林行止今日講既〈華爾德．米蒂的內心世界〉

The Secret Life of Walter Mitty
BY
JAMES THURBER


"WE'RE going through!" The Commander's voice was like thin ice breaking. He wore his full-dress uniform, with the heavily braided white cap pulled down rakishly over one cold gray eye. "We can't make it, sir. It's spoiling for a hurricane, if you ask me." "I'm not asking you, Lieutenant Berg," said the Commander. "Throw on the power lights! Rev her up to 8500! We're going through!" The pounding of the cylinders increased: ta-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa. The Commander stared at the ice forming on the pilot window. He walked over and twisted a row of complicated dials. "Switch on No. 8 auxiliary!" he shouted. "Switch on No. 8 auxiliary!" repeated Lieutenant Berg. "Full strength in No. 3 turret!" shouted the Commander. "Full strength in No. 3 turret!" The crew, bending to their various tasks in the huge, hurtling eight-engined Navy hydroplane, looked at each other and grinned. "The Old Man'll get us through," they said to one another. "The Old Man ain't afraid of hell!" . . .

"Not so fast! You're driving too fast!" said Mrs. Mitty. "What are you driving so fast for?"

"Hmm?" said Walter Mitty. He looked at his wife, in the seat beside him, with shocked astonishment. She seemed grossly unfamiliar, like a strange woman who had yelled at him in a crowd. "You were up to fifty-five," she said. "You know I don't like to go more than forty. You were up to fifty-five." Walter Mitty drove on toward Waterbury in silence, the roaring of the SN202 through the worst storm in twenty years of Navy flying fading in the remote, intimate airways of his mind. "You're tensed up again," said Mrs. Mitty. "It's one of your days. I wish you'd let Dr. Renshaw look you over."

Walter Mitty stopped the car in front of the building where his wife went to have her hair done. "Remember to get those overshoes while I'm having my hair done," she said. "I don't need overshoes," said Mitty. She put her mirror back into her bag. "We've been all through that," she said, getting out of the car. "You're not a young man any longer." He raced the engine a little. "Why don't you wear your gloves? Have you lost your gloves?" Walter Mitty reached in a pocket and brought out the gloves. He put them on, but after she had turned and gone into the building and he had driven on to a red light, he took them off again. "Pick it up, brother!" snapped a cop as the light changed, and Mitty hastily pulled on his gloves and lurched ahead. He drove around the streets aimlessly for a time, and then he drove past the hospital on his way to the parking lot.

. . . "It's the millionaire banker, Wellington McMillan," said the pretty nurse. "Yes?" said Walter Mitty, removing his gloves slowly. "Who has the case?" "Dr. Renshaw and Dr. Benbow, but there are two specialists here, Dr. Remington from New York and Dr. Pritchard-Mitford from London. He flew over." A door opened down a long, cool corridor and Dr. Renshaw came out. He looked distraught and haggard. "Hello, Mitty," he said. `'We're having the devil's own time with McMillan, the millionaire banker and close personal friend of Roosevelt. Obstreosis of the ductal tract. Tertiary. Wish you'd take a look at him." "Glad to," said Mitty.

In the operating room there were whispered introductions: "Dr. Remington, Dr. Mitty. Dr. Pritchard-Mitford, Dr. Mitty." "I've read your book on streptothricosis," said Pritchard-Mitford, shaking hands. "A brilliant performance, sir." "Thank you," said Walter Mitty. "Didn't know you were in the States, Mitty," grumbled Remington. "Coals to Newcastle, bringing Mitford and me up here for a tertiary." "You are very kind," said Mitty. A huge, complicated machine, connected to the operating table, with many tubes and wires, began at this moment to go pocketa-pocketa-pocketa. "The new anesthetizer is giving away!" shouted an intern. "There is no one in the East who knows how to fix it!" "Quiet, man!" said Mitty, in a low, cool voice. He sprang to the machine, which was now going pocketa-pocketa-queep-pocketa-queep . He began fingering delicately a row of glistening dials. "Give me a fountain pen!" he snapped. Someone handed him a fountain pen. He pulled a faulty piston out of the machine and inserted the pen in its place. "That will hold for ten minutes," he said. "Get on with the operation. A nurse hurried over and whispered to Renshaw, and Mitty saw the man turn pale. "Coreopsis has set in," said Renshaw nervously. "If you would take over, Mitty?" Mitty looked at him and at the craven figure of Benbow, who drank, and at the grave, uncertain faces of the two great specialists. "If you wish," he said. They slipped a white gown on him, he adjusted a mask and drew on thin gloves; nurses handed him shining . . .

