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Origins of Wednesday lxxvi: Jamie wears a cinder in his eye Jamie, the name the editors accept
for a menswear model on-line these
days, is wearing a sweatshirt by a
designer whose name escapes us and
a T-shirt by the redoubtable Gior-
gio Armani. Doubtful as it may ap-
pear, in the bucolic setting where
he finds himself, he seems to have
drawn a cinder to his eye: a local
blaze, presumably its contributor,
or possibly dozens of them, aloft. Contrary to Republican dogma, such
carbons aren't actually all rinsed
offstage by the janitorship of our
Lord, but hover, atmospheric mael-
stroms, settling at random here or
there, dispersing their benevolent
kernels where they may. The coming
weekend is the anniversary of that
carbonizing celebration, for which
Charlottesville, Virginia was div-
inely appointed as witness, of the
indomitable valor of white racism.
This year the same troupe will re-
convene, more auspiciously than we
can calculate, at the White House.
Tourists are urged to bring visas,
and a damp gym towel, if possible. The Four Seasons
Collection MoMA
 Labels: ain't we got fun, Customs in common, red, United States

