Post-Script: A funny thing happened toward the end of our Starbucks meet-up. We had been sitting at a table by the front entrance when another dad, with teenage son, stopped by to talk with us on their way out, with the dad indicating that the boy had no idea whatsoever what that device was on our table; he had to explain the concept of typewriters to his son, it was so absolutely foreign.
Talking with my wife later this afternoon, we found it to be both "funny ha-ha" and "funny strange," how something as familiar to our background as typewriters could be such an absolute unknown to someone much younger. Which serves as reminder of our responsibility to impart to our progeny as much of the world of our youth as possible, for these sorts of verbal lore are how cultures and civilizations endure. And also serves as a warning, of how easy it is to lose the thread of one's generation, and how such rapid changes are brought about by technological and social forces seemingly beyond our control.
I made mention to the SM9's new owners that, should I succeed in planning an Albuquerque Type-In later this year, I'd let them know, in case they wanted to participate. In any case, I think it's safe to say that the Insurgency has felt a great strengthening of The Force.
Typecast via my new-style, wide-carriage Olympia SM9. But I hope this recent newcomer to the herd doesn't get a big-headed ego and think he now rules the roost; in a few days or weeks he'll get relegated to the closet for a spell, to be replaced at the typing table with another family member, at which time he should gain a bit more humility.
PPS: During our afternoon patio chat (what great weather we're having), we discussed how manual typewriters need no electrical power outlet or batteries, unlike cell phones, where one has to constantly worry about how many "bars" one has left. Then I looked over at the Olympia and noted that it always has 44 bars; 44 type-bars, that is.