constance | Mmmm, Laurie Colwin.

A few quick notes about my last few days:

I won't transcribe my second Dialogue-to-go (also from yesterday) word for word, because it involves much repetition, but it's a dialogue I've had at least twice a year since I reached my majority. In it, some Southerner (this time an old man with a handlebar moustache) flatly refuses to believe that I'm also a Southerner and have been all my life, just because he thinks I sound like a Yankee. Some of them get quite het up about it, keep searching farther and farther back in my ancestry for the Yankees who are responsible for my not sounding like a cast member of Steel Magnolias, and they just get all bewildered and accusatory when my pedigree boasts at least as many belles and good-ole-boys as theirs does.

The funny thing is that I do possess a southern accent; it's just that it's subtle enough that only people who aren't from the south can hear it. There's nothing I can do about that -- my voice is my voice, and I'm not one of those people who picks up on accents quickly -- but I do find the phenomenon kind of fascinating.

Last night we had a release party for the last Lemony Snicket book, which I am about to go off and see if I can finish that before I have to go to work again this afternoon, but release party, and one of the party favors was a large bowl of Snicket-style "fortunes" for the kids. My favorite read, "You will laugh awkwardly," and I was reminded forcibly of 21stcenturysei because it seemed like exactly the sort of fortune she'd come up with. Now, of course I don't blame anyone for deciding to seek her fortune outside the double-black-holes of B&N and Macon, GA. But I missed T. like anything, last night. :(

I am the proud owner of my first-ever complete matching set of bath towels. So far we are happy together. I'll let you know how it goes.

My Snapes are ready to be printed and mailed, which is not such a lot of work considering the fact that at this time last week, I wasn't sure if I'd be able to finish on time.

The v key on my computer has suddenly stopped working for no reason that I can determine. It's not such a big deal when I'm typing, but oh, man, do I miss pasting with it. I wish that it were possible to write them in, here, the way a long-forgotten-until-this-week character from a Laurie Colwin novel deliberately left out all the ws from his typed correspondence so he could write them in, calligraphy-style, later.