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| (I wrote the bottom sentiment.) |
I'm minding my own damn business while scrolling through my usual social media outlets when I happen to fall across notification for an upcoming event: Typewriter Fair at the Museum of Printing.
Museum of Printing? Really? Even greater, the place is relatively near to my house. I didn't even know such a wondrous place existed. Even more shameful, it has been around for a long, long time and used to be even closer to my house before it moved to its new location.
All this time, this wonderful gem has been within reach, and I have been blissfully ignorant.
I cannot even believe my good fortune in stumbling across this event. (I have since started following the Museum of Printing so I will never miss such events ever again!) I am a typewriter fanatic. I taught myself how to two-finger type (okay, so more like four fingers) at an early age first playing with the old non-electric typewriter then graduating to a Smith-Corona that my dad set up in the attic office. By the time I got to junior high typing class, it was too late to teach me the correct way to type. (That and the fact that they put me into a class with no typewriter for me, so I dropped the class. Hard to type without a machine.)
The museum has printing presses and composing machines and typesetters and bindery items and early computers and books and artifacts and mimeographs and all kind of wicked cool stuff in addition to typewriters. But today, the day of the Typewriter Fair, it's the Holy Freaking Grail. Not only are there a slew of typewriters to try, there are a slew of them for sale, as well.
Yes, for sale. Even ... even ... wait for it ... the exact model of Smith-Corona typewriter on which I taught myself to type. Thank goodness I had the brains and foresight to remove the credit card from my wallet before I left the house. Otherwise, I would be out $145 and I'd be the proud owner of a typewriter that I do not need (but really, really want).
Look, I'm a reasonable person most of the time, but we're talking typewriters here. Typewriters are to writers what crack is to addicts -- we don't care about the effects of our addiction. Even now, well after the fact, I am jonesing for that Smith-Corona against all reason and common sense. Oh, sure, I could buy it; I can afford it. But, people -- I am trying to purge useless things and extras from my life. I DO NOT NEED TO ADD A TYPEWRITER TO THE MIX (especially since I am still holding on to an old computer because I like the old MS Works operating system that's on it).
The good news is: I do not buy the Smith-Corona, but I do type on it a couple of times. The bad news is: There's another event coming up at the Museum of Printing (which, mercifully, is only open one day a week) in a couple of weeks. It's a printing fair where visitors will get to use letter presses and "talk to old printers."
What?! Talk to old printers?! Dudes! I am soooooooo going. Maybe my typewriter will still be there. (Someone remind me to hide my credit cards before I leave the house.)
