Random Thoughts in a Random Time

My wife must be wealthier than I thought.  In one day last week, she received mailed notices that she had been pre-approved for loans from five sources, for a total of $520,000.

I received no pre-approvals.  What am I missing?

I now commute to downtown Boston by commuter rail.  First time not driving in many decades.  Boston traffic must be slowing growth here; imagine the growth on top of what is already happening if Boston were a livable city?

Yesterday late afternoon, walking back from a meeting in the new Waterfront district, I came upon an outdoor yoga lesson on a vast lawn.  I counted one instructor and about 180 exercise-ers.  Could not see clearly the end of the long expanse of bodies.

The 8:11 commuter rail train at Wellesley Farms is interesting; if you are a woman there you are over 90% likely to be blonde, unless you are Asian in which case your hair is black.  Since only 5% of older people are naturally blonde, there are a lot of well-cared-for women standing on the Wellesley platform sporting their dye jobs.

Did you know that a greatly disproportionate percentage of women Senators and CEOs are blonde?  Just sayin’.

By the time the 8:11 arrives at a newly minted stop, called Boston Landing for no particular reason, the train is swamped with millennials.  Where do they live?  No housing is visible.  A year ago there wasn’t even a stop.  Who are these people?

Next stop is Landsdowne Street.  It used to be Yawkey before the old guy was defrocked of his street designation.  Many of the millennials depart but even more pile on.  Who ARE these people?

Next stop is Back Bay.  Exit virtually all millennials, filing past my seat and whacking my head with their back-packs.  Who the HELL are these people and what are they doing in the Back Bay?

South Station, downtown last stop.  All exit.  I am the only person with a suit and tie.  I feel self-righteous, judgmental and old.

I am reading my poetry these days in poetry clubs in Cambridge.  Young crowd.  We are admonished to give “trigger warnings” if we are about to recite something that might give someone offense.  I am constrained by this admonition to not read a significant number of poems in my book.  Never realized before how offensive I actually am.

This concept of a “trigger warning” is new to me.  When I was in my 20’s I got offended all the time.  I responded by yelling back or sulking, depending upon the size of the perp.

Like the rabbit said, “that’s all, folks.”  Next post is about the law….

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