Peeyew

There's one custom of the analog age I hope never makes it to the Internet: Scented perfume ads. I rip them out of magazines on sight -- or, more accurately, on smell -- but that doesn't keep them from contaminating my reading material. The new New Yorker has scented ads from both Versace and Polo, and the two are canceling each other out in a particularly rancid way. The magazine smells awful, and so do my hands where I touched it, and so, now, does this apartment. Someone, please help me wash off the stink of middlebrow culture.