [ ] f NPv}y*2pr9=vz}\dXZ7;fl; F U ] : > S W  # % & ( d f g i ( * B D E G  E. Ann Black5C:\Program Files\WS_FTP\korpel html\oct18_97.html.doc E. Ann Black8C:\My Documents\Korpel Web\korpel html\nov15_97.html.doc E. Ann Black8C:\My Documents\Korpel Web\korpel html\nov15_97.html.doc E. Ann Black8C:\My Documents\Korpel Web\korpel html\nov15_97.html.doc@RR(LLRRNa%j nv k l P@Q4P@P@P @Ql4P$ @P4Q87PH7P <Q>P(>QBPBQLGP\GPHP@P#@GTimes New Roman5Symbol3& Arial"Ahe!&h!&x !2<HTML> E. Ann Black E. Ann BlackHTML> E. Ann Black E. Ann Black [$@$NormalmH <A@<Default Paragraph Font 2Xa&j1y*p9}\ X7fnw;  U : l r d trip around the world had been wiped out, five percent finished off the substitute trip to Florida, at six percent I was planning a quiet vacation at home, and at seven percent I wondered what home that would be. <BR><BR> On top of all this, the pulse rate monitor on my wrist fell to zero -- I don't know why. The physiotherapist said its battery was dead, but I thought maybe it had sensed impending doom. I kept working the treadmill though, because if I have to go, I prefer heroism. "Doing what he had to do to the end -- what a guy!" I count on people saying. <BR><BR> Throughout this episode, the newscasters had been babbling on, and when I turned to the TV again, they were interviewing Wall Street gurus. One of these said that the market was r ;<=>?@ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ[\]^_`abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvw  FMicrosoft Word Document MSWordDocWord.Document.89q՜.+,D՜.+,4 hp|   >    Title 6> _PID_GUIDAN{45D6B7C0-4986-11D1-8524-EE7A72650E36}Oh+'0h  $ 0 <HPX`HTM E. Ann Blacko. A Normal.dotk E. Ann Blacko5 AMicrosoft Word 8.0@ @%@F6%\  [$@$NormalmH <A@<Default Paragraph Font 2T{  x2,) Unknown E. Ann BlackZi r eally down, and the other one that maybe it would go up again. And what do you know, it really did. At the end of the next day, I had my house back and was thinking Florida. The day after that Florida was off again, but at present it looks like maybe I can spend a long weekend in Des Moines. If my heart rate stays up, that is. dec20_97qdrrpsssPtt^uuvvww"xx>yyTzz1$ [$@$NormalmH <A@<Default Paragraph Font 2LU| Qa'h4x\#e.u$i< E S & J P V z,) :?P"^qz%12>Unknown E. Ann Black[jp v   S _ z / 9 ; D Y r ACjqaehn49x~\^ #(em.5uxil  S U     B D E G k m n p   " # % V ~  E. Ann Black5C:\Program Files\WS_FTP\korpel html\oct18_97.html.doc E. Ann Black8C:\My Documents\Korpel Web\korpel html\nov15_97.html.doc E. Ann Black8C:\My Documents\Korpel Web\korpel html\nov15_97.html.doc E. Ann Black8C:\My Documents\Korpel Web\korpel html\nov15_97.html.doc E. Ann Black8C:\My Documents\Korpel Web\korpel html\nov15_97.html.doc E. Ann Black8C:\My Documents\Korpel Web\korpel html\nov15_97.html.doc@g g |XXg _ <BU| Q&< D I J _ g P@QfQfQfP@P@P @QXfQfP$ @PfPgQDjPTjQmPmQsPsP^uQvPvPzP@QzP"@P#@GTimes New Roman5Symbol3& Arial"Ahe!&n!&^ !2 <HTML> E. Ann Black E. Ann BlackII(I(I((((I(    J JJ  r&'&'&' n)) F)F)D))FDFD)FDAAFDFAAFDFDAFDFD qkmoFFFFoo)mFojkkoAA%J?BWB!#C8 r:!BDA HIIJ|,q((((IJD)F:%& I(( ((III(I(I(((I((((I(((( ,I(JG Dbjbjَ ~ ]dddd pL h j j j j j j $yf A 0 h h H h h @%dbh Root Entry 0  F1%@%n1TableD``] _WordDocumenth~DSummaryInformation(    " !/#$%&'()*+,-70123.698;:A<=>U@OBCDEKLMTPQRS?VW\]^`abcdefgilopJDocumentSummaryInformation58=%D DHCompObjDj0Table%D|DD``\5D   FMicrosoft Word Document MSWordDocWord.Document.89q՜.+,D՜.+,4 hp|   >    Title 6> _PID_GUIDAN{45D6B7C0-4986-11D1-8524-EE7A72650E36}Oh+'0h  $ 0 <HPX`HTM E. Ann Blacko. A Normal.dotk E. Ann Blacko6 AMicrosoft Word 8.0@^в@%@%^  [$@$NormalmH <A@<Default Paragraph Font 2T{  x2,) Unknown E. Ann BlackZi r