I've been enjoying this collection of jazz tapes. The Panasonic player is monaural, but has a pretty good tonal range. It's especially handy sitting table side; next to my writing area, where I can stop it easily enough before leaving the room. My Sanyo cassette deck with the Lafayette receiver and Polk speakers are in the garage, not where I want to sit while writing in the wintertime. The garage is also too cold for the Sanyo's health, which I should bring inside the warmer house during the winter months. The garage gets 45f in the winter, not too bad, but enough to cause the old deck some grief. That garage stereo system was intended to be there for the warmer months, and I don't really want a loud system in my office, since it adjoins the bedrooms and I have a tendency to be up late at nights on my off days. So the little Panasonic player is about ideal for my office cassette music needs.
About that top photo, you can see in the upper left corner a Japanese soroban abacus, another addition to my collection. I need to make a video about it soon. Maybe also review my entire collection.
Regarding Richard Polt's Cold Hard Type project, see this link.
If you're interested in my collection of Loser's Blend short stories, see this link.
Post-Script: I didn't mention that I've been collecting Albertsons grocery store receipts. Because the backsides are clear of any adverts, making for "free" (ignoring the cost of groceries) narrow-column typing paper for poetry and prose alike, particularly with the new old-stock silk ribbon in Adobe Rose, the Royal QDL, whose elite font works well for the 3-1/8" wide thermal paper.
Since this is a UJTU blog article, I should mention that I recently finished reading Daniel Ellsberg's The Doomsday Machine. While he's well known for having released the Pentagon Papers, a cache of documents relating to the Vietnam conflict, his original intention was to release a vast trove of documents concerning nuclear preparedness. But in the aftermath of the Pentagon Papers scandal he buried, then lost, that trove of documents. This new book is both a personal history and about what he was able to retrieve, via FOIA documents and through his own personal recollection of having worked as a Rand Corporation contractor in the early 1960s, with access to the highest level of nuclear secrets by any civilian outside government.
What I found troubling was in the early 1960s theater commanders had been given, since Eisenhower's time, permission to initiate nuclear weapons release independent of the President. It was only later that permissive action links (PALs) were developed to, among other reasons, restore control of such weapons back into the hands of civilian leadership.
Ellsberg makes a convincing argument that Hiroshima and Nagasaki were an inevitability, given that mass bombing of civilians was already an accepted reality, such as the massive fire bombings of Tokyo and other Japanese cities in the weeks and months previous. While he credits Britain with starting the policy of engaging civilians in wartime though aerial bombing, he ignores the German Zeppelin bombings of England in WWI, and the bombing of Guernica by Germany during the Spanish Civil War. There's also the long history of laying siege to cities and starving out whole civilian populations. War has never been nice, history shows.
His point is that what we came to know during the Cold War as nuclear terror was the result of policies intentionally created for the purpose of inflicting mass civilian casualties, already in effect since WWII prior to the nuclear age. The intention was already in place within the leadership of the Pentagon, he argues; what the reality of nuclear weapons did was enable that intention on a global scale. Certainly food for thought.
I suspect I already know what Ellsberg's critics will say, charging him with taking sides against his own country. However provocative his views, his is a revision to the conventional history of the nuclear age well worth considering.
Post-Script: The niece's husband tried his hand at the little Olympia SF, and he blazed away using the middle finger of each hand. It turns out his first book was written, years ago, on a larger Olympia, using the same typing style.
He asked her why a typewriter, isn't a computer more efficient. Her answer was something along the lines of wanting to get into typing again; she also has a desire to do some serious writing, and feels a typewriter would suit her best, as least in the initial phases.
They both live an hour up the highway in Santa Fe; I told her in my letter that should she need ribbons or other assistance, just call.
I think she made the right choice of the SM9 as a serious writing tool. Nothing wrong with the Smith-Coronas, except they're older, have seen a harder life.
I also had her try Adobe Rose, the Royal QDL, seen above next to the Brother Charger 11, which still had its lid attached, one of her other choices. Unless portability were her main concern, she was wise to steer clear of the Brother, as it's not nearly as easy to type on.
She made some interesting observations about the feel of the keyboards of these various machines. The spacing of the keys, and slope of the keyboards, has a lot to do with typing comfort, as she wisely discerned; to her, the SM9 felt easier than the Hermes 3000.
Above is the 1930 Underwood Portable with a roll of paper; we used it during the birthday party for people to type comments upon. Always a great machine to have handy.
This morning I stopped in at Rust is Gold, a new coffee shop + artists collective, on Eubank near Constitution, with the Olympia SF, for some blog writing and coffee slurping. Fun was had, and I struck up a conversation with a fellow patron who was interested in the typewriter. I didn't have business cards with me, so typed him one on a scrap of paper.
