Post by OBMIF on Jan 15, 2004 6:40:49 GMT -5
***************************************************
I went to the doctor recently. She told me to lose
weight, of course. Then she placed a small plastic
device on my left middle finger. A moment later,
various bits of information began appearing on a
nearby computer screen. As she scanned through
the information, I looked around the room and found
nothing reminiscent of any doctor’s office I’d
ever visited. There was no human skeleton or
medical journals, no glass jars with cotton balls
or thermometers.
“Okay, here you are.” the doctor said, swiveling
the thin, flat computer screen in my direction.
I glanced at the data and nodded as if I understood
what any of it meant.
“But aren't you going to take my temperature or
my blood pressure?”
“It’s all right there.” She pointed at some numbers
near the top of the monitor. “See? Your pressure
is a little high, same thing with your sodium and
cholesterol. Mostly, you need to drop some weight.”
She removed the device from my finger and placed it
next to the computer.
“So you don’t have to wrap that thing around my arm?”
“What? Oh, no!” she laughed. “It’s all digital now.”
She touched a few spaces on the screen. A few seconds
later a disc popped out of a slot just beneath.
“This is a diet and exercise plan I want you to
follow over the next eight weeks.”
She placed the disc in a plastic case and handed it
to me.
As I was leaving the office, I stopped in the
waiting room to stare at an aquarium filled with
tropical fish. I gazed at them, hypnotized by their
beauty and their tranquil motions. Then I noticed
that this seemingly enormous tank was only about
two inches thick. It was flush up against a wall
like a flat screen television.
“Maybe it is a television.” I thought.
Curious to find out, I tapped a finger on the glass
just below a sign that read:
"PLEASE DON'T TAP ON THE GLASS."
The three or four fish closest to the tapping reacted
by quickly turning and swimming away.
“Huh.” I said in the direction of the receptionist.
“For a second there I thought they weren’t real.”
“They’re not.” she replied. “Those are digital fish.”
“Digital?” I looked back at the tank. “But they moved
when I tapped on the glass.”
“Yes, they’re programmed to do that. By the way,
please don’t tap on the glass.”
“Sorry.”
As I continued to watch the fish perform their
ballet, I noticed that one wasn’t as graceful as
the others. It’s smooth gliding motions were
interrupted by sudden jerky spasms. Soon the little
fish began swimming sideways, then backwards.
Eventually, it slowly rolled over and floated to
the surface of the imaginary water.
“Uh... I think you lost one.” I announced.
“Oh. A floater, huh?” the receptionist said, picking
up a remote control and pointing it at the aquarium.
She pushed a button and all the fish changed color.
“Damn.” she said calmly, trying some other buttons.
For a few seconds the fish continued to change color.
Then they changed size, then species. For one flash
instant the tank became a terrarium with snakes
and lizards. Finally it turned back into the original
image with one fish floating at the top. A small net
appeared and scooped the floater out. A moment later,
an identical fish was dropped into the water.
The new fish quickly adapted to its surroundings
and began swimming in concert with the others.
“Why have them die?” I asked the receptionist.
“Realism.” she said. “This digital thing- it’s all
about realism.
When I got home, I found that my mailbox was full.
The first letter I opened was from the municipal
court. It was a traffic ticket. Folded inside a
letter demanding that I pay a $195 fine was a grainy
photograph of a car at an intersection downtown
ten days before.
(I’d read somewhere that, as part of a plan to
control traffic offences, dozens of digital cameras
had recently been installed at traffic signals
all over the city.)
It was clearly my car shown crossing against a
traffic signal in the picture. But it didn’t make
any sense, I hadn’t been downtown in months.
Obviously, someone else had been driving my car.
I looked carefully at the digital image. Whoever it
was behind the wheel had the seat way back with the
sun visor down, so it was hard to see their face,
but after I held the photo under a magnifying glass
I was able to make out who it was.
It was O.J. Simpson.
Okay, let me explain: A week and a half before,
I’d broken up with my girlfriend, Michelle. And it
wasn’t pretty. We had this huge fight. At one point
she’d grabbed the keys and taken off in my car.
She brought it back a few hours later without any
damage, but now I realized what she’d been up to.
I had this O.J. Simpson mask I used to wear at
various parties which I’d tossed into the trunk.
Apparently, in her anger, Michelle put on the
mask to hide her identity in the photos while
she drove my car through every red light in the
downtown area. I looked through the other twelve
or thirteen letters I’d received. They were all from
the municipal court and every one contained a letter
informing me of an enormous fine accompanied by
a picture of O.J. running a traffic light in my car.
As I tore open the envelopes, there was an intense
tightness in my chest and I began to feel a shooting
pain down my left arm. Barely able to breath,
I picked up the phone to call for help. I felt
almost to weak to dial, so I simply pressed zero
as I fell face first onto the kitchen floor.
I lay there on the linoleum helplessly waiting for
someone to pick up.
