A Crotchety Andy Rooney Moment with Jess

Have you ever wondered why attempting to pay for your purchases at many major consumer goods stores has turned into an inquisition akin to applying for a bank loan? Why does Bath and Body Works need my zip code? Why does The Gap need my phone number? What do they do with this information? It's all a wee bit scary to me. I was in line behind a woman at a large clothing franchise that shall remain nameless, and they actually asked for her social security number. Which she happily gave, no fuss no muss. I heard the whole thing. Had I been raised by less savory parents, I may have assumed her identity long ago and would now be drunk on a beach in Tahiti. You just wait. Someday there will be retinal scanning. Or "All about me" microchips in our necks, or barcode tattoos with our addresses and bank accounts and shoe size. I swear on all that is remotely holy and decent. You just wait. And if they snap a snug latex glove on one hand and ask you to bend over before paying for your cheese grater, run the hell out of there. You can get whatever it is on Ebay.

PLUS, this special One-Time Bonus. An Andy Rooney Moment Twofer!

Have you ever jotted a quick note to yourself on a scrap of paper only to find it weeks later, when it was completely devoid of meaning? "Call D re: medicine ball." Who the fuck is D? And what does he/she want with a medicine ball? Must I supply this medicine ball? Today I found this gem, in my handwriting: "Put turd scene on website." I have no idea what this means, but it looks like you may be in for a real treat when my website's online in a month or two.

Happy Auld Lang Syne, my friends.