Post-Script: I carried the Skyriter in my green shoulder bag that normally holds the blue Webster XL-747; I can easily tell the Skyriter is lighter than either the Webster or my other shoulder bag typer, the Olympia SF. While the wide cloth strap is okay when motor-scootering, I'd prefer the padded computer bag strap I use for the Nekkid Hermes 3000carrying box. It was a warm day, so wearing a summer shirt and shorts felt pretty good on the scooter.
I've liked eating at the Range Cafe for years, so it's nice to know that The Standard Diner is owned and operated by the same family. While my favorite breakfast at the Range has been their huevos rancheros, made with blue corn tortilla and featuring pinto beans, white cheese and fried/baked potatoes (and ordered with red & green Chile - what we call "Christmas"), The Standard Diner's version has a white corn tortilla, black beans and hash browns. I really loved it, especially mixing both chile sauces into the hash browns and breaking the eggs over it. Yes; you can blame me for your sudden appetite.
Sitting in the high-backed, padded booth, I didn't find the Skyriter's noise especially bad; although I think I grasped a bit of conversation across the room involving the word "typewriter," so perhaps they were talking about me? Hmm...
Regarding this issue of narrow-width typecasting, so as to make the words more prominent on-screen, Ted has mentioned the use of 3-1/8" wide thermal paper as a good medium. I'd like to try it, but will wait until I can find some cheap rolls at the thrift stores; otherwise I'd have to spend lots more money on a 6-pack of rolls, enough paper to probably last me a lifetime. For elite-sized font machines, this range of 3-4 inches seems almost ideal for the purpose.
I also remember reading on their menu that The Standard Diner has an old typewriter back by the restrooms, though I didn't take an opportunity to check it out. Which gives me reason to return once again, perhaps with better video equipment than the little iPod Touch. Even so, perhaps that makes this venue a bit more typewriter-friendly.
Now, regarding motor-scootering. Yes, riding two-wheeled vehicles is intrinsically riskier than being enclosed in a metal cage, especially in today's world of phone-distracted drivers. What would be a fender-bender crash in a car can easily become a trip to the hospital, or morgue, on a motorcycle. Even so, there's a particular enjoyment to riding. Always wearing a helmet is an essential habit, even in hot weather; though I find the helmet keeps the sun off the fair skin of my ears and face; while in the winter it keeps my head and neck warm.
There are also some good defensive driving habits to invoke when riding, that you normally wouldn't consider if in a car. Visibility is a primary issue, especially when passing cars or going through intersections. Staying out of blind spots is something I'm always conscious of, which involves momentary speed changes to put myself in a more visible position relative to neighboring vehicles. Watching a neighboring vehicle's lane position and speed can give you clues as to their intent to suddenly change lanes. Even on such a diminutive vehicle like my Honda PCX-150 scooter, my head height relative to the road is easily as high as a medium-sized SUV. Regardless, when being followed by a vehicle I try to stay in the left side of the lane, so I'm directly in front of them, in their central zone of vision. When passing through intersections where there's a left-turning vehicle in the opposite turn lane, I will adjust my lane position to the right side so they can see me as early as possible. And watching for cars jumping out from side streets is easier if you watch the spoked rims of their front wheels, where you can more easily detect slight rotational motion indicating they're beginning to roll forward. All these are tactics I've learned that help me stay safe.
If I ever feel especially nervous about riding in traffic (which I usually don't, since I learned to ride on scooters in city traffic), I have the advantage, in northeast ABQ, of taking side streets to almost anywhere else in this part of town, like I would if on a bicycle. That is the essential advantage of living in a grid-like city, the network of side streets between major roadways.
Here's the Ted Munk interview video. Stay tuned on my YouTube channel for the upcoming interviews with Ryan Adney and Bill Wahl.
*About downtown Albuquerque. My grandparents' old house in on Edith near Central, just two blocks up from The Standard Diner.
Post-Script: I've ordered a copy of a Burroughs key-operated adding machine manual, dated from 1939, so when I receive it and have time to review it, I'll post again on any findings I glean, especially in regard to more efficient methods of operation.
The little ad hoc speed test I conducted between a 10-key electronic calculator and this Burroughs "comptometer" yielded unexpected results. I'd expected to be able to enter the ten 3-digit numbers into the Burroughs in parallel fashion, using three fingers and/or both hands, thus decreasing the time to nearly a third of what one might do on a conventional calculator keyboard, where each individual digit has to be entered one-at-a-time, in serial order. But the efficiency of finger placement on the ten-key pad made up for any advantage gained from parallel digit entry - and, as a matter of fact, I wasn't able to achieve true parallel digit entry on the Burroughs, due to a combination of factors, most notably because of my poor finger placement. The height of each row of nine keys on the Burroughs machine is a wider span than what I can comfortably manage, plus they are arranged in vertical columns, meaning I'd have to use some odd hand placement where my elbows are splayed out sideways and my fingers are parallel to the columns of keys.
