A short while ago, I wrote about a few of my favorite things. And since I don’t own any of them, it wasn’t as satisfying as Frauline Maria made it seem. (Excuse me, my son has just awoken and started whispering loudly and rapidly to himself. Hold for the throwing of holy water.) Anyway. (Okay, now he claims he needs to do some homework. That’s my son!)
Anyway, so to backtrack: freshman year of college, someone had a “free” box outside their dorm door, which was the custom in relieving one’s self of property. There was a rather bulky “portable” – meaning in the classic sense – typewriter that admittedly needed work. I didn’t care. I didn’t even think about it, actually. That typewriter could do more for me just sitting on my desk than (insert hyberbole ’cause my brain’s not all the way on yet). So about twenty minutes after I took it, I had grabber’s remorse. It was going to piss me off that it didn’t work. I was going to have to find a place for it in my dorm room and not on my desk because that’s kinda where my desktop sat. I wanted to love it. But, I whispered, “There’s no time for us.” And a few minutes later, someone showed up who’d been “promised” the typewriter. Instead of scoffing at them and telling them the pinky swear must’ve been off because the person put it in a free box and we all knew the rules of said box, I closed my eyes and offered it away. My beautiful, broken typewriter.
Before that, I lived in a house with ample computerage. But there was a word processor – the closest thing to a typewriter at my home by that point – that I lurved. It’s the only place I wrote “poetry”. Until my sister started writing her enthusiastic scribblings across my work. Yeah, you did – pretty disrespectful, I know. But oh that processor. How I loved it until it stopped working. I turned it off for months at a time because – at that age – I figured if you left something alone, it’d start working again? Actually, that’s still my default assumption. Toaster not working? Hit it on the side, blow into it. Turn it off, turn it back on. Everything I need to know, I learned from the original Nintendo console.
But now. NOW. The addiction and this website have joined forces to torment me. So I’m going to show you what I need to survive.
So the Underwood No 5 is like the quintessential desktop from yesteryear (up through the 30s, apparently) and I need it. To. Survive. Look at the beautiful composite of straight lines and curvatures! Heart! (That’s my impression of the Indian kid from Captain Planet.) WHO DOESN’T WANT THIS BEAUTIFUL PIECE OF MACHINERY?!
And for those of you who think, “You only need one desktop” – shut up! I need an Underwood, LC Smith, a Remington and possibly a Royal. I wonder what these classic models really mean by “silent”. Man, I’m so excited for the collection I will have. It’s going to make me so happy! SO. HAPPY.
And now, I’m going to trot out the portables. All of whom I want and need. First: this is how bad it’s getting. Before, I just daydreamed about the different equipment I wanted to be able to use when composing. But as of yesterday evening, I had a scene I wanted to work on and I’d gotten all worked up about lugging a portable typewriter around and I was just so unsatisfied for the whole night and I couldn’t even write with my favorite ball point on my favorite paper stock because I wanted a typewriter! Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
It hurts. And yes, Underwood has some delicious portables, as well.