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The Art of
One of the best things I got out of high school was learning to touch-type — thank goodness computer keyboards carried forward the QWERTY system. Still serving me this very moment!
I got an electric with custom font and it served me through many college papers, and after. I got my first computer (Radio Shack Model I) in 1978. I did not yet have a word processing program for it.
I was typing up a long document with four carbon copies. I was a fast typist, but not all that careful all the time. Make a mistake? Go back and white-out the copies, waiting for each to dry thoroughly. Especially tedious when I just want to carry on with my typed thoughts. Making several such mistakes, I kept looking over at the computer and thinking about how a word processor program would let me simply backspace over errors and print out multiple copies.
Then, somewhere around page five, I realized I’d left out a whole paragraph back on page 2. To be tidy, I’d need to re-type page 2 and beyond. I lost my temper and beat my fist on the top of the typewriter. Keys went “clack” but didn’t hit the paper.
I sent the typewriter to the shop for a cheap simple fix of bending the top up; I probably could’ve done it myself. By the time I got it back, I had written my own word processing program. Also acquired the Worst Printer Ever — printed difficult-to-read black on thermal silver paper. (You may remember some merchants had those for receipts back then.)
I never used Old Faithful again.
Eventually got a better commercial word processor and a hefty and expensive Daisy Wheel printer (a/k/a The Thunderer) which churned out more pages than the electric ever did. Never regretted the upgrade.
Still have the electric and also a manual. Need to find some ribbons for them, though. Just in case computers fail.
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IBM exhibit 1964 NY World's Fair
1964 World's Fair, f'ing with the IBM terminal exhibit, CLR blanking the screen, typing up whatever I wanted, and walking away. On every public terminal. Bwahahah.
Up at the lake, behind the yacht club, in the garage, a pinball machine, with the back removed. Buddy played while I watched the "digit counters fall." Saw the "free game" knock-sound relay. Just hit it manually for as many games as we wanted. Hahhahaha
The fraternity had inherited a Wurlitzer from a house that closed down (something about a drowning while hazing). The juke didn't work. Platter would cue up, tonearm down, and immediately reject as if at the end of the song. Found the problem was two contacts in the tonearm that were too close together. Easy fix.
Gimme a challenge.
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Sitting in my '68 Mustang, waiting on the busy Strip to take a left turn into Der Wienerschnitzel, I hear a quick screeching of tires and then bam! I'm hit from behind.
I get out to survey the damage. As I walk to the back of my car, I see the idiot who hit me, his land yacht with broken headlights, shattered grill, and clanking fan. Severe.
With dread, I look at my car. You remember that gas cap with the Mustang logo under plastic window? The plastic had an almost invisible crack in it. That was it.
I just let the obviously-intoxicated punk drive away, dribbling glass and clanking hilariously. I was young and unhurt. And I wanted my chili dog.
Funny the things that vividly stick in memory.
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"This is what it sounds like to not have an accent."
Damien Lodes
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Conditions may vary depending on your hemisphere.
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Sitting in my room one day, friends asked about my lack of accent. I tried to imitate a rural Oklahoma accent. Naw, I said, that's more Deep South. I tried another accent, but decided that was too South Texas. Again I tried an accent, but, no, that was more Arkansas-Missouri hillbilly.
It was at that moment that the only other student there from Oklahoma was looking for me, and from down the hall, we heard this loud gal's voice hollering, "Wharr's th' gaahyy from OAK-luh-HOma?"
I exclaimed, "That's it! That's the accent!" Followed by, "Quick! Close the door!"
True story.