2009-04-07 - 12:33 a.m.
I'm nearsighted, and though I'm able to read with my glasses on, I shouldn't. So, when I take off my glasses, I have to hold whatever I'm reading very close to my face. A foot away? Something like that. This morning, at work, when I should have been doing something else, I read a David Sedaris essay in the New Yorker. And, what did I find? A typo. I've been reading that magazine off and on for six years. It comes once a week, forty-eight or something weeks of the year. Just stacks and pages and volumes of articles and short stories and poetry and reviews, so much it fast gets overwhelming if you don't keep up on it. And this is the first typo I've ever found. And what was that typo? A misbolded comma. A comma that was bolded, but wasn't supposed to be, and I caught it. It felt like finding Waldo. I mean, what kind of person am I, that I sent this gray-haired and wonderful magazine an email about it? Come on, man.
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