In the March issue of The Syncopated Times I devoted a portion of this space to discussing the immediate delight I experienced on installing a larger computer monitor to ease the monthly task of publication. As I then stated, it was a pleasure not unmixed with dismay at targeted web drivel being thrown at my retinas, albeit at more legible font sizes.
On the non-digital front, though I managed to plow through a novel after completing my April paper, I was having such difficulty reading that I bought a set of dedicated prescription reading glasses with the view of making headway on the books I’ve accumulated and neglected for the past eight years.
After the April issue came out, I received a couple of messages from contributors to remark on the egregious typos in their work. One involved problems with case (upper and lower) and the other was in regard to the column heading: I ran an old one with the writer’s expired email address. I find such mistakes (that are entirely my fault) mortifying. After many years of having my letters to the editor mangled by the local daily, I decided (in my wounded arrogance) that no one else was qualified to edit my copy. What, now, if I am no longer competent to edit it?
A visit to my eye doctor revealed all. My eyes are what is technically known as “lousy.” I could say that all day and on my say-so it becomes a matter of mirth, with all the o
