Do That to Me One More Time

I remember when I was in high school, I used to type my papers on my dad's Smith Corona typewriter. It was about the size of a Geo Metro, and it had a tiny window situated directly above the keyboard that allowed you to see maybe twenty or so characters at a time, in the event you wanted to do any of that fancy word-processing. I actually borrowed that same typewriter from my dad back in March or April or whenever it was that I was filling out my grad school application (Dad doesn't throw away anything -- every time I help him move I find myself carting boxes containing things like a set of World Book encyclopedias from 1984, old issues of Time magazine with the Shah of Iran and the Captain and Tennille on the cover, and wooden tennis racquets), and I remember taking it home only to discover that it was out of ribbon. The deadline date for applications was the next day (I applied to only one school), so I had to rush to OfficeMax because it was closing in an hour, and dropped like twenty dollars because the ribbon I needed only came in packages of four, the fuckers. (You'll find typewriter ribbon at office supply stores in the same aisle where they carry carbon paper and cotton gins.)

The routine back in high school was to write my paper (pen on paper), set up the typewriter atop the dining room table, put on a Smiths tape and type non-stop. I'm not entirely convinced that wasn't the better way of doing things. Right now, I'm trying to get started on a twenty-page paper due the day after tomorrow, but instead I find myself doing, well, this, and also visiting pretty much every blog I can think of and leaving aggressively unfunny comments. Therefore, I apologize for tonight ... and probably tomorrow night.