one typed page | Chris Aldrich

A typed baseball scorecard for the Atlanta Braves vs. Los Angeles Dodgers game from 2025-03-31 which the Dodgers won 6-1

My first baseball scorecard in ages, but also my first typed scorecard with format courtesy of Lou Spirito of Thirty81 Press. Besides a few examples by Lou himself and one I saw from Tom Hanks on March 29th, I may be the third person doing this?! It pulls together two spectacular pastimes and creates a lot of fun!

Quizzed by Foxes, the Devil Whirls Past, Deftly Wielding a Jazzy Typewriter

A typewritten 8.5 x11 inch page in all red ink with the title QUIZZED BY FOXES, THE DEVIL WHIRLS PAST, DEFTLY WIELDING A JAZZY TYPEWRITER. This story follows: "I met a curious man down at the crossroads this morning. We got to chatting, and I told him that I was trying to write the great American novel for the 21st century. He replied that he happened to be a publisher. He showed me a typewriter he was carrying in a black case with steel constricting bands and a hard black handle. He asked me if I had a typewriter of my own, or if I was using some ordinary computer to write my novel? I told him that I was planning things out on index cards at the moment, much the way that Nabokov had written Lolita. But I had my eye out for a "writer's deck" as they're called---essentially a keyboard device meant to be a distraction-free writing instrument. I can't have the siren call of internet surfing or games prevent- ing me from being the next James Joyce. He intoned that a typewriter would be an excellent version of such a writing tool. He pulled the black case out and showed me the handsome machine. Seemingly light and portable, it had matte black metal sides that suggested the abyss. It had a creamy colored top. The original aged white keys looked like the yellowing teeth of a monster that could chew for decades. On the left side was a long thin shinning return lever as thin and sharp as a barber's razor blade. Across the front, almost repeating the idea of shaving was the manufacturer's name "REMINGTON", calling to mind both the electric shavers of the 70s and 80s or the deadly peerless shotguns of the last century. Emblazoned in bright bold red across the front of the typewriter was the model number: 666. It was a lovely machine and had a snappy action in its key- levers. The staccato clack of the typeslugs against the platen, which still had some glorious give, played out a haunting tune as it sped across the page. I tried out ou some pangrams to test it: Pack my box with five dozen liquor jugs. Waltz, bad nymph, for quick jigs vex. Sphynx of black quartz, judge my vow. I immediately asked him if he'd consider parting with it? He begrudgingly said that he might. Suggesting that if I'd consider giving him first look at my novel, hed let it go for an apropos and inexpensive $666.00. We struck a bargain, and I signed his contract on the spot. I walked quickly back home with the black case, silver constricting bands, and hard black handle proudly dangling from the end of my arm, ready to write! My soul burned with ideas... " Following the story is the typed identification: Chris Aldrich / 2024-08-27 /1968 Remington 666