Dear Santa, Here’s What I Need

          It isn’t often you discover a cool gift when you’re at a doctor appointment, but that’s what happened just last week.

          St. Bob had a check-up on his knee replacement, and since Bob is up on all matters tech, he noticed the doctor was wearing a Google Glass thingy on his eyeglasses.

          Turns out this gizmo will make dictation a thing of a past.  For decades doctors have had to summarize their patient visits into a mike after each exam, transcribed later by an assistant.

          But now they’re starting to wear these phenomenal spectacles that connect them to a remote scribe so they can keep notes as they go, right while you’re sitting there talking to them.  Our guy’s scribe is in India.

          Augmedix says they are rehumanizing doctor/patient relations this way, and are investing millions to do it.

          Can you imagine the ways I could use such a device?  “Wait—didn’t you just buy celery two days ago?” it could ask as I’m losing my mind in the produce department.  Or it could prompt me with impressive trivia when in a conversation with a Brainiac at a party.  And I could keep it busy all day, telling me why I just went upstairs, or into the family room, where I now stand wondering what I came in for.

          Like a little assistant sitting on my shoulder--but an angel instead of a devil-- it could tell me to slow my driving down (which I would ignore), or remind me to put the laundry in the dryer.  It could catch spelling mistakes as I write along, it could remind me that I wore the red blouse at the last meeting, and it could even tell me about sudden sales, better traffic routes, or how to fix the microwave without calling a repairman.

          You could suddenly go on the speaking circuit, using this thing as your personal teleprompter.  You could ask for a raise, propose to your girlfriend, apologize profusely—win a zillion friends.

          On the other hand, knowing our budget, Bob could buy me a bargain one and I could get an idiot on the other end, giving me all the wrong answers.

          “Turn left,” he would say.  And then as I’m careening down a cliff, “Oops.”  

           Or my scribe could forget to make the list I said I needed, and leave me to wander aimlessly with a shopping cart, finally picking up his favorite pickled herring and jalapeno mustard.

          No, this thing has to be done right.  Which is where you come in.  Be a lamb and buy a few of my books here.  Seriously, there’s something for everyone and royalties for me.  That’s  how I’ll finally get the brain I need.

Christmas in Rocklin

          I love living in a small town by a big city.  You get the best of both worlds—you get the Mayberry flavor of bumping into friends wherever you go, yet you have access to Sacramento’s theatres, museums, and downtown events.  And it doesn’t hurt to be an hour and half away from San Francisco.

          Rocklin is jam-packed with great schools, shopping, and restaurants, all just minutes from my front door.  They have tons of local festivals and traditions, but my favorite is this one:

          Yep, Santa Claus takes time out of his busy schedule and rides through our neighborhoods on the top of a decorated fire truck!  Happy kids, squealing and jumping, come pouring out of their homes as elves distribute candy, and the whole thing feels like a sudden “Come as You Are” party where neighbors hug and laugh, every one of us caught up in the magic of Christmas together. It’s as if the Candy Bomber swung over our houses and dumped a barrel of sweets into our arms.

          Rocklin also has several pockets where the neighbors have all agreed to decorate to the hilt, as looky loos creep by in their cars, holiday music blaring.  Here are some I photographed, not far from me:

We once lived in a neighborhood like that (in L.A.) and I blogged about it here.  I loved it.

          I even planted a dwarf Blue Spruce in my Rocklin front yard, just so I could string it with big, old-fashioned lights, and have a living Christmas tree out there every year. 

          When it was smaller I festooned it with giant ornament balls, but I gave that up when it grew too big, sort of the way those pot-bellied pigs get bigger than you think they will.  Every year I have to add another strand.  This year, even with a ladder, we couldn’t reach the top and had to fling the wires like a lasso.  No problem.  If I get stuck in the branches I’ll just call the fire department.  Maybe it’ll be Santa who comes to the rescue.

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