The Typewriter
May. 30th, 2008 11:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stinglikeabeeFirst: I have some good news with old work, but don't want to jinx it just yet. I'll be hearing more from them next week.
ETA: WTF? My paycheck didn't go through this week either! New Boss will call the fuckers on Monday, but wanted to cut me a check. Knowing how he was already pissed about previous accounting and not wanting to hear about the further mess for the whole of June, I declined. Will get full amount via personal check next week, minus taxes and such.
Second: A nostalgic BBC News article on typewriters, Why Typewriters Beat Computers. My family was definitely late to the game - our first computer (second-hand and made up of pirated parts) in 1998, and internet connection in the next year. Life before computer (BC) was spent on various dingy typewriters.
I have fond memories of banging out nonsensical stories on a badgered typewriter dating from the 1950s. This belonged to my grandfather, a man who rarely said anything, least of all why he kept the rickety thing around. Such an office equipment must have cost plenty in that era, but I didn't know that from the constant shredding of the ribbon, and the jammed e's. What I did know was the enjoyment of seeing my words appear in print, just like the newspapers. I typed gossip, often having to return and tippex the names of the accused when Mum complained. I recorded the words of my grandmother when she went on a lecture, handing the results to her so I could answer the timeless question 'What did I say, then?' When I had the brilliant idea of operating a restaurant at home, I tapped out the menu on a sheet of yellow paper and taped it to the paperboard of a Barbie doll package. The typewriter represented the various possibilities a girl like me could become.
Electronic typewriters sucked. Instead of seeing the printed words, you'd have to squint at a tiny screen to make out the pixelated characters. And the sounds it made! Completely alien to the soothing tap tap tapping of its manual forebearer. According to office equipment company Brother, around 12,000 electronic typewriters were sold in the UK last year. Mostly to OAPS, but sometimes to students who do not need the complicated applications of a computer.
I still have the jones for a typewriter of my own. There's this recurrent fantasy where I stumble across a boot sale or a charity event and find one, probably a little rusty, with rounded keys, and a black frame that only needs a little polish to gleam once more. I grab a piece of paper and slip it in behind the protesting rollers and type 'Hello Typewriter'. And my heart skips a beat when I see the inky definiteness come into view.
ETA: WTF? My paycheck didn't go through this week either! New Boss will call the fuckers on Monday, but wanted to cut me a check. Knowing how he was already pissed about previous accounting and not wanting to hear about the further mess for the whole of June, I declined. Will get full amount via personal check next week, minus taxes and such.
Second: A nostalgic BBC News article on typewriters, Why Typewriters Beat Computers. My family was definitely late to the game - our first computer (second-hand and made up of pirated parts) in 1998, and internet connection in the next year. Life before computer (BC) was spent on various dingy typewriters.
I have fond memories of banging out nonsensical stories on a badgered typewriter dating from the 1950s. This belonged to my grandfather, a man who rarely said anything, least of all why he kept the rickety thing around. Such an office equipment must have cost plenty in that era, but I didn't know that from the constant shredding of the ribbon, and the jammed e's. What I did know was the enjoyment of seeing my words appear in print, just like the newspapers. I typed gossip, often having to return and tippex the names of the accused when Mum complained. I recorded the words of my grandmother when she went on a lecture, handing the results to her so I could answer the timeless question 'What did I say, then?' When I had the brilliant idea of operating a restaurant at home, I tapped out the menu on a sheet of yellow paper and taped it to the paperboard of a Barbie doll package. The typewriter represented the various possibilities a girl like me could become.
Electronic typewriters sucked. Instead of seeing the printed words, you'd have to squint at a tiny screen to make out the pixelated characters. And the sounds it made! Completely alien to the soothing tap tap tapping of its manual forebearer. According to office equipment company Brother, around 12,000 electronic typewriters were sold in the UK last year. Mostly to OAPS, but sometimes to students who do not need the complicated applications of a computer.
I still have the jones for a typewriter of my own. There's this recurrent fantasy where I stumble across a boot sale or a charity event and find one, probably a little rusty, with rounded keys, and a black frame that only needs a little polish to gleam once more. I grab a piece of paper and slip it in behind the protesting rollers and type 'Hello Typewriter'. And my heart skips a beat when I see the inky definiteness come into view.
