Thank goodness for high gas prices. Looking hard at my monthly Visa bill made me realize just how much I was spending on fillups, and how (too) often I was doing it, considering my small commute. I made a pledge to myself to swap out my twice- or thrice-weekly thrift-driving with a walk, getting reconnected to old pedestrian-friendly hobbies and spending less time peering into the "collectibles" case for junky clicky treasures (recent acquisition notwithstanding.) To tell you the truth, I've been pretty good, too. I even passed up a yard sale Lettera 32 this weekend that my wife spotted, though the "passing up" had to do more with me going to the wrong sale afterwards.
I'm trying to keep focus, shedding or passing up machines that are outside the magic 1950's decade, steering clear of electrics, shunning all things plastic. My resolve shall not be broken, nothing will stray me from my course, I shall... ooo, what's that?
A pristine 1970's SM-9.
Oh hell. Oympia. Why does it always have to be Olympia.
Naturally I lugged the stupid thing back to my office, which then forced a shuffle of all the other machines sitting on the shelf. Scoot over, Smith-Corona, budge up, Royal, there's a new kid in town.