“Operator.”
“I need my mother. Can you call my mother for me?”
“What number, please?”
“I think she’s sixty-three. She looks younger.”
“Are you alright, sir?”
“I make a living.”
“Do you need me to dial 911?”
“No. I’ll dial it. Just let me get a pencil or
something so I can write down the number.”
As I attempted to roll over, I somehow managed to
pass out completely.
I began waking up some time later with my eyelids
fluttering in the glare of emergency room lights.
“Mr. Bosworth, can you hear me?” a voice asked.
“No.” I said, hoping for a laugh.
Nothing.
“You’ve had a serious heart attack.”
“Oh, I’m not sure it was serious. My heart kids
around a lot. My heart’s a kidder.”
Again, nothing. I couldn’t even get a giggle.
This was bad. Not only was my life in jeopardy,
I was bombing... hard!
“Is there someone we should contact?”
“How about a doctor?”
“I am a doctor, Mr. Bosworth.”
“You’re in the emergency room.” a nurse added.
This had to be the worst audience I’d ever
performed for.
Suddenly, I was overcome by a sobering sense of
reality. Something unthinkable was about to happen.
I was about to resort to a Polish joke. But before
I could think of one, some machine started beeping
wildly. The doctor yelled:
“Code Blue!”
People began huddling around me. They were sticking
needles and tubes into me and reaching into my chest.
But I couldn’t feel any of it.
And a minute or so later... I died.
I knew I was dead because I could see through the
ceiling of the emergency room. Then I could see
through floor above, then through the roof of
the hospital and up into the stars. And then
everything changed. Everything disappeared except
for the stars. And then the stars themselves began
to change. They all became little white squares.
And the blackness between the stars broke into
squares as well. Then all the white squares
swirled together to form the image of a beautiful
woman with enormous wings who descended from
the darkness. She reached out for me and as she
grew closer I lifted my hand up for hers, but she
reached past my hand. Her index finger became some
sort of cable attachment. She plugged it into
a USB port that had opened up in my forehead.
There was a muffled sound of information buzzing
and clicking as it left my head.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Downloading.” she said quietly.
“Your downloading my soul?”
“We don’t use souls anymore.” she told me.
“It’s all digital. It’s all digital now.”
And now? Now I’m a compressed file stored away
somewhere in the hard drive of the universe,
waiting to be saved (or possibly deleted)
the next time God updates the system.
But at least I lost some weight.
How do I look? I’m on that new digital diet.
It's all digital. I’m all digital now.
OBMIF
***************************************************
I went to the doctor recently. She told me to lose
weight, of course. Then she placed a small plastic
device on my left middle finger. A moment later,
various bits of information began appearing on a
nearby computer screen. As she scanned through
the information, I looked around the room and found
nothing reminiscent of any doctor’s office I’d
ever visited. There was no human skeleton or
medical journals, no glass jars with cotton balls
or thermometers.
“Okay, here you are.” the doctor said, swiveling
the thin, flat computer screen in my direction.
I glanced at the data and nodded as if I understood
what any of it meant.
“But aren't you going to take my temperature or
my blood pressure?”
“It’s all right there.” She pointed at some numbers
near the top of the monitor. “See? Your pressure
is a little high, same thing with your sodium and
cholesterol. Mostly, you need to drop some weight.”
She removed the device from my finger and placed it
next to the computer.
“So you don’t have to wrap that thing around my arm?”
“What? Oh, no!” she laughed. “It’s all digital now.”
She touched a few spaces on the screen. A few seconds
later a disc popped out of a slot just beneath.
“This is a diet and exercise plan I want you to
follow over the next eight weeks.”
She placed the disc in a plastic case and handed it
to me.
As I was leaving the office, I stopped in the
waiting room to stare at an aquarium filled with
tropical fish. I gazed at them, hypnotized by their
beauty and their tranquil motions. Then I noticed
that this seemingly enormous tank was only about
two inches thick. It was flush up against a wall
like a flat screen television.
“Maybe it is a television.” I thought.
Curious to find out, I tapped a finger on the glass
just below a sign that read:
"PLEASE DON'T TAP ON THE GLASS."
The three or four fish closest to the tapping reacted
by quickly turning and swimming away.
“Huh.” I said in the direction of the receptionist.
“For a second there I thought they weren’t real.”
“They’re not.” she replied. “Those are digital fish.”
“Digital?” I looked back at the tank. “But they moved
when I tapped on the glass.”
“Yes, they’re programmed to do that. By the way,
please don’t tap on the glass.”
“Sorry.”
As I continued to watch the fish perform their
ballet, I noticed that one wasn’t as graceful as
the others. It’s smooth gliding motions were
interrupted by sudden jerky spasms. Soon the little
fish began swimming sideways, then backwards.
Eventually, it slowly rolled over and floated to
the surface of the imaginary water.
“Uh... I think you lost one.” I announced.
