The Renaissance Pen
Today I started using a new pen, but not just any old Dollar Store pen. No, no, my friend. Is this a pen that was made in some North Korean slave labor camp. No, this is a pen that was designed and constructed by someone who had more than just half a bowl of rice for lunch.
This is a pen that deserves a name. I think I will call it “Leonardo,” as in Da Vinci, not Di Caprio. Puh-leeze.
This pen does more than smoothly dispense ink onto a page. This pen is the one you want with you if you find yourself stranded in the Outback of Australia, the Antarctic, or even Busch Stadium in St. Louis. You can either fill out the scorecard of the baseball game or, if things don’t go well, write an eloquent and readable farewell note to be found by the search party.
This pen is also a stylus for those times you are going to be Touch-screening. It has a ruler, No – two rulers! I can now measure things up to three inches in length – like the distance between Terre Haute (That’s french for, “Nice pen.”) and St. Louis on the map in my road atlas. I can also measure up to seven whatever it’s called in Metric. That seven is shorter that the distance to St. Louis, but fear not! The pen also has a built-in bubble level, which in those circumstances would verify that you are, indeed, somewhere in Illinois.
“Is the little bubble in the middle of the little window?”
“Then we are, for sure, in Illinois where everything is flat, but that wouldn’t be the case if we were in Chicago where nothing is on the level.”
To carry on!
This new pen also has a screwdriver thingy that fits into one end, which can come in handy for those times when someone tells me that I have a screw loose. I hear that a lot, but at least now I am properly tooled.
There is no brand name on Leonardo. He is, in a sense, incognito. Wait just a minute! As I turn the pen around looking for other possible features – knife, fork, refrigerator – I see some lettering on the clip part – you know, that little part that lets you slip the pen into your pocket protector (You do have a pocket protector, don’t you?). I can see some teeny-tiny lettering. Unfortunately, the pen does not have a built-in magnifying glass. If I hold it just right the ceiling light hits it just right and… and it says, “China.” Hmmm – well, there goes that theory about Leonardo’s origin, but still, China is a step up from the folks in Pyongyang.
I won’t let such small potatoes factoids deter me from doing a literary happy dance. Leonardo is a fine instrument. It can do all of these technically wonderful things and allow me to write about it all simultaneously.
It kind of makes me feel like that guy who used to be the host on “This Old House” on PBS a lifetime ago. He always had a pen and the proper tool. He also had a beard, but that part is purely coincidental, I’m sure.
My wife, the lovely and my eternal love, Dawn, gave me this pen. She loves me. She knows me. She knows how to keep me occupied and away from sharp objects. I love her completely. How could I not? Leonardo confirms that what I say is on the level and measures up, and that I am not going around with a screw loose.