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Dear people, can I ask you a couple of favors?

For background, let me tell you about a couple of my friends.

E just got out of the hospital. She had a stroke on Tuesday night. Her scans and her doctor confirm that she sustained no lasting damage from the experience.

S had a stroke, too, a year and some ago. He spent a good deal of time in the hospital, and now he's got language and mobility problems.

The significant difference between these two people is that E got medical help quickly. She was with someone who recognized the symptoms of a stroke as they occurred†, and called for help immediately. S, for reasons that seemed good at the time*, delayed calling the ambulance.

So. First favor. Read this good, approachable post on strokes. The whole thing is worth your time, but the key information is this list of symptoms:

• Sudden onset weakness, numbness, or tingling, particularly one-sided.
• Facial droop, particularly one-sided.
• Slurred speech, or aphasia, or suddenly using inappropriate words.
• Unexplained blurred vision, particularly one-sided.
• "The worst headache of my life." (Thunderclap headache.)

Not every stroke will have all of these symptoms, but if you see this tendency, think "stroke" and get dialing.

The second favor also comes with yet another friend story. B went to the doctor the other day, and has since been sent to the cardiologist. It's everyone's fervent hope that she won't ever call an ambulance—on time or late—because preventative care reduces the chance of having a stroke in the first place.**

So if you don't know your blood pressure, dear readers, nor your stroke risks, can you go get yourself checked out? I know it seems like a stinking nuisance so soon after the stinking nuisance of the holidays, but going to the emergency room is even more of a pain.

In short, be B. Failing that, be E. Otherwise, S will be most vexed with you.

As will I.

† Partly because of S's experience
* Uninsured in America**
** Anyone wonder why I get worked up about health insurance and health care reform?

I've been trying to write about my life as a bicycle commuter for a couple of years now. I've touched on specific aspects, both here and on Making Light.

But a lot of the ways that biking to work matters to me really are not verbal, so I've struggled to phrase things in any useful or meaningful way. I knew what I wanted to say in the middle of the post (what routes, how far, how long it took) and at the end (thinking as I ride). But how to begin?

My sordid history as a Rush fan came to the rescue. The immediacy of the lyrics of Red Barchetta was exactly the tone I was looking for to pull the reader into the experience.

The result: My own personal Rota Fortunae.

[insert typical "sorry I don't blog here more often" paragraph]

The fact of the matter is that I am still writing, rather a lot, over at Making Light, a blog owned by my friends Patrick and Teresa Nielsen Hayden¹.

This is kind of unfair to everyone who keeps looking here for news of me. I know this. I'm going to start doing pointers to Making Light when I've posted something there that people here might be interested in, and hanging out here for people who want to talk about those things with me rather than a large crowd of strangers².

My most recent post is about the quilt that I made this spring: Works and Days of Hands. It's also about the process of making something like that, and how process and design mirrored each other for me.

Another post I really enjoyed writing was Op anger tale, which is an exploration of the relationship between a particular Dutch dialect and Wikipedia.

One thing I've been talking about over there, rather a lot, has been the US health care situation. The conversation can get quite heated from time to time, of course, but that heat has certainly caused me to clarify and reaffirm my own beliefs in this matter.

• Pushing Back
• Been lied to so long you wouldn't know the truth if it came up and kissed you on the mouth
• Fighting fire with fire: an email forward
• I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours
• Touching back to principles

Martin sent me a rather silly YouTube link, mostly about Horatio Caine's one-line quips at the end of the prologues of CSI: Miami. The sameness of his delivery, episode after episode, reminded me irresistibly of Aristophanes' The Frogs. Indeed, I could not resist setting it all out. How would Aristophanes have tackled the rivalry among the three CSI shows?¹

Dionysus, patron of drama, descends into the underworld to bring one of the great dramatists back to earth with him, to inspire the people of Athens to their former greatness. In the land of the dead, Aeschylus and Euripides are contending for the seat of honour, at Hades' left hand, awarded to the greatest tragedian; it was Aeschylus, but Euripides is trying to take it over. In the background, Sophocles is staying out of the battle.

