It stop feeling like something that was important and everlasting and more like something that became idiot proof. No more white out and the keys were more like the ones that we use for computers and I think for those two reasons I fell out of love with typing.

and there it was. A new typewriter but unlike my grandfather this one was electric and erased words like the one in my class.

After annoying my folks long enough one day my parents come in with this hard plastic grey case and told me to open it. The class was a great excuse to get my own typewriter. It felt great as a sophomore kicking the few guys (senors who were looking for easy classes to finish out the year) that took the class's butt. But I was determined to take a computer class so I took the class and once again I fell in love with that machine. back then it was strictly a female subject and really uncool. By the time I got to high school I didn't care to take a typing class. I wanted to type fast like my grandfather because when he typed it sounded like music and that's what I wanted.įast forward to high school, I wanted to take computer classes but it was mandatory to take a year of typing first. With every key stroke it took effort and felt so everlasting, like my finger were free falling and when the key would strike it would be on that piece of paper forever. The keys were different from a modern keyboard. I remember me folding my fingers like a pianist before performing something great. The loud DING and the ZING when he brought it back.īefor he would go to the bathroom he would take out what he was working on and placed a sheet of paper for me. The way I could feel the whole dinning room table shack with every stroke of the key. The sound of the typewriter was so powerful. He typed words in spanish as a tried to sound them out and figure out what they meant. I handed someone some white out today and I flashed back to a time when I would be in my grandparents dinning room kneeling on a chair with the back legs in the air as I leaned over to see what my grandfather was whiting out and how in the hell he found out how to place the paper back perfectly to continue. When I would wake up any given morning as a kid I could hear my grandfather going hard on that typewriter upstairs.

El diablo mac miller musicpleer