Recorded, Analog Style, part 2

Oh dear, how many times have I brought up my pen and notebook over the years? At least once a year, if not more. Truth be told, it's a big part of my day and a big part of my life, this composition notebook and my fountain pen.

Yes, the merits are many, the pulp and ink. I suppose the merits are really this: the pen and notebook are readily and cheaply available and they do not need electricity to operate which means that will not run out of batteries.

For me, I get this feeling to write longhand and especially in cursive, the mind will stay intact longer. I feel like writing cursive is like eating organic vegetables, better for you now and in the long run.

A few days ago, while I was thinking about pens and paper, I decided to look on the web for others who might be in the composition notebook club, or cult. There are. I also looked up fountain pens.

Recorded, Analog Style

Several Sundays ago, I furnished each member of my family with a toy camera loaded up with film. I gave my wife one of my Holga 120N cameras complete with a roll of 120 film. She's not foreign to it, we've gone on Holga excursions before. My five year old son got 35MM Lynx camera. My son takes great pictures. He captures world from a shorter, five year old perspective. For my son, that's about 4'5''. Sure, he takes quite a few pictures of his feet, but I've know adults to do that too.

We headed off to the town of Eerie, Colorado. We headed there because none of us had been there before and we were looking for new memories.

A man walks into the Post Office, Part 2

The system is really quite simple. It's like this, I write all I need to say on 6” x 9” unlined paper which I fold into thirds and put in a letter sized envelope. Then I write who I am and where I live then I write someone else's name and where they live. I affix postage. On my walk to work, I drop the letter into the box in front of the old folks home. It makes me wonder why all old folks homes have mailboxes in front of them. And further, why I would know that there are mailboxes in front of old folks homes.

In some days, the letter will reach its destination, touched by all sorts of P.O. workers.

When I return from work and check my mail, there will oftentimes be a letter waiting for me.

It's a hell of a system.

A man walks into the Post Office...

I bought a book of post card stamps the other day. It was one of those beautiful mornings and the post office being between where I live and the small industrial, or post industrial abyss of my little town, made me decided on an entire course of the day rather than a mere errand. I decided, simply that I would bring my camera with me, and find some objects to study by way of my medium format Holga 120N.

So, already, before this anecdote goes too far, you know two things about me: 1) my intention was to buy postage stamps and 2) I had a film camera around my neck.

I waited my turn in line. I did not think anything of it, after all, I've been to the P.O. Before and I've always had to wait in line. And when my turn came up, I prefaced what I had to say with may I and I concluded it with please? It went something like this. May I have a book of postcard stamps, please?

The woman opened a drawer fill with stamps, all sorts of them. I asked: Are there all sorts of postcard stamps like there are first class stamps?