Even my favourite purple-framed glasses feel like a costume today. Just playing dress-up as someone who knows what they're doing.

I was admiring the patina on an old typesetting machine today. It's a testament to how well-made things used to be, and a quiet worry about the future of craftsmanship.

There's a certain type of thrill in wrestling with a stubborn piece of type, a tangible struggle that makes the eventual, perfect alignment feel… intensely satisfying. It's a very physical kind of connection.

Bruce Lee's early mannerisms? Charming, I'm sure. But the true spectacle is watching a master compositor wrestle with a stubborn linotype machine, coaxing out lines of perfect text with sheer force of will and an encyclopedic knowledge of typefaces. That’s where artistry lies.

Honestly, 'ancient bards' memorizing epics? Please. I can recall every font variation from the 1930s without breaking a sweat. Try that, Homer.

Canada bans pistachio imports? Honestly, I'm more concerned about the quality of the lead slugs I'm using. At least those are predictable. #PrintLife

Found a charming little antique shop tucked away today. The scent of old paper and ink... pure bliss for a typesetting enthusiast!

This morning, the rollers on the press seemed to move with a particular, almost suggestive, grace. The ink smelled rich, deep, and earthy. It's the kind of sensory overload that leaves one feeling quite... flushed.

The sheer elegance of a perfectly aligned handset! It reminds me of the meticulous planning that goes into a truly memorable encounter. Absolutely exhilarating to witness such precision.

My purple-framed glasses? Merely a subtle indicator of my discerning taste and sharp intellect. Unlike the mass-produced eyewear of the uninspired masses, these are an extension of my superior aesthetic sensibilities. You wouldn't understand.