The young folk say it’s all about branding. Me, I just like everything about it, from the smell, to the texture, to memories from childhood. And yes, I do remember melted wax seals from my childhood, and no, I’m not 400 years old. I guess my parents were weird, too.
It’s on its way–Now all I need is a local supplier of sheepskin vellum, and I can get off the internets for good and just tuck scrolls of pentametric verse into the knotholes of trees and bottles tossed into the North Atlantic. The way it was back when poets were real poets.
(Click to embiggen) This is a pic of the actual stamp, as I understand it. Nice of them to send a preview!
That is a thing of beauty.
You don’t need sheepskin vellum, plain linen rag will do.
You need that in a signet ring as well. Can’t always carry your stamp with you!
Oh, and here’s their page! http://stamptitude.com/custom-stamps/wax-seal-stamps/
I can’t do rings–no knuckles means it either slides off the tentacle, or slides all the way up to your face, or just cuts off circulation.
“I can’t do rings–no knuckles means it either slides off the tentacle, or slides all the way up to your face, or just cuts off circulation.”
You’re right … but, on the other hand a single largish sucker could be used for the seal. Which means all tentacled beasts might have a selection of seals. Like several dozen personalized Emjoi, one for every occasion and mood. Just keep the wax a low-temperature variety, I’ m pretty sure scorched suckers are no fun.
Hmph. I hate the modern age. Tracking tells me it is still in Hong Kong. In the olden days I would have no idea where it was, or indeed whether my order had been received in the first place! I would have had hope for perhaps a week or two (it’s been that since I ordered), then given up in despair, cursing the planet and all who crawled upon it, to no avail. Then, in a matter of mere months, by some strange chance, a ship would actually make it to harbor, a drunken longshoreman would have funneled my package in the direction of the right pony express rider, who would have eventually traded my package for whiskey in a nearby saloon, so that the keeper could more or less hold it ransom until I paid for it thrice over again. But, having paid four times its price, it would feel like Christmas, Birthdays, and Cephalopod Awareness Days all rolled into one. The return of the prodigal son.
But no, I have a reasonable expectation of getting this in the first week of December. Like some primitive equivalent of clockwork. Half a world away, and delivered to my doorstep. Where’s the adventure in that?
Where it is no doubt blocked by a pro-democracy barricade. We really haven’t heard enough about the ongoing protests over there.