Signals Crossing in the Night

On the romance front, I’m thinking G is not gonna work.

Apparently, the troubled son only went two days before blowing his $800 plus the first month’s rent money G had given him on a drug-fueled orgy.

G texted this in a sad message yesterday morning.

I had a really busy day planned yesterday, so I told him that I’d call him when I got home, 9pm-ish.

Long-time readers know how much I hate talking to people on the phone.

Anyway, when I called G, he seemed singularly distracted. Had actually forgotten that he’d texted me earlier – alcohol? Xanax? protective amnesia? – and though we spoke for half an hour or so, it felt to me like the signals were crossing, and there was no sense of any real connection. Possibly I now know too much about one of the biggest failures of his life, and that’s just not conducive to romance.

I’m not emotionally invested. If he contacts me again, if he doesn’t contact me again – it’s all good.

I am kind of bemused by the thought that I just may not be particularly lovable. Not upset! Just, as I say, bemused…

Limiting YOUR Ability to Buy the Same Old Shit to Only THIRTEEN Stores!

The real process of government takes place at the most micro level. So I had a very good time last night watching the Dutchess County Legislature in session. I’m just a policy wonk at heart, I guess.

It really helps to have a name that’s easy to pronounce if you wanna get ahead in politics.

In the elevator going up to the 6th floor, a tall, middle-aged linebacker type beamed at me and announced, “John Forman, Fishkill/Beacon.”

At first I figured he thought I was so pretty that he wanted to ask me out! (Good call on that red sweater tonight, Treetz!)

Then I realized, He’s a pol! The elected legislator from Fishkill. And you’re a prospective voter.

So that’s how it’s done! Every time you’re in an elevator, you get up close and personal.

Sounds exhausting.

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The big item on last night’s Dutchess County Legislative session was the Dutchess County item pricing law.

The Dutchess County administrative code requires merchants to put actual price tags on the products they sell.

But some rogue stores have only been putting prices on the shelves.

I have no idea what operational advantage exists in not putting price tags on actual products – I mean, they’ve gotta track their inventory anyway, and it takes approximately .05 seconds to stick a price tag on something with a price tag gun. (I was once a small business owner, so I know.)

But this is apparently a heated battle in the City of Poughkeepsie. The Associated Supermarket where I used to shop when I was doing my AmericaCorps Vista stint is the biggest non-complier and has paid $80,000 in fines this year.

Associated Supermarkets has carved out the ghetto grocery niche in eastern New York State. Here’s a photo of an Associated Supermarket I took when I stayed in Brooklyn last month:



The chain’s architecture is a constant from location to location. Note the big, grilled, black metal doors through which one must pass to get access to the store – very Dante Inferno-esque touch! I’d like them even more if they had metal detectors and a big scowling guard who did full body searches before they let you into the store.

Anyway, you figure that if Associated Supermarkets doesn’t like item pricing, it must protect the poor in some way!

Associated Supermarkets is currently suing Dutchess County over this law, charging that it violates freedom of speech. (Huh?)

Rhinebecks’s swoon-worthy legislator Joel Tyner is leading the charge to prevent this law from being overturned: It’s difficult if not impossible for a senior citizen — let alone me, I'm 51 — to try to memorize all the prices of the items in my shopping cart from the aisles in the supermarket once I get to the front of the supermarket.

Opposition seems to be based on the assumption that some big box retailers will refuse to operate in Dutchess County unless the law is rescinded – thereby limiting the ability of Dutchess County residents to purchase the Same Old Shit to fourteen stores instead of thirteen!

Local government!

It’s where it’s at.

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On the Mrs. Hare V. 2.0 front, the various millennials have been checking in to inform me – affectionately, of course! -- how immaturely I'm behaving.

To which I nod and reply, Yep, yep, I’m immature!

Immature but unrepentant.