A Miracle! Robert Sheridan bobsheridan email@example.com
A couple of weekends ago, after experiencing interminable difficulties in getting a Palm computerized record keeping device to function properly, which included one return and exchange, I vented my frustrations about this new sign of progress right here on this very web site. I got a lot of sympathetic attention and some useful suggestions as to what I could do with it, which were mostly printable.
By that time I'd learned how to kill and reboot the damthing and my problem was solved, the report of which brought more sympathetic clucking from all that computer mavens who haunt this site saying that's exactly what they were going to recommend if I hadn't thought of it first.
The real solution, miraculously, came via the post. You know, what the wise-guy Yups call the Snail-mail? The U.S. Postal Service? The successor to the old Pony Express, when people really appreciated carrying the mail and getting it through?
Today I was enjoying a cup of coffee and glancing at the San Francisco Examiner across from the Hall of Injustice in SF when who should come up to my table but none other than the estimable Lisa, Sergio's more than lovely daughter, La Signorina Di Roma, after a certain well-known likeness that appears on her website.
The Caffe Roma is a Hall of Injustice landmark. It's the only neutral territory in the neighborhood. Motorcycle cops stepping out front to try out the latest in radar guns, judges pretending to look wise, DAs hoping not to be next on the to-be-canned list, since it's the start of a new electoral term for their boss, and he got rid of 30 last time and has started in again four years later; defense attorneys scratching their heads and saying, "You think that's bad, listen to what happened to my guy when he showed up five minutes late;" jurors, and criminals. All rubbing elbows together, trying not to talk too loud and give away their games to the other characters in the marbled room.
"Hey, Bob," says the lovely Lisa, and I look up from the paper, always happy to be interrupted by a vision called La Signorina Di Roma. Maybe, just once, she'd like to have lunch with me, or that little drink after work I sometimes think about. Or just have a seat and join me in a cup and tell me she missed me since the last time she saw me a few days ago.
This is called pipe-dreaming, and it is useful. It's what got me off StatNisland many years ago.
"You've got some mail upstairs," said Lovely Lisa, "I'll bring it to you at lunchtime. I'm a little busy now." And she hopped over to the cash register, as she manages the place for her father, sister, mother, and brother.
"That's funny," I'm thinking, "Who's gonna write me here? Must be someone who knows I come here a lot. The local characters see me here all the time, so they wouldn't write. My relatives have easier ways to find me and the bill collectors, well, I'd never let them know where I have coffee, ferchrissakes.
Aha! I think, and the lite goes on. It must be one-a you A-holes! I wonda which one it's gonna turn out to be.
So I go 'round the corner to see the guy who runs the Prisoner Services unit of the Sheriffs Department 'cuz there's someone I wanna get out a little before her time is actually up and he starts bending my ear about how bad she is and all the publicity and how do I expect him to let her out and incur the wrath of the populace.
So I get pretty p*ssed at what he's saying, but wait for my opportunity, and calmly tell him that's a wonderful speech 'n all, exactly the one that the DA wuz gonna make had I not forced him to dismiss 95 felony counts of a 96 felony count Grand Jury Indictment, including three separate freakin' murder-conspiracy charges that carried three separate lifetimes, to be run concurrently, I'll grant you, because he had no evidence to support that kind of speech. However there is the little matter of the one count of financial abuse of the elderly that I gave him, on a guy who wanted to marry my beautiful young client, and gave her lots of gifts, which was in the nature of throwing the dog a bone to get the DA, who still had his job at least until this case is over, off her tail, but she's still gotta few days left and I want her out, so howsabouddit, in my best StatNisland brogue.
He tells me if I can convince the judge, he'll go along with it. Since da judge has already invited me to lunch because he likes what I did in his so-called courtroom, in getting alla those counts sh*tcanned, I feel things are looking up.
So, heart uplifted, I wander back to the Caffe Roma and go upstairs to the office to see the very lovely Lisa, Sergio's daughter, to find out which of you miscreants has written me at the Caffe R. "Watch," I think, "oneuvems gonna show up in San Francisco and I'll have to show him, her, or it, all over town. Maybe I'll be outta town that week. Yeah, that's it, I'm gonna be outta town that week; maybe two weeks. The Yellowstone River, it sounds just like the place."
The Lovely Lisa hands me an envelope and it's got something in it, not just a letter, or a bill. It's a little thick. But it's not ticking.
So I open it.
There's a note.
"Bob, This should solve your dilemma (a lot cheaper too)," it says. "I didn't have a #2 pencil so you'll have to supply your own "input device." Ciao, bobC."
The thick thing measures 2" X 4, X 3/8," (a lot less bulky than the Palm)and comes with a nicely grained leatherette cover, which the Palm doesn't. It contains a number of white pages cut-indexed A-Z. Imprinted on gold on the front is the emblem "Addresses."
It's a brand new address book. I can put in names, addresses, phones (home, office, pager, mobile, other, and email addresses) and all the notes I want such as the name of a person's spouse and kids, should I ever, in the unlikely event that I should ever, want to remember.
This puts a big smile on my face. Not as big as the one Lovely Lisa, Sergio's daughter has put on my face, but a smile is a smile in my book.
I've told the lovely Lisa to watch out for you guys. If ever anybody comes to the Caffe Roma looking for me he's either a bill collecter or a StatNislander. In either case I'm up on the Yellowstone, trying out some new dry-flies and retracing Lewis & Clark. I'm expected back as soon as I can buy some horses from the Nez Perce, which are pretty hard to find nowadays.
Lisa tells me she remembers the last time one-a the StatNislanders came in looking for me. A pretty suspicious looking character he wuz, too. Didn't look anything like the usual creeps, judges, and criminals who frequent the place. Kept on looking around, checking everyone out, and asking is that one him?
So I wanna thank Bob Corsale for solving my problem in such a clever and creative manner, one that allows me not only to store my information in a way that boots up sooner than instantly, but never crashes or has to be rebooted.
I'm gonna put Lisa's number in there first.
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