I did some Internet research and found an old bulletin board discussion thread from circa 2003 concerning these machines. It seems experienced operators were able to deftly conform the position of their fingers to that required for each number grouping, and then quickly stab their hand down upon the keyboard, thereby simultaneously hitting all the keys of a number at once. Were I able to do that, I'm certain the results of my speed test would have been different.
This does in large measure remind me of the training and practice required to be a proficient abacus operator. And also reminds me that, although I've never been truly proficient at the Japanese soroban, it's one of those skills requiring constant practice, like a musical instrument, as an analogy. And thus there is the expectation that I could, in due time, put in the necessary practice time to actually use the Burroughs machine to its intended purpose. Which, if I do so, will require at least another blog article and accompanying video.
One aspect of the Burroughs machine that I failed to expand upon in last week's video was the fact of it having octagonal keys. These are very elegant in appearance, also reminding me of the old Oliver 5-series typewriters. I'm also reminded, on a personal level, of my maternal grandfather who, back in the 1930s, built an octagonal farm house in Florida, at a time when such configurations were considered especially daring and innovative.
Post-Script: Here's the video I made about typewriter carrying bags:
That adding machine I mentioned at the end of my typecast ended up consuming 16 hours of tinkering time over the course of two days, but in the end I can proudly say that the darned thing works like a champ! It's a Burroughs key-operated adding machine, the kind using the planetary gear mechanism that was first developed in 1912. I don't know the exact date of manufacture, as the serial number database is rather sketchy for these portable machines, but I estimate sometime in the 1920s.
Here's a glamour shot of the machine:
And here's a close-up of the number wheels with their complex planetary gear system. There's an even more complex mechanism behind these wheels, a rod with a series of spring-loaded cogs that slide back and forth to lock and unlock a tiny gear train, the mode of which depends on whether the number keys are being pressed down or released (when the number wheels actually turn). There's also a complex mechanism that clears the wheels when the handle is pulled.
The entire machine was jammed up solid when I got it home. The clearing handle mechanism was locked up, and all the number wheels and their gears were frozen solid. It took many hours of degreasing, lubricating, brushing, scrubbing and sweating to get things unjammed. Then some of the wheels would intermittently jam up when the numbers were pressed, while others would spin too freely and enter erroneous numbers. I finally figured out how to adjust the sliding cogs to the right position to get everything working.
The body is painted metal, a bit scratched and marred, but some Windex and car wax helped a lot. It's slightly larger than what a person might want on their desk, but given its complex mechanism and the time invested in repairing it, I'm more than pleased. It's rather a lot of fun to enter all nines into the display, then add a one and watch the ripple carry-over increment all the wheels, from right to left, to zero. Kind of like a fidget spinner, for when you're bored, but slightly larger. (A few years from now, will anyone even remember fidget spinners?)
Post-Script: Noah is now in his own room at the hospital, and is mostly sleeping. Skin grafts will begin in a few days. Thank you all, near and far, for your thoughts and prayers.
I sat out on the back porch this afternoon, Olympia SF in my lap, typing while smoking a cigar. I hope this typecast isn't permeated with the aroma, for you sensitive nonsmoking readers. I observed that, while the last round of adjustments seem to have mostly fixed this machine's line spacing issues, there's a bit of wonkiness on the first letters after a carriage return. So not 100% yet. Repairing these entirely mechanical devices is, appropriately enough, an analog function. It's not like it's either entirely broken or entirely perfect, a Boolean logic function, but always somewhere in between, in that fuzzy gray area of real life. Such it will be with Noah's recovery, too. We'll give him all the support he needs. Best of all, the body has built-in healing systems of regeneration, unlike this inanimate assemblage of metal.
I feel the need to get at least one video produced this week, but haven't settled on a topic. And I need a haircut, and the barbershop doesn't open till tomorrow. Maybe something to do with reading through the archive of Noah's old typings, and the value of getting kids started with typewriters - even though, in his case, he really hasn't been using a typewriter for a few years. Still, there's something about these strictly mechanical devices as enablers of creativity, for this generation of millenials who didn't grow up with them as a regular part of their lives.
Regarding the top photo of Noah's car, I wasn't certain about posting it online, but there it is, in all its ugliness. I don't intend on keeping this blog entirely focused on this family issue, but I'll keep you updated as events warrant. Thank you again for all your thoughts and prayers.
A brief short story, composed at the nearest Duncan Donuts accompanied by a cup of their brew. No, not Starbucks fancy, but serviceable, not too strong coffee. I was inspired by a round of typewriter repairs I did last week. For this Olympia SF, I found a fix to the nagging issue of the line spacing problem, which I'd once thought was a permanent condition. Just a bit of courage, inspired by the Right Reverend Ted Munk and his Typewriter Repair Bibles, was all it took. No, there's not yet such a manual for the Olympia, but I did further tinkering and had some success.