“Oh. A floater, huh?” the receptionist said, picking
up a remote control and pointing it at the aquarium.
She pushed a button and all the fish changed color.
“Damn.” she said calmly, trying some other buttons.
For a few seconds the fish continued to change color.
Then they changed size, then species. For one flash
instant the tank became a terrarium with snakes
and lizards. Finally it turned back into the original
image with one fish floating at the top. A small net
appeared and scooped the floater out. A moment later,
an identical fish was dropped into the water.
The new fish quickly adapted to its surroundings
and began swimming in concert with the others.
“Why have them die?” I asked the receptionist.
“Realism.” she said. “This digital thing- it’s all
about realism.
When I got home, I found that my mailbox was full.
The first letter I opened was from the municipal
court. It was a traffic ticket. Folded inside a
letter demanding that I pay a $195 fine was a grainy
photograph of a car at an intersection downtown
ten days before.
(I’d read somewhere that, as part of a plan to
control traffic offences, dozens of digital cameras
had recently been installed at traffic signals
all over the city.)
It was clearly my car shown crossing against a
traffic signal in the picture. But it didn’t make
any sense, I hadn’t been downtown in months.
Obviously, someone else had been driving my car.
I looked carefully at the digital image. Whoever it
was behind the wheel had the seat way back with the
sun visor down, so it was hard to see their face,
but after I held the photo under a magnifying glass
I was able to make out who it was.
It was O.J. Simpson.
Okay, let me explain: A week and a half before,
I’d broken up with my girlfriend, Michelle. And it
wasn’t pretty. We had this huge fight. At one point
she’d grabbed the keys and taken off in my car.
She brought it back a few hours later without any
damage, but now I realized what she’d been up to.
I had this O.J. Simpson mask I used to wear at
various parties which I’d tossed into the trunk.
Apparently, in her anger, Michelle put on the
mask to hide her identity in the photos while
she drove my car through every red light in the
downtown area. I looked through the other twelve
or thirteen letters I’d received. They were all from
the municipal court and every one contained a letter
informing me of an enormous fine accompanied by
a picture of O.J. running a traffic light in my car.
As I tore open the envelopes, there was an intense
tightness in my chest and I began to feel a shooting
pain down my left arm. Barely able to breath,
I picked up the phone to call for help. I felt
almost to weak to dial, so I simply pressed zero
as I fell face first onto the kitchen floor.
I lay there on the linoleum helplessly waiting for
someone to pick up.
“Operator.”
“I need my mother. Can you call my mother for me?”
“What number, please?”
“I think she’s sixty-three. She looks younger.”
“Are you alright, sir?”
“I make a living.”
“Do you need me to dial 911?”
“No. I’ll dial it. Just let me get a pencil or
something so I can write down the number.”
As I attempted to roll over, I somehow managed to
pass out completely.
I began waking up some time later with my eyelids
fluttering in the glare of emergency room lights.
“Mr. Bosworth, can you hear me?” a voice asked.
“No.” I said, hoping for a laugh.
Nothing.
“You’ve had a serious heart attack.”
“Oh, I’m not sure it was serious. My heart kids
around a lot. My heart’s a kidder.”
Again, nothing. I couldn’t even get a giggle.
This was bad. Not only was my life in jeopardy,
I was bombing... hard!
“Is there someone we should contact?”
“How about a doctor?”
“I am a doctor, Mr. Bosworth.”
“You’re in the emergency room.” a nurse added.
This had to be the worst audience I’d ever
performed for.
Suddenly, I was overcome by a sobering sense of
reality. Something unthinkable was about to happen.
I was about to resort to a Polish joke. But before
I could think of one, some machine started beeping
wildly. The doctor yelled:
“Code Blue!”
People began huddling around me. They were sticking
needles and tubes into me and reaching into my chest.
But I couldn’t feel any of it.
And a minute or so later... I died.
I knew I was dead because I could see through the
ceiling of the emergency room. Then I could see
through floor above, then through the roof of
the hospital and up into the stars. And then
everything changed. Everything disappeared except
for the stars. And then the stars themselves began
to change. They all became little white squares.
And the blackness between the stars broke into
squares as well. Then all the white squares
swirled together to form the image of a beautiful
woman with enormous wings who descended from
the darkness. She reached out for me and as she
grew closer I lifted my hand up for hers, but she
reached past my hand. Her index finger became some
sort of cable attachment. She plugged it into
a USB port that had opened up in my forehead.
There was a muffled sound of information buzzing
and clicking as it left my head.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Downloading.” she said quietly.
“Your downloading my soul?”
“We don’t use souls anymore.” she told me.
“It’s all digital. It’s all digital now.”
And now? Now I’m a compressed file stored away
somewhere in the hard drive of the universe,
waiting to be saved (or possibly deleted)
the next time God updates the system.
But at least I lost some weight.
How do I look? I’m on that new digital diet.
It's all digital. I’m all digital now.
OBMIF
***************************************************