New
I've got a pencil full of lead and some water for my throat
I've got buttons for my coat and sails on my boat
So much more than I needed before.
I've got money in the meter and a two bar heater
Oh, now it's getting hotter, oh, it's only getting sweeter
I got legs on my chairs and a head full of hair
Pot and a pan and shoes on my feet.
I got a shelf full of books and most of my teeth
A few pairs of socks and a door with a lock
I got food in my belly and a license for my telly
And nothing's gonna bring me down.
"Pencil Full of Lead"
- Paolo Nutini
I admit it - I'm a pencil snob.
I love writing with pencils. It's a practice that is relaxing to me and I find peace in the scratchy sound of the graphite moving across the surface of a quality piece of paper.
Pencils are more forgiving than their cousins, the pens. Pencils allow you to correct your mistakes. Pens require one to cross out a mistake, leaving it there for the writer to ruminate upon.
Pencils show their age as their life cycle wanes, allowing the user to let the instrument go gently into that good night. Pens give no such warning - today, tomorrow, next week, next month, next year - who knows when a pen's life will cease, only to be unceremoniously tossed into some random trash can.
Pencils are made from wood, which allows them the flexibility to bend to their users grip. Plastic clad pens offer no such give or take. A stray mark from a pencil on one's clothes is but temporary. That same stray mark from a pen is rather permanent.
There's nothing so intoxicating as a freshly sharpened new pencil. So full of promise and hope.
And nothing so beautiful as a Ticonderoga #2, my pencil of choice.
In my teaching career I've used hundreds, if not thousands, of pencils. Nothing comes close to the quality and brilliance of the Ticonderoga. It's lead is tried and true, and more importantly, centered. Nothing is as frustrating as trying to sharpen a pencil with an off center lead, you simply can't get a point on it, or worse, you get maybe five minutes of use out of it before it needs sharpening.
Each year I order boxes of the golden writing instruments, and one by one, they find their way out into the world, either in my hand or in the hands of my students. Each one waiting to write the story of the holder.
Love you Awesome Nerds,
Robert
Cool.
ReplyDeleteThanks. I felt very eloquent while writing this post. :-)
DeleteInteresting. I'm a mechanical pencil guy.
ReplyDeleteI like pens. No pencil. I'm a lefty. It smears.
ReplyDeleteI, too, am a Pen Man, but very picky about which pen.
ReplyDeleteIt has to write just right.
The second person to make me think tonight. (Go read Travel Penguin's latest post at travelpenguin.blogspot.com/2015/01/fun-with-routine-things-in-life.html)
ReplyDeleteAnyway. I write in ink. This habit began in 1979 when I was in a summer term Electronics Theory/FCC Licensing class. 8-5 in class. I couldn't have kept enough pencils in the classroom to write all the notes, so I used pen (it turned out to be a stack of legal pads about 6 inches high).
It has continued. I scratch out, doodle, write, note, jot...all in ink.
Peace <3
Jay