"Back it up, Mac!! Look out for that Buick!" Walter Mitty jammed on the brakes. "Wrong lane, Mac," said the parking-lot attendant, looking at Mitty closely. "Gee. Yeh," muttered Mitty. He began cautiously to back out of the lane marked "Exit Only." "Leave her sit there," said the attendant. "I'll put her away." Mitty got out of the car. "Hey, better leave the key." "Oh," said Mitty, handing the man the ignition key. The attendant vaulted into the car, backed it up with insolent skill, and put it where it belonged.

They're so damn cocky, thought Walter Mitty, walking along Main Street; they think they know everything. Once he had tried to take his chains off, outside New Milford, and he had got them wound around the axles. A man had had to come out in a wrecking car and unwind them, a young, grinning garageman. Since then Mrs. Mitty always made him drive to a garage to have the chains taken off. The next time, he thought, I'll wear my right arm in a sling; they won't grin at me then. I'll have my right arm in a sling and they'll see I couldn't possibly take the chains off myself. He kicked at the slush on the sidewalk. "Overshoes," he said to himself, and he began looking for a shoe store.

When he came out into the street again, with the overshoes in a box under his arm, Walter Mitty began to wonder what the other thing was his wife had told him to get. She had told him, twice before they set out from their house for Waterbury. In a way he hated these weekly trips to town--he was always getting something wrong. Kleenex, he thought, Squibb's, razor blades? No. Tooth paste, toothbrush, bicarbonate, Carborundum, initiative and referendum? He gave it up. But she would remember it. "Where's the what's-its- name?" she would ask. "Don't tell me you forgot the what's-its-name." A newsboy went by shouting something about the Waterbury trial.

. . . "Perhaps this will refresh your memory." The District Attorney suddenly thrust a heavy automatic at the quiet figure on the witness stand. "Have you ever seen this before?'' Walter Mitty took the gun and examined it expertly. "This is my Webley-Vickers 50.80," ho said calmly. An excited buzz ran around the courtroom. The Judge rapped for order. "You are a crack shot with any sort of firearms, I believe?" said the District Attorney, insinuatingly. "Objection!" shouted Mitty's attorney. "We have shown that the defendant could not have fired the shot. We have shown that he wore his right arm in a sling on the night of the fourteenth of July." Walter Mitty raised his hand briefly and the bickering attorneys were stilled. "With any known make of gun," he said evenly, "I could have killed Gregory Fitzhurst at three hundred feet with my left hand." Pandemonium broke loose in the courtroom. A woman's scream rose above the bedlam and suddenly a lovely, dark-haired girl was in Walter Mitty's arms. The District Attorney struck at her savagely. Without rising from his chair, Mitty let the man have it on the point of the chin. "You miserable cur!" . . .

"Puppy biscuit," said Walter Mitty. He stopped walking and the buildings of Waterbury rose up out of the misty courtroom and surrounded him again. A woman who was passing laughed. "He said 'Puppy biscuit,'" she said to her companion. "That man said 'Puppy biscuit' to himself." Walter Mitty hurried on. He went into an A. & P., not the first one he came to but a smaller one farther up the street. "I want some biscuit for small, young dogs," he said to the clerk. "Any special brand, sir?" The greatest pistol shot in the world thought a moment. "It says 'Puppies Bark for It' on the box," said Walter Mitty.

His wife would be through at the hairdresser's in fifteen minutes' Mitty saw in looking at his watch, unless they had trouble drying it; sometimes they had trouble drying it. She didn't like to get to the hotel first, she would want him to be there waiting for her as usual. He found a big leather chair in the lobby, facing a window, and he put the overshoes and the puppy biscuit on the floor beside it. He picked up an old copy of Liberty and sank down into the chair. "Can Germany Conquer the World Through the Air?" Walter Mitty looked at the pictures of bombing planes and of ruined streets.

