So this morning we watched Lady and the Tramp, which Disney did a wonderful job restoring (although I still have serious reservations about both the evilness of the rat who they try to play up as this big threat, and also about the hilariously base racial stereotyping that goes into determining dog/cat speech patterns... i.e. Pedro the dumb chihuaha or the slant-eyed buckteeth-ed Siamese cats).
However, the bigger mystery would be Thumbsucker... not because the movie is any good -- I think I found the reason Elliott Smith killed himself (he worked on the soundtrack until his death, at which point the Polyphonic Spree took over, creating a wildly disparate two halves) -- but because I went to listen to AIR, because I haven't in a long time and it just kind of struck me as the right thing to do. And there is a song on Talkie Walkie called "Mike Mills", the director of Thumbsucker. Whoaaa. Then I realized why, because he directed a few of their music videos, among others. Thats probably how he got so many stars into an awkwardly written but beautifully-shot adolescent train wreck.
Anyway, that was a bad story to tell. No real drama. Apologies. \//
There is a short story I think I may finally get around to working on this weekend, and perhaps it will have its world debut right here.
I was discussing with Jeff and Julie yesterday about something I continue to find interesting:
Rich people seem appalled that the masses don't know who they are.
I speak not of Bill Gates, Warren Buffet and to an extent the loudmouths who own sports teams (Mark Cuban, etc.), but trust fund children and anonymous families who garnered extreme wealth through the stockmarket. In New York, the poverty rate is very high, but so is the extreme-upper-stratosphere sorts of mind-boggling wealth. And yet these folks seem to think that the rest of us are equipped with a Whos Who of Millionaires, and demand to be treated differently because they can dine American Psycho-style.
This came about because yesterday I had just about the most bizarre on-the-job experience, wherein I got involved in a heated exchange with Dave (?) Sassoon, of the Sassoon family (think: Vidal Sassoon, also the key family/corporation behind the Opium War if you want to go back in history).
He wanted me to personally remove Kim's closed storefront from our location a few blocks away that closed down because the landlord jacked rent up 400%. Before working at Kims, I have ran past that closed storefront hundreds of times over the past year and a half, and never found it to be an eyesore beyond being another empty space with some faux-Greek font. "Its not Greek, I have many rich Mediterannean friends and that is not Greek!" "I mean font." Besides that, I am fairly sure this is a landlord issue... and furthermore, he's one private citizen, so let me get right on going out of my way to assuage your eyes, dear sir. Why? Because rich people deserve better.
So where did the conversation go?
How about this opening line:
"Do you speak English?"
"... Yes."
"Good, because you know most black people can't."
"..."
From there, we go to:
-a brief 10 minute introduction about his name, genealogical background, extraordinary wealth and trust fund status ("some brothers didnt get it as good as I did, I admit that", followed by further noting of his intense wealth
-"Please remove your Saddam Hussein from my life" - failed metaphor 1
"What?"
"When we invaded Iraq, we found Saddam had built statues of himself all over the cities. We want Kim to remove her Saddam Hussein from my area."
-After correcting him twice that Kim's was actually named after Mr. Kim, a middle-aged gentleman, and not an Asian girl named Kim, he will continue to refer to "her" and "she" for the next half hour
-he is friends with designer/label-owner Marc Jacobs, mentioned four times, and friends with the owners of the famous Magnolia Bakery, mentioned twice, who won't feed him cupcakes til he takes care of this
-he is "good with Asians, thats why my family sent me to San Francisco"
-"the store looks like a webpage" - failed metaphor 2
I don't think I can stress how many times his a) name b) wealth or c) connections were mentioned, since after a while I stopped counting. I originally thought it was a joke, except that he was too old and way too serious to be doing it as a gag. So I finally got to unleash that slovenly attitude that so many youngsters never get to properly demonstrate to adults, and it felt pretty good.
"So I want you to write a note to Kim, telling her she needs to remove this storefront. And do it now."
"I don't think I'll do that."
"I realize you want to be a good employee and not get fired for it, but realize that you're actually being a bad employee and a bad person for not doing it."
"Well you see, while I'm thoroughly impressed with your bank account and your pseudo-celebrity friends, I really think that you are vastly overstepping your boundaries, and that this is a matter for the landlord to take care of, or at the very least, something a neighborhood citizen's group, of which there are several, should address, not a private citizen. Especially if you're only doing it because your personal sense of style is being offended, not because an actual risk is posed. But if you want to bring Marc Jacobs in here to tell me how he really feels, I will be happy to listen."
I can't wait to be rich!