The Poor Die Young. The Rich Live Forever.

"I always got this warm feeling inside whenever I got a good grade in class because it made me think of what kind of person I could become and all the great things I could do... and I never did any of them."

-Will Smith as Christopher Gardner in "The Pursuit of Happyness"

"You guys have it real easy. I never had it like this where I grew up... Now for some of you... you were born rich, and you're going to stay rich. But here's my advice to the rest of you: Take dead aim on the rich boys. Get them in the crosshairs... and take them down. Just remember: they can buy anything, but they can't buy backbone. Don't let them forget that. Thank you."

-Bill Murray as Mr. Blume in "Rushmore"

..."You must never let them change your values. Ideals are good, but people are sometimes not so good. You must try to look up at the big picture."
Yossarian rejected the advice with a skeptical shake of his head. "When I look up, I see people cashing in on every decent impulse and every human tragedy."
"But you must try not to think of that," Major Danby insisted. "And you must try not to let it upset you."
"Oh, it doesn't really upset me. What does upset me, though, is that they think I'm a sucker. They think that they're smart, and the rest of us are dumb. And, you know, Danby, the thought occurs to me right now, for the first time, that maybe they're right."
"But you must try not to think of that too," argued Major Danby. "You must think only of the welfare of your country and the dignity of man."
"Don't talk to me about fighting to save my country. I've been fighting all along to save my country. Now I'm going to fight a little to save myself. This country's not in dangr any more, but I am. From now on I'm thinking only of me."
Major Danby replied indulgently with a superior smile, "But, Yossarian, suppose everyone felt that way."
"Then I'd certainly be a damned fool to feel any other way, wouldn't I?"

- Joseph Heller, Catch 22

I've been a footservant to the wealthy for nearly two years now. I imagine this would be a polarizing experience for many people, causing them to either reject this lifestyle for themselves or seek it out like a ground-to-air missile.

I'm finding something akin to a Jekyll and Hyde complex about the whole thing. I've envisioned myself as an idealist for several years; someone who fights for equality and justice on a small scale. And for so long, I've received innumerous pats on the back for the choices I've made in my life.

But no matter where the hand slaps and glad-handing comes from, it has always seemed empty. Lately, I've been thinking obsessively as to where this emptiness comes from. Having spent so much time witnessing, first-hand, the emotional misalignment in those with reservoirs of money, shouldn't somone opposite from them, someone not unlike me, have a quietly contented soul?

But I don't.

I am an idealist and I feel entitled to more than I've got. And while I may very well deserve more, I am not, in the end, entitled to anything.

I am an event staff person at a fancy-shmantzy historical home in Oak Park. By day, the home gives tours illuminating the exquisite architecture of this 19th century... blah-blah-blah. By night, it hosts parties.

I am paid to assist the house in hosting these parties.

Recently, a Parental Education organization threw a silent auction fundraising event. I won't go into detail as to the pedigree this event attracted, but I will say that the footwear costs of the women at this place could erase the National Deficit.

A woman, whom I'll call Ginny Burberry for the sake of this blog, phoned me during the silent auction because her babysitter cancelled on her. She couldn't make it. She said she really only wanted to bid on a few items and that was why she paid the astronomical ticket fee to be a part of this fundraiser in the first place.* She called to see if she could refund her ticket. I suggested that she give me her credit information and allow me to act as her auction liaison for the items she wanted. She immediately fell in love with this idea and gave me her credit card information.

She wanted - among other items - a diamond Tiffany necklace and various tickets to Oprah.

Are you keeping score at home, kids? I don't go out anymore because I can't afford the gas it takes to travel anywhere and I was helping someone attain diamonds and Oprah.

Diamonds. Oprah.

Christ, what have I done?

For the remainder of the night, I stalked the auction tables carrying these two items, slow-rolling old biddies for Oprah tickets and jewelry that would pay my rent for five years. And it hit me like a blast of cold water: this would never have happened if I didn't suggest it. It wouldn't work if I walked away. In this instance, someone very wealthy needed my help and would never have realized it, had I not come up with the idea on my own.

And you know what? This happens all. the. time.

Another one of my four jobs supplants me with people in and around the motion picture universe. My supervisor (the second in command) is an Asian woman with a loose grasp on the English language. On a near daily basis I find myself doing legwork the language barrier stops her from completing. I'm not special, these tasks just require a little common sense.

