A medical doctor with business contacts flattered me a few weeks ago by asking if I’d translate into Spanish a set of instructions for a new device designed to replace the traditional baby bottle and resemble human anatomy.
    The invention is conical, with a nipple in front and a plug in back for filling: milk straight from the store or from the mother.
    All it took was one keystroke to change from the apparent popularity of a cheerleader to a recluse.
    My son Stan, in Seattle, who kind of manages the Internet server of which I am a part, typed in an extra letter in my e-mail address, and like magic, zillions of unwelcome messages stopped arriving.
    I did a double-take listening last week when I heard someone announcing she was going to Dick’s Dally. Dick’s Dally? You know, the popular restaurant downtown that prepares deli sandwiches. Each time I’ve gone there I’ve been convinced that they conduct their business with celerity and alacrity. They certainly don’t dally at the deli.
    If the newsroom crew of the Optic were to secure five Pulitzer Prizes, it probably wouldn’t cause a ripple. And though such an achievement is admirable, if a bit far-fetched, it points out how unpraised we are, those of us in journalism.