. . . "The cannonading has got the wind up in young Raleigh, sir," said the sergeant. Captain Mitty looked up at him through tousled hair. "Get him to bed," he said wearily, "with the others. I'll fly alone." "But you can't, sir," said the sergeant anxiously. "It takes two men to handle that bomber and the Archies are pounding hell out of the air. Von Richtman's circus is between here and Saulier." "Somebody's got to get that ammunition dump," said Mitty. "I'm going over. Spot of brandy?" He poured a drink for the sergeant and one for himself. War thundered and whined around the dugout and battered at the door. There was a rending of wood and splinters flew through the room. "A bit of a near thing," said Captain Mitty carelessly. 'The box barrage is closing in," said the sergeant. "We only live once, Sergeant," said Mitty, with his faint, fleeting smile. "Or do we?" He poured another brandy and tossed it off. "I never see a man could hold his brandy like you, sir," said the sergeant. "Begging your pardon, sir." Captain Mitty stood up and strapped on his huge Webley-Vickers automatic. "It's forty kilometers through hell, sir," said the sergeant. Mitty finished one last brandy. "After all," he said softly, "what isn't?" The pounding of the cannon increased; there was the rat-tat-tatting of machine guns, and from somewhere came the menacing pocketa-pocketa-pocketa of the new flame-throwers. Walter Mitty walked to the door of the dugout humming "Aupres de Ma Blonde." He turned and waved to the sergeant. "Cheerio!" he said. . . .

Something struck his shoulder. "I've been looking all over this hotel for you," said Mrs. Mitty. "Why do you have to hide in this old chair? How did you expect me to find you?" "Things close in," said Walter Mitty vaguely. "What?" Mrs. Mitty said. "Did you get the what's-its-name? The puppy biscuit? What's in that box?" "Overshoes," said Mitty. "Couldn't you have put them on in the store?" 'I was thinking," said Walter Mitty. "Does it ever occur to you that I am sometimes thinking?" She looked at him. "I'm going to take your temperature when I get you home," she said.

They went out through the revolving doors that made a faintly derisive whistling sound when you pushed them. It was two blocks to the parking lot. At the drugstore on the corner she said, "Wait here for me. I forgot something. I won't be a minute." She was more than a minute. Walter Mitty lighted a cigarette. It began to rain, rain with sleet in it. He stood up against the wall of the drugstore, smoking. . . . He put his shoulders back and his heels together. "To hell with the handkerchief," said Waker Mitty scornfully. He took one last drag on his cigarette and snapped it away. Then, with that faint, fleeting smile playing about his lips, he faced the firing squad; erect and motionless, proud and disdainful, Walter Mitty the Undefeated, inscrutable to the last.

【轉】林行止︰蓋茨父子上網補習

蓋茨父子上網補習
林行止
2010年9月9日

1. Obit-mag.com近有題為〈無所事事已死〉（〈The Death of Idle Time〉）的短文，指出在ＩＴ時代，人們已「冇時得閒」（沒有閒暇的時間），即使傳統上超市排隊付款時「三姑六婆」閒聊的場景亦消失於無形，因為人們會利用每一分鐘在手機上與親友交換「情報」、收發短訊。至於年輕一代則會埋頭埋腦玩其「電子遊戲」，根本毋須與人溝通便「自得其樂」，自然因此沒有空閒時間。
   
   家居看電視本為消閒及與家人閒話家常的最適當時刻，然而，如今一邊看電視一邊上facebook的人多得是。現代人愈來愈忙碌（不少人每天要花數分鐘delete「無用甚至有害的電郵」），這似意味大多數人已成為ＩＴ產品的奴隸！
   
   心理學家何路威（Ned Hallowell）今年初進行一項「民調」，結果顯示不少人在進行淋浴時才有時間「空想」（但他們多半會趁機一展歌喉）；ＩＴ產品似乎未佔據淋浴的空間—令人沉醉在ＩＴ產品無法入侵的空間，惟此空間「失守」，指日可待。
   
   ＩＴ產品普及使用當然好處甚多，惟其害處亦不少，較明顯的是司機一邊開車一邊收發短訊或以手機通話，因此經常釀成交通事故；統計顯示，被分神司機犯交通規則撞死的人數，僅美國二○○八年便達六千之眾；聯邦政府為此特設網站Distraction.gov，記錄有關交通失事造成人命財物損失的情況，希望對駕車者有警惕作用。
   
