While I hung up my typewriter keys and stationery for the winter (typing inside is fairly loud—how did they focus on anything back in the 60s?)
How are those glasses anything other than an "I'm literate and educated" signifier?
I always took glasses to signify "I have poor eyesight."
As a member of the first generation to freely and gladly share my pictures, videos and thoughts online, I’d always—until now, anyway—adopted a “What’s the worst that could happen?” [...] I did worry, when I started typewriting, that my stories would make it online somehow, and they would be ripped to shreds by literary, high-minded commenters.
But the vain part of me wanted to make sure the entire world knew that I wasn’t asking for attention because of some base urge to be noticed and photographed.
Chapter 3: Keimer's printing-house, I found, consisted of an old shatter'd press, and one small, worn-out font of English which he was then using himself, composing an Elegy on Aquila Rose, before mentioned, an ingenious young man, of excellent character, much respected in the town, clerk of the Assembly, and a pretty poet. Keimer made verses too, but very indifferently. He could not be said to write them, for his manner was to compose them in the types directly out of his head. So there being no copy, but one pair of cases, and the Elegy likely to require all the letter, no one could help him. I endeavor'd to put his press (which he had not yet us'd, and of which he understood nothing) into order fit to be work'd with; and, promising to come and print off his Elegy as soon as he should have got it ready, I return'd to Bradford's, who gave me a little job to do for the present, and there I lodged and dieted, A few days after, Keimer sent for me to print off the Elegy. And now he had got another pair of cases, and a pamphlet to reprint, on which he set me to work.
These two printers I found poorly qualified for their business. Bradford had not been bred to it, and was very illiterate; and Keimer, tho' something of a scholar, was a mere compositor, knowing nothing of presswork. He had been one of the French prophets, and could act their enthusiastic agitations. At this time he did not profess any particular religion, but something of all on occasion; was very ignorant of the world, and had, as I afterward found, a good deal of the knave in his composition.
If your comment or joke contains or alludes to the word "hipster" it is automatically 50% less insightful or clever or funny than it otherwise would be.
One should therefore endeavor to make damn sure, before speaking, that one's comment is that much extra insightful or clever or funny.
You know what I want hipsters to bring back. That barbershop quartet look. With the straw boaters, vests, and sleeve garters.
I mean seriously. "Look at this dumb hipster bitch! How dare she exist within the cultural context of her time and social group? WHAT A POSER." "Ugh, that flapper with her long pearl necklace- way to be a total trendwhore!" "Where'd you get that powdered wig, Cliches-r-Us?" "Nice animal pelt, ASSHOLE!"
I tried to explain hipsters to my frat-boy friend from U Miss and he seemed confused for a bit, then said "Oh yeah! We just call them T-Shirt People!"
why oh why do kilt tailors refuse to cut you a matching blazer from the same tartan
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