A trip to the doctor revealed that I DO NOT have carpal tunnel syndrome.  Instead, my ailment was diagnosed, with certainty, as de Quervain tenosynovitis, named after the Swiss physician, Fritz de Quervain, who discovered and cataloged this condition in 1895.

So I paid $19 and change from some contraption that immobilizes my right thumb, allowing me to get my crossword puzzles and Sudokus done, which is what I really care about.  A few days of rest, with occasional ice packs, and some Motrin PM each night at bedtime, and I expect to be good as new.

Saturday we'll be in DeLand, Florida, at the Thin Man Watts Jazz Fest.  Details at www.wattsjazzfest.com.

I'll be back home in time to catch the finish of Game Three of the World Series.  Go, Cardinals.

"Les Preludes" ...

... and other thoughts. 

... As I was driving home from work the other day, Kurt Masur was conducting this piece, one of my favorite Franz Liszt compositions, and I lengthened my trip so as to get to the rousing finish before arriving home.  Here, Valery Gergiev conducts the Vienna Philharmonic.  He's fun to watch.

For a little romantic levity, here is "Sonata Innamorata" by P.D.Q. Bach.

... As for those other thoughts

... It took till Tuesday for me to get around to reading the Sunday Review  -- I should say "start reading ..." because I'm nowhere near finished reading.  I literally cried while reading Nicholas Kristof's "Are Chicks Brighter Than Babies?" as well as Lawrence Downes's "The Writing on the Wall" and Serge Schmemann's "World to Washington 'Really?' " and I could literally write a paragraph or more on each of those subjects except I just made a doctor's appointment to find out whether I have carpal tunnel syndrome or whatever it is that is keeping me from enjoying the Times crossword puzzle.

It's painful to put pen to paper.

I'll be back.

The rollout of Obamacare is not going well (according to Republicans, according to Faux News, but not according to anybody else, as far as I can tell.)

In my opinion, the website glitches are caused as much by the rampant demand for healthcare insurance as by the incompetence of the web designers.  Yes, the huge demand should have been anticipated.  I'll admit that.

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I especially loved Bill Keller's op-ed in the New York Times last week.  "Obamacare -- the Rest of the Story."

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Tons more snippets of observations to make.  No time to make them.  It's a busy life I lead.  A good busy.

It's my best memory of the game, that's for sure.  Reliving Kirk Gibson's pinch-hit home run off of the A's Dennis Eckersley.  Recapture the feeling HERE.

OCT. 18 EDIT:

Sorry, I haven't had time to get back here and share my personal memories.

I was a big Kirk Gibson fan, ever since his football wide receiver days at the Michigan State University.  For his professional career, he chose baseball over football.  Another two-sport star was Deion Sanders, aka Neon Deion, and you could look it up, but I'm guessing that Gibby and Neon may have been playing their sports in the same era because I distinctly remember comparing the two thusly:

Gibby played baseball like a football player, and Neon played football like a baseball player.  By which I mean:  Gibby would take the field even when injured, like football players do, if they're physically able to do so.  And Neon, if he was nicked up a little, would take the day off, like baseball players do.

With that as background, you can understand how it was when that 1988 World Series rolled around.  Gibby had knee and hamstring issues, and was scratched from the lineup for Game One because he could hardly walk.

I was watching Game One on tv and in the bottom of the ninth inning, it looked hopeless for the Dodgers because the immortal Dennis Eckersley was on the mound and I don't know why it seemed hopeless but it did.

Then for no apparent reason, I heard an immense roar from the stadium crowd and I had no idea of the reason for the roar.

And then it became clear.  Gibby was coming out to pinch-hit, and at the sight of Gibby, the crowd went bananas.  So did I.

And then came the pitches from Eckersley.  And the pathetic-looking swings of the bat from Gibby.  And then the dribbler down the first-base line that went foul.  And Gibby tried to run toward first and his gait looked even more pathetic than his swings of the bat had looked.

And then he came back to the plate and damn if he didn't eventually hit the ball out of the park.  And the home-run trot and the outboard motor pull and the crowd going bananas squared and me too.

And they replayed it on TV over and over, and I literally timed the time it took for Vin Scully to open his mouth and record for posterity his comment about "in a year that has been so improbable, the impossible has happened."  Vinny let the crowd's bananas roar tell the story.  More than a minute went by before Vinny spoke.  It was beautiful.  Vin Scully, my favorite announcer of all time, announcing the greatest moment of all time, and letting the crowd's roar tell the story before he did.

I've been remiss in blogging lately.

Let's clear up one matter that is probably still disturbing my more thoughtful and concerned readers.  My wife Barbara and I love each other forever and ever, and since my last entry betrayed the sad fact that we're often at war with each other, please don't worry about us.  We've already had at least one ridiculously heated blowup (verbal, not physical, I assure you) since the one described here a couple of weeks ago.  All that is is par for the course.

Be happy for the two other people who are not being driven crazy by their spouses.  Barbara and I belong with each other.

As for "Rush."

See it.  It's one of the best sports movies ever, but I don't even think of it as a sports movie, even if ESPN's Bill Simmons does.  It's a character study of two men -- Formula One racecar drivers James Hunt and Niki Lauda -- real-life rivals who dominated the sport in the mid-70s.

The brilliant Ron Howard -- who never misses, in my opinion (the Oscar he won for "A Beautiful Mind" is just one example of his work -- directed.

Hans Zimmer's musical score was fantastic.

Hunt, the fast-living Brit who famously rivaled Wilt Chamberlain for "most women bedded by an athlete," and Lauda, the cerebral, hard-working Austrian driver, were polar opposites.  Barbara was audibly rooting for Hunt.  I was just as much cheering for Lauda.

If you don't know the true story, let yourself remain in suspense until after you've seen the movie.

In case you haven't guessed, there's a crucial automobile race near the end of the movie.

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Other thoughts:

While I, like most of the rest of the country, blame the Republicans for the mess we're in in Washington, why is NO ONE blaming the voters -- people who elected the likes of Ted Cruz and Michelle Bachmann to office?

I blame the voters.

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Back to the subject of domestic life:

The conflict two weeks ago came about because Barbara promised to call me regarding a lunch date and then forgot.

Interestingly, I was left hanging TODAY on the same kind of deal.  Barbara showed up at 1 p.m. (she's still house-sitting), expecting me to be ready to go with her to lunch at someone's house.  YESTERDAY, she said the invitation was ambiguous.  It would be for either lunch or dinner.  I'd find out TODAY, she said.

Anyway, I had an ample bite for myself at noon.

But at least I think I learned my lesson from two weeks ago, and so far no arguments have ensued.

***

Back to another subject:

Oh, yeah, these "comments" that I have to label as spam.  I GUESS I have to label them that.  But they keep multiplying.  

What's the deal with all this spam?

(later)