   電腦使用率最高的南韓，上「電腦遊戲機癮」的比例亦最高，為了青少年不致終日「打機」不讀書不工作不聽人話不與人言，南韓政府成立「網絡懲教營」（Internet Reform Camps），對患上online compulsive disorder 症者進行返回傳統正常生活的教育！
   
   
2. 萬維網（World Wide Web）的出現雖然大約只有二十年時間，但「識字分子」已養成不可一日無此物的習慣，無論是與親友同事聯繫或閱讀、投資以至購物、消閒，都可假網上進行；即使極少上網的筆者亦不得不在網上查找資料。
   
   電子書令人「蠢化」（見七月二十一日本欄），一切靠互聯網則會令人不易集中精神、不會沉潛思索且可能被不負責任的言論誤導；昨天陳頌紅說「網上評論不可相信」，雖然文題加上問號，但內文說「網站廣結集體智慧的原意已被扭曲，變成少數人（熱中表達意見者）的表演舞台」，似把那個問號刪掉。一句話，網上資訊不僅太多太龐雜，且不必認真看待，而且還有電郵及種種隨時干擾的訊息，令人很難心無旁騖專注於某個問題上或從網上評論求得真知灼見，結果是理解、領會及受啟發的深度，遠遠不及閱讀印刷品，這是「專注分散」（division of attention）的必然後果。換句話說，「網迷」可能是通天曉，什麼都涉獵，成為「知道分子」，知識非常廣泛卻成不了「專家」。心理學家格林非爾（P. Greenfield）女士曾在加大洛杉磯分校做了一項實驗，一半學生獲准使用電腦（互聯網），另一半只能作筆記，在稍後的測驗中，前者的成績遜於後者。格林非爾指出「眼觀網絡」的結果，大大提高「視覺空間的才智」（visual-spatial intelligence），這對處理瞬息萬變的訊號如駕駛飛機及做外科手術有幫助，但無助提高「深層認知力」（higher-order cognitive processes），結果令人變得「頭腦簡單」（shallower）！
   
   八月二十七日倫敦《每日電訊報》在〈互聯網如何令我們蠢鈍〉（〈How the Internet is making us stupid〉）中引述德國學者的調查，顯示瀏覽網頁的人，「每頁的時間不會超過十秒鐘」，意味上網者求快而不會全神貫注；即使是做學問的學者，倫敦大學書院的研究指出他們會在不同的學術論著中「跳讀」，結果「收成」不太理想。
   
   與萬維網結緣近二十年後，神經病學家指出「人腦已有重大改變」（massively remodeled），被互聯網「疲勞轟炸」後，人類的智能已走下坡。互聯網最大的害處是徹底地分散了上網者的專注力，令人下意識地無法集中精神…… facebook 及 twitter 的普及，令問題進一步惡化。
   
   其實，高速瀏覽、吸收資訊，有如我們「揭」報刊及書籍（經濟學家指出，時間最寶貴，當你覺得書報有「廢料」時，輕輕「揭」過是為「最符合經濟原則」的善法），但更多時候，大家會沉迷於閱讀之中；可是，上網族早已養成「飛速揭過網頁」的習慣，由於資訊要多少有多少，不如此便無法「閱盡」網上資訊，要他們專心閱讀，戛戛乎其難了。
   
   八月份《Wired》月刊有文題為〈萬維網已死　互聯網萬歲〉（〈The Web is Dead, Long Live Internet〉），顯而易見，要旨在下半題。萬維網使用者對着電腦，整天在不同網站搜尋，如今情況已變，愈來愈多「工具」如iPhones和谷歌的Android的發明、普及，令上網者能隨時隨意不限時地上網，而上網者的資訊來源已不限網站而是「同輩」（peer to peer）及有大量「非法（沒有版權）內容」的Bittorent或影視網如YouTube、hulu及netflix等等。換句話說，萬維網未死，只是已正進化中！
   
