Let’s Talk to Pencils

Let’s Talk to Pencils

Poor, stick straight pencils.

Where once they were doomed to have their nubby points spun off into twirly shavings, now they are what? And where? That’s right. They are nowhere and nothing.

Pencils alone carry the earthy smell of lead and wood. Real pencils are singularly capable of filling a sharpener with enough shavings to throw at your brother’s head. And it is pencils, and only pencils, dear readers, that can have their rubbery metal necks chewed hard until they accidentally astonish a filling into shocking it’s bearer, or snapped in half during biology class if the boredom of mitochondria is just too, too much to bear. And lest we forget, they are also excellent poking devices.

We can nearly say that pencils have gone the way of the dodo, but nay, it is so much worse than mere extinction. If the dodo or Giant Squealing Squid or Honest Philanderer or any other extinct beast were to be crammed into a flimsy plastic casing and called “Mechanical” and thus entombed in glaring rows of hostile plastic at Home Depot, why then yes. They could complain.

But as it is, only the Ancient Ones (over 35) will die remembering the humble and pointy pencil species, much less the rickety sharpener seen as such a technological advancement in its day.

Blame this sorry state on Uncle Bic, and about the demise of the pointy, writey, pokey, lead-filled wonder that was pencils, well, weep until you can weep no more.

-Anjani

Antique Pencil Sharpener by Anjani Millet.jpg

Related Images:

The Fine Art of Donut Negotiations

The Fine Art of Donut Negotiations

Antique Kitchen Tools by Anjani Millet.jpg

To visualize your future kitchen, simply step into that kitschy donut store over there and look to the right, where you’ll find the gnat-sized office. Find the guy with the beard at the counter. Order one filled donut – lemon jelly – and one of those nut brown, cakey, raspberry glazed beauties, and a big cup o’decaf. After you almost forget to sign the receipt, lay the news on him.

Tell Mr. Bearded Donut he can choose: either he lets you photograph his old timey kitchen accoutrement, and that you covet said wares something chronic, or you’re moving in next to the fax machine. It’s always best to leave them with a choice.

The rest of your work is simple:

Shoot.
Sit.
Sip.
Munch.
Marvel at your unreal negotiating skills.
Munch some more, and don’t let up – you’ve got giant things to eat, whose purpose is to animate your insulin.
Sip loosely until you seem full.
Munch again anyway.
Enter sugar coma.
Post.

-Anjani