Then again, maybe I do have something to do with those numbers. Sure, I'm not contributing much to the statistics, except to drag them down, but perhaps there's something else going on here. After all, the last place I lived before moving here in November just happens to be in the richest county in America, as measured by per capita income. Maybe my proximity inspires others to industry. It should, if for no other reason than to pick up the slack.
My run yesterday actually included a few miles outside the city and county limits in a neighboring census-designated place, itself noted for producing one Ryan Seacrest, and also identified as the third (pshh) richest town in the state. Naturally I picked up the pace a bit through there, because poor people frighten me.
Side note: And lest my new feelings of statistically-supported superiority of place actually cause my head to swell to unhealthy proportions, the toilet seat broke today while I was sitting on it. That'll bring anybody's self-image back down to earth. You see, kids, even the rich and fabulous sit bare-assed on over-matched toilet seats in one-bedroom apartments.