   上網雖然會「愚化」網民，然而網絡的發展，尤其是網上教育的前景一片璀璨，八月二十四日的CNN.money.com有〈蓋茨喜歡的教師〉（〈Bill Gates' Favorite Teacher〉）一文，寫的便是一名巴基斯坦裔美籍前對沖基金經理從在網上教授其姪女的功課，獨力發展出一個已有一千六百三十種「講義」（tutorial）的「補習網站」（Khan Academy），每天上網（主要來自美國、加拿大、英國、澳洲及印度）瀏覽人次達七萬餘次；蓋茨和他十一歲的兒子便是常客。此網站網主並無收費意向，但已有不少人如上網問功課者的家長自動作零星捐款，網站的功用傳開後已有若干大額（十萬美元）捐款，而受蓋茨在Aspen Ideas Festival上「公開表揚」後，捐款續至且「蓋茨基金會」正考慮捐助……。
   
   蓋茨兒子上網問功課，令人對「萬維網令人蠢鈍」之說存疑！事實是，和所有「工具性」物品一樣，「萬維網」的功用屬中性，其是否「有用」，端視上網者運用得法與否而定。

【轉】林行止︰以錢換肉！ 世無肥人？

以錢換肉！ 世無肥人？
2010年9月1日
林行止

一、

超重癡肥有害健康及有損公共財政，為公為私都應瘦身減肥，可是，天下有難事，尤以減磅為最難，因為飲食習慣不易改變之外，復有與生俱來的基因作祟，還有，據昨天「頭文字Y」所說︰「抑鬱……更易肥胖！」值此美食廣告觸目可及、烹飪節目充斥大氣電波而經濟增長乏力人浮於事的時候，好食者眾，憂鬱者多，世上肥人愈來愈不可數，毫不出奇。

癡肥與否，本來關政府屁事，只因其帶來百病如糖尿、心臟病、中風以及結腸癌等等，不僅促壽，在致命之前，還會消耗大量公共醫療資源，在有公共免費醫療的地方，等於加重政府負擔，「號召」人民減肥，政府責無旁貸。

吸煙足以致癌，煙包上大字標示，路人皆知；政府嚴限人民吸煙，皆因吸煙引致的多種疾病，大增公共醫療系統壓力，使納稅人的稅負百上加斤。為紓解這個問題，政府在「屢勸無效」之後，只有加重這項被稱為罪惡稅（sin tax）的稅率，希望能收寓禁於徵之效。可是，一來由於吸煙有悠久的傳統，其能防患某類疾病（如胃病）的「民間智慧」令不少人寓醫病於吸煙，不情願地成為煙民；加上在政府嚴限及醫家力陳其害之下，吸煙與叛逆掛鈎，「反叛一代」便抽之不「熄」；二來香煙廣告雖受多方規範，但尚不至完全禁絕（一如政府至今仍不禁煙），令人啼笑皆非的是機場吸煙室的廣告悉由煙商包辦，有豐沛經濟資源的煙商仍有辦法把吸煙為享受人生一種高尚生活方式的訊息有效地傳給其目標顧客。

上述二端，令香煙限之不絕，政府無計可施，退而求其次，只能通過加稅一途，本煙民「煙病自付」之旨，希望抽重稅以補助有關醫療開支。然而，由於煙稅國國不同、地地有別，抽重稅的結果是從低稅地區走私香煙至重稅地區的活動變本加厲，在緝私上政府不得不投入更多資源。如此這般，政府的香煙政策是否成功，確是一大疑問。

二、

從大概十年前開始，美國政府便動腦筋要對增肥效果大於提供營養的所謂垃圾食物飲料課以增肥稅（fat tax），筆者曾及時數度在本欄評述；可是，和吸煙會致癌已有「科學證據」不同，吃牛肉包食東坡肉飲汽水對人體的影響，因人而異，這當然是人的基因不同及是否有足量運動之故。正因為如此，在業商僱請的說客游說之下，配合對政黨的捐款，增肥稅遂醞釀多時卻仍不成氣候。然而，即使成功徵收增肥稅，而且把稅率定得比天高，其能否收效亦成疑，這有煙稅已高不可攀而煙民仍隨處可見為證。事實上，香煙的害處這麼大，何以政府不一禁了之。說穿了不外是煙稅為重要稅源，政府因而下不了殺乳牛的狠勁！