This short story is for all of you typewriter collectors out there who think their collecting problem has gotten out of hand. Read and heed. And maybe chuckle.
Post-Script: Here's the video on what I did to fix the Olympia.
Post-Script: After we arrived back home from last week's vacation to Jerome, Arizona, the first typewriter I used was the lovely Corona Standard. Not only is it a true "looker," but its typing feel is wonderful. It's probably the one machine in my collection that has it all; aside from not being a true ultra-portable. But then I set this Olympia SF on my lap and began some random typing, and really enjoyed its touch, too. Yes, it does have that one little issue with the line advance, but my temporary solution of back-rolling the platen one click after a conventional carriage return seems to make it a practical writing tool.
Comparing the Olympia with the Brother Charger 11 taken on the Jerome trip, I'd say the Olympia has a more solid feel, though weighs more, but also makes a nicer imprint. And its clam shell lid latch components are made from metal, so they should be more reliable than what I've experienced with the Brother. I know some people criticize these Brother portables, but aside from the broken lid latch, I've found them to be rather reliable. But the Olympia is a more solid machine; and you could argue perhaps has better aesthetics going for it, too.
It's interesting that in all my travels with typewriters I've only ever taken with me an ultra-portable typer. Yet room in one's vehicle shouldn't limit oneself to just those diminutive models, since there's plenty of space in the back seat for at least a medium-sized portable. The real issue is how easy the machine is to lug from car to hotel room, or in the case of last week's trip, from our room to the garden for some private typing. The Brother was a good choice in that respect, as it is light in weight; but I can very much see myself on a future trip taking a medium-sized portable like one of my Smith-Corona Silents. The fancy Corona Standard I think will stay safely at home for the time being.
Since I mentioned the Smith-Corona Silents, I should also make mention that I did a bit more investigation into the intermittent escapement issue plaguing the Super-Silent. I've had promising results by comparing its inner workings with the more reliable Silent stablemate, and documented my findings in a video:
Post-Script: Another theory is that I'm sufficiently unskilled at typewriter repair that I have to use these kinds of justifications to live with a collection of machines that's less than pristine. But really, as soon as you drive that new car home from the dealership, it's beginning its long decline into decrepitude. All it takes is sufficient time. And so it is with typewriters, whose parts are essentially no longer being manufactured; in contrast with antique automobiles where you can assemble an entire 1930s-era Ford Coupe from parts ordered from catalogs. And thus we find ourselves, as typewriter lovers and users, living with little nagging problems, the essential ingredient being not letting them nag you to bits.
I think this is one key factor in the phenomenon of uncontrollable typewriter collecting (I'm a recovering addict), that we'd like to find some specimen with that ideally perfect combination of typing action, appearance, features, functionality and reliability, all rolled into one. It's fairly easy to find two or three out of the five, but all five? A perfect typewriter? Not gonna happen! Thus the mantra indicated in the title of this piece.
But I did take the Olympia SF out to the work bench today and performed more tinkering. When I'd first cleaned it last week the foam insulation pieces glued inside the side panels fell to dust. So today I replace them with 1/4" thick black craft foam and double-sided adhesive sheets. I also added some to the inside of the top ribbon cover, which never had any from the factory. There was enough clearance between the inside of the top panel and the ribbon spool axles to permit installation without interference, which hopefully will further reduce the noise level; not that it's so excessively noisy to use, but it's also not the quietest in my collection; and being small and easy to carry, I'm more apt to use it in public.
I also looked into the wobbly carriage bearings, which I made mention of in Episode 60 of the Typewriter Video Series. I tightened the rear bearing track a bit by adjusting the set screws, then reoiled the bearings with gun oil. Now there's a bit less wobble. Afterwards I did a half page or so of test typing, and this afternoon I'm going to sit in the front patio, drink more coffee and do some stream-of-unconsciousness typing.
This morning I took the Olympia SF, in a shoulder bag on my motorcycle, down to Michael Thomas Coffee in Nob Hill and did some indoor typing at the bar adjacent to their fancy siphon coffee machines. The combination of mad scientist-looking glass lab ware, manual typewriter and wood-&-metal counter somehow fit nicely together. I didn't get any negative feedback from my typing, as I'd asked the waitstaff ahead of time, and the gal indicated another of their customers also types there. I did overhear some customer point out my typing as they walked inside, but it didn't sound all that negative, probably some snide remark about hipsters. Imagine me, a nearly 60 year-old hipster!
I also handed out more fliers for the April 23 ABQ Type-In. Now I need to get more printed up.
