One true fact that Jeff has discovered in the pursuit of decent berths for us as we travel about the land is that all Scots who run inns and/or car-ferry services are in a state of permanent wonder at the Internet (Or the Intehrneht, as they call it).
So now we are really just marking time prior to our departure. I spent some of that time yesterday in the doctor's office, waiting to have my benighted eye reviewed for any remaining swelling, redness, distortions, and/or hauntings by malingering poltergeists. While waiting, I had the chance to read a feature-length article on monogramming in one of those magazines aimed at rich southern ladies who can trace their ancestry to such eminent figures as the very first slaver in the Carolinas, and/or a gentleman farmer who personally snubbed Patrick Henry at a dinner party in 1762. Among other things, I learned that gracious persons are permitted to "go crazy" with white monograms stitched onto white bed linens, that simple script is most appropriate for monogrammed gingham picnic napkins (a fabulous piece of advice that incorporates both the assumptions that (a) you own gingham picnic napkins and that, (b) your possessiveness towards them is such that you are having them monogrammed), that a woman's monogram should always include the initial of her maiden name, and that "ivory hemstitched dinner napkins with a gold monogram are the little black dress of tabletop." Not "the tabletop." Just "tabletop" - a mysterious kingdom like Oz or Lilliput, wherein the men are wealthy, the ladies refined, and the children mere accessories for photographs of your recently relandscaped loggia, which features a variety of tearose named after your great-aunt, who made her debut at a cotillion organized by the Junior League of Charleston in 1892.
Is there a writer who has adequately recorded the mentality of super-rich Southerners? Faulkner and O'Connor I associate with more earthy, rural southerners. Where is the correspondent who looks into the furnished souls of Dallas Ladies, or FFVs? Alas, I know not, and the question will likely fade into irrelevance as I journey to a place where restaurants have names like "Shower of Herring," and cookies are quaintly known as "biscuits."
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Via The Hope Chest, bringing you bad (and oft hilarious) news from the past.
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But never fear! The Smell of Books is here!
Indeed, Smell of Books, like an anti-feBreze, will musty up your e-books in no time at all, with five reading-friendly scents. So, sigh a sigh of relief, Kindle-readers. Your technology now . . . has the technology to feel untechnological.
Hee!
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Today I woke up with pinkeye! Joyous! I snagged an ophthalmology appointment, and now I am outfitted with all manner of creams and potions. My eye still looks like something from a horror movie, though.
I am also picking up a new pair of glasses today. Indeed, it is a day for eyeball-related news.
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