A SHORTAGE OF WISDOM            Copyright (C) 1993, Luigi Semenzato

One reason why I windsurf so well is that I have a very aerodynamic
nose.  I challenge anybody to design a nose as efficient as mine with
the same volume.  Most windsurfers appreciate this at once.  Most
women don't.  My former girlfriend did, even though she had in mind
horse-riding rather than windsurfing.  Lucky her, because in most
other respects I am a parent's dream---or perhaps I was, when I didn't
windsurf yet, I mean.  But since we live in a male-dominated
technocracy, women are denied the fluid-dynamics background necessary
to appreciate my nose, and they do not stare in awe.  On average, it
takes them only a few milliseconds to scan my face.  I can tell they
are not computing the laminar flow around the nostrils.

It was a surprise then when the dentist's assistant came into the
waiting room and looked into my eyes, unblinking, tall and blonde and
completely fascinated.  She could not speak for seconds, a half smile
frozen on her lips.  Then she finally said: `Are you... Luigi?'

I was the only patient in the room.  I smiled back, I almost laughed.
`Yes' I answered, as if it was the most natural thing to say.  When I
enter a dentist's office my brain begins to release adrenaline and who
knows what other hormones.  Perhaps that's why dentist's assistants
always look so... so... how can I say it without having my former
girlfriend kill me?

The surgery went well.  I used NO2 for the first time, but I
couldn't feel any effect.  The dentist finished quickly and said: `You
were a very good patient.'

`I know' I replied.  Hey, was that the gas or was it just me?
Probably just me.  I added: `But not a very modest one.'

The dentist gave me instructions on post-operative care. `Do you have
any questions?' he concluded.

`Yes.  May I windsurf this afternoon?'

`No.  No sports this afternoon.'  I was careful not to ask him about
the next morning.  We had plans for it.

That night I couldn't sleep.  A dull pain in my jaws awakened me after
only two hours.  I took some ibuprofen and the pain went away, but I
wasn't tired at all.  I turned on the TV.  I found a good, long, epic
Marlon Brando movie.  That guy has no nose.

At 5:30am I called the Rio Vista windtalker.  Average 25 miles per
hour.  Good enough.  I was going to wake up Klaus at 6 but the phone
rang at 5:55.  `Klaus?'

`Luigi!  It's 25 miles per hour!'

`You checked too?  Let's throw Andy out of bed.  Hang on.'  I put
Klaus on hold, dialed Andy, reconnected Klaus in conference mode.
Andy's phone rang once.  `Hello?'  He didn't sound sleepy.

`Andy?  This is Luigi.'

`And Klaus.'

`Hey you guys, it's blowing 25 miles per hour!'

`You too!  Allright, let's meet here in 10 minutes.'

`Me too what?'

`Never mind.  I'll have some coffee ready.  Ah, Klaus?'

`Yes?'

`I need to get some sleep.  Can we take your van?'

`OK.  Bring a pillow.'

Klaus had piled up the equipment on one side of the van, so there was
enough room for me to lie down.  With my pillow and a blanket, I was
warm and happy until the van reached the end of the block.  Left
turn: the pile shifted and leaned.  I pushed it back with a knee.
More curves and bumps.  I fought it for a while, then gave up and
let the top part, mostly booms, fall on me.  I felt a strong
appreciation for the manifacturers' efforts to produce lightweight
equipment.  As I tried to sleep, masts, sails, and boards kept falling
over.  When we arrived at the levee on Sherman Island, my feet were
still visible.  Andy said: `Luigi always finds excuses to skirt
unloading.'  Andy is American, but he has a keen sense of humor.

It was windy and cold and the light bothered my eyes.  Klaus asked me:
`Did you go to bed very late last night?'  I explained that I just had
my wisdom teeth pulled.  `Can you windsurf?' he asked.  I said I would
find out soon.

I rigged the 5.5.  Things got better in the water: the limb muscles
started pumping the blood around, and the Sacramento water, cold from
the snowmelt in the Sierra, was pleasant and stimulating on my face.
But the morning wind lasted only another half hour.  We hung around a
bit, then we drove to a swap meet by the Sherman Island store.  I
bought a huge mylar sail (a 6.2) and a carbon mast: with those I would
have been planing for at least ten more minutes.

We left.  I was quite tired.  I lay down, hugged my new race sail,
shook the pile until everything fell on me, and slept wonderfully all
the way back to Berkeley, dreaming of my former girlfriend in a white
dentist's coat and nothing else.