Like Dionysus, Dr Quincy, ME goes into the TV studios to bring one of the current crop of detectives with him, to solve the crimes of the modern era. There, Gil Grissom and Horatio Caine are arguing over who should get the largest dressing room, awarded to the best CSI; it was Gil's, but Caine is trying to take it over. In the backdrop, Mac is staying out of the battle.

The two playwrights' works are compared to one another in a variety of ways. After opening prayers, each dramatist describes the other's weaknesses and his own strengths. It becomes clear that Dionysus prefers Aeschylus, the more traditional and methodical playwright, over the more modern Eurypides.

The two detectives' shows are also compared to one another. After a brief introduction covering their education and work experience, each CSI describes the other's weaknesses and his own strengths². It becomes clear that Quincy prefers Grissom, the scientist, over the flashier Caine.

Then the true contest begins. A nit-picking analysis of each dramatist's best prologue, for logic and for style. The best³ part is when Aeschylus proves that, metrically and structurally, one can insert "lost his bottle of oil" into the line-ends of his opponent's prologues.

Again, the key comparison is a nit-picking analysis of each detective's investigative techniques, for protocol and for style. The best part is when Gil proves that, dramatically and stylistically, one can put one's sunglasses on and sidle like a crab at any point in his opponent's exchanges with other characters^{2, again}.

The final contest takes place over a set of scales, as each dramatist recites a single line of one of his plays. The weightiest line wins. In each case, Aeschylus' works outweigh Euripides'.

Like Dionysus, Quincy uses scales for a quantitiative analysis. Each CSI recounts one of his one-line end of prologue quips. The heaviest line wins. This bit, I'll do.⁴

QUINCY:

Come here, then, if I have to do this --
treating detectives just like cheese for sale.

CHORUS:

Such clever men as these use clever tools:
Forensic science as is taught in schools
Can only show a fraction of the art.
It's innovation that's the greater part
And so when other testing stalls and fails
We turn to systematic means like scales.

QUINCY:

Come on. Stand beside the balance scales.

GRISSOM & CAINE [together]:

All right.

QUINCY:

Now, each of you grab hold and don't let go
until I yell at you like Roger Daltrey.

GRISSOM & CAINE [each one holding a scale pan]:

We're holding on.

QUINCY:

Speak your line into the scale.

CAINE [reciting]:

I am going...to get to the truth.

GRISSOM [reciting]:

"Yet who would have thought the old man to have so much blood in him."⁵

QUINCY:

Yaaaaar! Let go. [inspects scales] The pan on Grissom's side
has gone much further down.

CAINE:

And why is that?

QUINCY:

Why? Because he put blood into it.
He wet his words the way wool-sellers do --
whereas you put in a word with wings.

CAINE:

All right, let him speak again and match me.

QUINCY:

Grab hold again.

GRISSOM & CAINE:

We're ready.

QUINCY:

So speak down.

CAINE [reciting]:

You don't spend $1,000 on clothes...you're never going to wear.

GRISSOM [reciting]:

Man versus Gravity. Man lost.

QUINCY:

Let go. Let go. This one's going down again.
He put gravity in -- the heaviest of forces.

CAINE:

But I put in money...and my line
was...better phrased.

QUINCY:

Yeah, but money's light.
It's got no staying power at all. Say something else,
a heavy line, immense and ponderous,
to make you sink.

CAINE:

A really heavy line...
where can I find such a thing among my cases?

QUINCY:

I'll tell you. "We've got to move quickly.
The tide is rising, and we have a sinking crime scene."
You'd better speak --
it's the last time the two of you get weighed.

CAINE [reciting]:

The verdict is in, Frank, but the jury...is out.

GRISSOM [reciting]:

By law you've got to disclose everything. Three bedrooms, two baths, and a skeleton.

QUINCY:

He got you again.

CAINE:

How so?

QUINCY:

He put in a whole house and a stiff.
A hundred weightlifters couldn't shift that load.

This last contest gives Dionysus the excuse he needs to bring back the playwright he really prefers, Aeschylus. As a final, stinging rebuke of Euripides' preference of style over substance, he negotiates for Sophocles to have the seat of honour by Hades.

Like Dionysus, Quincy prefers Grissom⁶, and declares him the winner. As a final, stinging rebuke of Horatio Caine's flashy style, he negotiates for Mac to have the coveted trailer.