Friday, May 22, 2009


Yesterday, Dad phoned me up while I was sitting at the computer and bashing my head against the desk, hoping I could somehow force inspiration through violence. “Hey, do you want a birthday present early?”

“Yes, please!”

I knew it could either be one of two things: a more compact phonograph or a typewriter, because these are the things he was hunting down for me.

Somehow I never expected the beautiful, lovely Underwood No. 5 that he sat down in front of me and, after telling me which do-hickey did what thing, he leaned over my shoulder and insisted I write: I love this typewriter on it. Which I did.

I’ve named the typewriter Gertrude. I’ve never loved an inanimate object so much as I’ve loved as this No. 5.


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