癡肥雖然有害，政府卻暫無法藉寓禁於徵之高稅抑制其增長，這從癡肥者佔人口比例逐年上升中清楚看出。以美國來說，目前癡肥（超過正常體重三十磅或以上）人數為五千九百餘萬，約為總人口百分之三十一；若現在的增重趨勢不變，至二○一五年，癡肥人數將達百分之四十。英國的情況似更惡劣，癡肥人數在一九九六至二○○八年間增加百分之四十九點三，期內增肥趨勢如舊，至二○二○年，十名男性有八名癡肥，女性則十中有七……。這種情況教人「不能忍受」，癡肥者的健康對個人及總體經濟（行動不便導致薪津下降以至疾病纏身無法如常工作）的損耗姑且勿論，公共醫療開支因此大幅上揚，才教（納稅）人吃不消！

三、

在無法寓禁於徵的情形下，最近有一種新發現及一種新方法，都可能誘使肥人下決心去脂。

新發現為癡肥使性趣消散，筆者去周便在加拿大聽聞兩個肥人（均三百磅以上）無法過正常性生活而「友誼分手」的真人真事；而這種情況對青年男女影響尤大。統計顯示，十二至十九歲的少女（此年齡組別的少女癡肥率，以美國為例，從六十年代的百分之四點七增至二○○三—〇五年的百分之十七），經濟學網站Voxeu.org八月六日有一篇由三名經濟學者撰寫的短文〈癡肥青少年的性事風險〉（〈Overweight adolescents and risky sexual behaviour〉），羅列大量實證調查得來的數據，顯示肥女在約會市場（dating market）欠缺競爭力，她們根本很難有正常性生活，因此傾向選擇「肛交」，結果招惹性病的機率大增。在西方社會，「性愛大過天」，學者的發現能否使肥女數量減少，大家只能拭目以待，待有關統計數據的公布。

新方法則是「減肥有獎」。癡肥害處甚多，醫家說之不盡，但聽者藐藐，癡肥人數仍直線上升，眾人束手無策之際，經濟學家靈機一動，認為千方百計勸人減肥欠成效，皆因癡肥者缺乏減磅物質誘因有以致之。牛津及倫大的經濟學者遂說服醫療當局撥款七萬五千鎊，在肯特郡設立「肯特信託基金」，吸引肥人參加此一也許可譯為「以錢換肉計劃」（Pounds for Pounds Scheme）的「有償減肥計劃」。這即是說，參加者若減肥（不管用什麼方法）成功，便可獲得現金獎勵（報酬），其「規章」為癡肥者在規定期限內減一百四十磅（十石〔stone〕）並能保持兩年不變，便可獲三千鎊現金獎賞。在四百零二名參與者中，半途而廢者約百分之七十，但餘下者人均減二十五磅，可得獎金在八十鎊至四百五十二鎊之間。美國和英國學者對這種試驗結果甚感滿意，因為金錢誘因已生微效，若能貫徹執行，便有扭轉癡肥趨勢年年向上的機會。當然，這種方法有可能令瘦人故意增磅以便減肥賺取獎金；不過，這類漏洞存於大部分規章法例之中，並非「以錢換肉」獨有，因此不能有此缺失而「因噎廢食」。

倫敦大學英皇書院和美國哈佛大學都有類似計劃，以物質獎勵為誘因令學生減肥，據說都有一定成效；美國且有不少網站如fatbet.com及stickK.com（網主為兩名耶魯經濟學系教授）。減肥者在沒有有效監督特別是物質誘因之下，是不易成功的。這類網站之設，旨在借減肥者與自己的荷包「過不去」，比如你與這類網站「簽約」，規定每周減一公斤，如不成功，你必須捐一千元給你不喜歡的慈善機構；為了不必作「無謂捐輸」，減肥者遂努力減肥。參與這種「自殘」遊戲的人，最重要的是要指定一名「有公信力」的人（筆者看過的數例俱為經濟學系教授），然後把信用卡號碼「上呈」網主，如此安排，令減肥者體重的增減不能弄虛作假，而要省錢便得減磅……。

在筆者看來，英國「以錢換肉計劃」較可取（有效），而這種方法一旦獲民意及政府認可，以現金獎勵人民減肥（進而減少公共醫療開支）未來也許會成為公共醫療開支的一部分，在年度撥款中劃出部分公帑「利誘」人民去脂。如果癡肥真的消耗了相當部分的公共醫療費用，那麼，「以錢換肉計劃」可能會減輕納稅人的負擔！