THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1997, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Wednesday, February 19, 1997 TAG: 9702190061
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E5 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Larry Maddry
LENGTH: 78 lines
ON COMPUTER BOOTING AND FOOTING. A recent column about the frustrations of a home computer prompted a few dittos.
Shortly after the column appeared, a friend stopped me in the hall to tell me about a nice woman who phoned the local Infinet offices for help she was having with her new computer.
The employee at Infinet, an ``Internet provider,'' listened patiently and answered all of her questions. She was very appreciative.
``Now, just one last question?'' she asked.
``Certainly,'' said the Internet employee.
``What is that foot pedal that came with my new computer for?''
The lady was told it was ``a mouse.'' (The gizmo for pointing and clicking to open windows on the computer screen.)
``No, it's a foot pedal,'' she insisted.
CAEN BREAK. Herb Caen, the Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist for the San Francisco Chronicle, was an institution: unofficial poet and chronicler of all that happened in that foggy city by the bay.
Shortly after his death recently, I phoned my brother Norwood in California to lament Caen's passing. We swapped stories Caen had printed in his column.
One of my favorites was one Caen told about taking the millionaire Philippe DuPont to a swank San Francisco eatery. Fidgeting, the pair waited 45 minutes for a table. At that point DuPont, looking at his wristwatch, said to Caen:
``You know, I hate to do this, Herb, but perhaps I should tell them who I am.''
``And I hate to tell you,'' Herb replied, ``but I did . . . about 15 minutes ago.''
My brother's favorite item from Caen's column was better. Caen wrote about a local newsdealer with a stand on one of San Francisco's busy streets. When snow whitened the city, the newsdealer, an elderly blind man, boarded up his stand. He moved away quickly, tapping his cane before him on the snow-covered sidewalk.
When the man reached the corner he hurried across the street, slipping, almost falling until he felt a hand on his elbow, helping him along.
``There's no need to rush,'' the voice beside him said.
``Oh, yes,'' the man said. ``I'm afraid I'm going to miss my bus.''
``You won't miss the bus,'' the voice said.
``How can you tell that?'' the man asked.
``Because I'm the driver,'' the voice replied.
LOVE ON THE ROPES. It's always nice to read about schools that encourage children to solve their own problems.
There was a story last week from the San Francisco Examiner about Edison Elementary School, which was a case in point:
``Boys are a little weird,'' said third-grader Georgina Zelidon. ``They play too rough, and they stare at me, pull my hair and say `I love you.' ''
Wriggling her nose, she confided ``They want to hug me.''
Georgina solved her problem with the help of her friends. ``At recess we tie the boys up with our jump rope and leave them there for 10 minutes,'' she said, smiling.
BEST JOKE HEARD AT THE ANNUAL MEETING OF THE MAN WILL NEVER FLY SOCIETY IN NAGS HEAD.
It's the one about the fellow who was called to speak at a Toastmaster's meeting and spoke about sex. He did such a great job he won the award for speech of the year.
He was embarrassed about the award because of the subject matter. When he carried the trophy home, his wife asked about the subject of his winning talk.
``Oh, I spoke on airplane travel,'' he lied.
A few weeks later when the trophy winner's wife was shopping in a supermarket she was approached by a Toastmaster's Club member.
``Al really gave a great speech,'' the man said. ``We're all proud of him.''
The wife said she was proud of her husband, too. ``But I'm really surprised he chose that subject,'' she said. ``He's only done it twice.''
``Oh?''
``Yes,'' she replied. ``The first time he got sick and the second time he lost his hat.''