The bartender took a long, hard look at them and said, “Don’t make me get the serif.”
In Spring of 2010 I registered for Typography I. I ignored the requirements (I didn’t have them) and mentally prepared for an introduction to type history, aesthetics and analysis. My motive for taking the class was access to the type shop. A few weeks later I had a formal introduction. I still get faint thinking about it. Of course that could be the fumes.
I never had enough time to master typesetting. I still don’t know when too much ink is too much. It takes me forever to register type. I’m a little vague on acceptable imprint depth. But it was so much fun. I only had time to set up one book on the press that semester. It was the result of exploring the many drawers of mismatching wood type.
Here is the result:
If anyone knows of a type shop in central Pennsylvania…