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.