So how does someone unable to communicate with lawyers and people with accents, rise to such a lofty position? Why does she own a Gold Coast condo and I live eight feet away from my baby sister?

It's unclear to me, but it might have something to do with her husband being on the Board of Directors for this film organization (he joined in 1999, she took her position in 2001). **

It pisses me off that we do not work in a world of justified alignment. It pisses me off that I help people like this maintain their status instead of vying for my own position. And it pisses me off that people have $900 to give to strangers to auction on Goddamned Oprah tickets. It pisses me off that, apparently, $900 isn't enough to win Goddamned Oprah tickets. *** And it pisses me off that anyone would want Oprah tickets unless it was on a day Oprah decided not to host the show. ****

I hope I do become wealthy. God forbid I ever get my hands on real money; I'd spend it with a mission. My spending would be shocking because after I purchased a new guitar and one of those Lexus's that park themselves, I'd aim to make an example out of every rich person wasting their wealth on their empty, petty existences. They'd better never allow me to become wealthy; I'd change a small portion of the world if they did. Lately, money is all-consuming. I want it, so I can immediately give it away. My want grows with every bill I have to borrow money from my parents to pay, with every dream of the future I just can't imagine and with every opportunity it feels I'll never have. I can't stand my lot in life right now and I fear my nature isn't designed to afford me much more than I have. It's fully encompassing and infuriating and as the clock continues ticking, I grow more and more furious.

I never want anyone I care about to feel the way I feel most days. I'd love to give half of my high six-figure income to non-profits and organizations on the brink of crumble, because I know what it feels like to be on the brink of crumble. I know the searing turmoil of ignored excellence. I know what it is to have no resources and make more from nothing than some people make with everything.

And I know what it means for none of it to matter.
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* So wait... you pay a ticket to go to a fundraiser and bid on donated items? There's no way someone isn't getting rich off of this. I said before I was an idealist, but I'm also a cynic.

** He belongs to many Boards actually: The Gold Coast Neighborhood Board of Directors, and various Asian food market trade companies including the primary corporation that supplies Asian markets with McDonald's food. (I've done my homework)

*** The winning bid was $1,100.

**** Alright. I'm sure some of you are going to remind me of my Jim Carrey on Oprah experience. Fine. I'll come clean. I was absolutely willing to forgo my hatred of Winfrey to bask in Jim's glow. But that's different. Don't ask me how - it just is.

If Obama can confess his cocaine dabblings, I can confess my moment of Oprah weakness.

News Travels Crass

Anna Nicole Smith died around 3 p.m. this afternoon. I found out about it sometime around 3:05.

A journalist from the Chicago Sun-Times called the motion picture office I work at wanting to know if he could get a quote from my office's Founder (my boss).

Back in the early 90s, my boss and his famous photographer friend, Victor Skrebneski, photographed Ms. Smith in a fairly famous photo shoot. My office retains the sole publishing rights to the most famous shot from that session. (see below)

Less than 10 minutes after the supermodel's death, the local papers were hounding us for not only quotes, but for high-resolution jpegs (computer pictures) for tomorrow's edition of the paper.

We gave them what they asked for.

But all of this gets much more morbid.

By 3:15 p.m. the phone lines began to jump and shimmy with calls from people trying to get a copy of the (now legendary??) model's poster.

It just so happens that a framed print of the photograph is situated close to my cubicle. Over the past two weeks, I've become well-acquainted with this photograph. Less than 17 minutes after the model's announced death, the framed print was taken off the wall and moved closer to the main lobby, where people can see it better.

In Anna's place, a framed poster of the 33rd London Film Festival now hangs.

By 3:18 p.m. we had doubled our sales of this poster from the last two years.

One of my office directors was so distraught about these limited posters flying off the shelves, she had us raise the price from $35 to $50. She hurried one of the office employees to change the web-site price before "another [customer] sneaks in a steals one for $35!" (it's a little less skeezy when you consider we're a non-profit organization, but not completely "sans skeeze").

By 3:25 p.m. we had sold everything left in the closet and put a hold on selling the posters held in storage....

...Those we'll save until after the Sun-Times article hits newsstands tomorrow. I can only imagine once Chicagoland sees that beautiful print in the paper, we'll be charging a hundred bucks for it.

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ADDENDUM: It is 4:27 p.m. and the 150 posters left on the planet now cost $100. We didn't even wait until tomorrow morning. R.I.P. Anna Nicole Smith.