The Return of the Prodigal Son

 

Hello there. I am still alive, despite the best efforts of the superbug and the political leadership of the Vampire State, although calling what we are enduring political leadership stretches the plain meaning of words to the breaking point and beyond. All is vaguely well here: nothing is happening, and I suppose that we should all be grateful that this is the case. Large numbers of people are moving into our happy little burg from the great metropolis to the south and they bear with them the same stupid habits that caused the great metropolis to the south to go south in the first place. The day of the locust has come upon us here in our little town and its ugly name is gentrification. New buildings are going up left and right hereabouts, sometimes literally left and right, as in directly across the street from one another, and the twin edifices, which are bigger than the rest of the buildings on Main Street, of which more later, block the sun, leaving that part of the street in a more or less perpetual shade. What I find interesting here is the rents charged for these apartments.[1] The landlords are charging city rents for an apartment here. I suppose that the landlords think that the city people are used to spending two thousand dollars a month and so won’t complain about the rent—rent  here was eight hundred dollars a month not too long ago—and what the city people don’t know won’t hurt them. Also, the landlords are making the prospective buyer a sweet deal here: two thousand dollars a month in the city buys the interested would be tenant an apartment so small that it would be illegal to house prisoners, pigs, and most forms of bacteria in, whereas two thousand dollars a month here buys you two or three bedrooms, a full kitchen and living room, and maybe a couple of bathrooms as well. Yes, the price is the same as the city, but here, Mr. I need to get out of the city quick, you will have space. Real space. So much space that you can keep chickens here if you want. Fresh eggs, people tell me, are a powerful inducement to move.

But enough bitterness from me. I am alive in a plague year and so I must be happy. Therefore, let me count my blessings. The country is tearing itself apart with mostly peaceful protests, but the country facing this unfortunate circumstance is that portion of the country the Donkeys hold hostage and therefore the destruction is of little consequence. An electorate gets the politicians it deserves and if the people elect doofuses, well then, that is their right, isn’t it? Elections have consequences, a bit of wisdom the former junior senator from Illinois enjoyed annoying the passersby with whenever he had the chance, and if the people asked for doofuses then they deserve the doofuses. One must, in times like these, remember the wise words of the late George Ade, who said at the turn of the 20^th century that the people are worth dying for until you put them all in one place and give them the cold once-over, and then they strike the disinterested observer as largely bovine, with a high percentage of vegetable matter.

In any case, I have been doing well, or at least as well as anyone can expect in this time of pestilence. I lost twenty-five pounds and then promptly regained five of those lost pounds, which leads me to suspect that the weight didn’t really leave so much as it took a two-week vacation and is now back to work, happy and refreshed and looking forward to expanding my belt even more. I bought a new computer for my home; Windows 95 is apparently one with Nineveh and Tyre, so it seemed time to ditch the old beige box and buy something new. The new computer is nice, and I am enjoying my big new monitor. There is something to be said for working on a computer that does not cause eyestrain and a headache after fifteen minutes of use. I would like to apologize for the jumpiness of this piece. I have not actually written anything except checks for the past several months and I am now out of practice. Well, that is it for me right now. I will be back, and I hope that all is going well with you and yours.

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[1] As well as the prices of buildings. Forty years ago, someone could have bought half of our happy little burg for what the realtors are charging for one building nowadays.