As part of distilling brilliancy from my life and how it's lived, I try to take note of the new notes as they play through my day. I've changed job assignments in the past few weeks, and am once again acclimating to new surroundings. Generally there's some underlying theme of differences to be found.

This time, all I'm coming up with, thematically, is women and money. (For this, I blame the equinox - I'm so vernal right now it's not even funny.) That being what I have, I'm going to go with it.

I live in the neighborhood my strongly union parents chose a couple of decades ago - it's diverse, it's historic, it's working class. I'm now working at another end of the county, in an office park where every building has offices from a different brokerage. It's polished, it's vigorous, it's young money. Driving from the parking lot at work to the parking lot at my neighborhood hangout, my car goes from low-end to vaguely respectable. The people I see moving their money in my eighborhood are shifting a few bills from one pocket to another; where I work, they're more likely to be signing documents in search of a higher rate of return.

What I'm seeing in the higher dollar area is convincing me that money makes women oblivious. Also, statistically, somewhat blonder. Correlation? Causation? You make the call - but the hair color isn't the problem, it's the obliviousness that bugs me. For example:

Driving along the access road that leads to my building, I see a lady is going to join her friend on the other side of the road for a lovely noontime walk. I note that she's about to step off the curb in front of me, and I begin to slow, idly counting off the seconds until she notices her problem. When I get to saying one-thousand-five, she finally looks up from adjusting her gloves, realizes she's standing in the middle of a lane that my completely stopped automobile should like to use, and gives a ridiculous little "oh my goodness" start. I sigh.

The building I'm in has a bank of elevators; the secured floor on which I work is inaccessible by the pristine stairwell without a fireman's key. So despite my dislike for elevators, I'm using them. The other day, a woman interrupts my ride down by boarding with what my father would call a "little yippy dog" on a retractable leash. I stand stolid and motionless while the overgroomed scrap of fur excitedly sniffs each square inch of my shoes, while the woman does nothing but appear distracted. At the ground floor, she makes her first tug on the leash to ensure the dog followed her as she disembarked. She stifles an embarrassed giggle at that point, but that was to be the only acknowledgment that her mammal was in any way her responsibility.

Even that has not been my oddest experience in the elevators in that place. Riding down on another day, I entered to find a lady already aboard. Within a few years of my age either way, well dressed, coming from the floor where the money managers do their work. I glanced and nodded her way as I claimed some personal space; the only description I really retain of her is that she had the air of a woman well kept, more likely to be a money manager's client than to be the staff. She and I froze into silence as we passed the seconds of our ride together, and I was doing the stolid-and-motionless thing again as the doors opened. What threw me: as she left, I heard her meek whisper surface in her wake... "Thank you."

I blinked. For what? Glancing? Being sufficiently unhurried to not block her departure? Not mugging her on the elevator? Being there so she could think about being mugged on the elevator? What? I swear, we only had a few seconds, I didn't even do nuthin'. On those rare occasions when I should be thanked for something, I know it; that wasn't one of them. Not where I come from. I've no idea what she missed that made her think she owed me.

With all of this, I find myself wanting to invite carloads of ladies from around my office to visit in my neighborhood for a few hours. I'm sure the darling chicas and chicks around and about my diverse historical turf would help them out. I know them to be kind enough to take new people under their collective wing, get them opened up to what's around them, let them know what's what. Probably be good for everybody.

I used to spend my spare time drinking up up closer to where the dollars are. I'm glad I now spend it drinking where the wiser women are.