Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Relativity Mere Miles Apart. The day I was headed in to see the play, Jesus: the Guantanamo Years, I guess I didn't mention that the Blue Line going into Boston was having switch problems and a disorganized MBTA finally announcing that shuttle buses would take us to another station where we could catch the train. With a temperature read of 97-Fahrenheit, the humidity high and a whole lot of cranky mankind waiting to board those buses, I could only imagine what the bus ride would be and how disheveled my appearance once I got into town. But then kind of like having yours be the first suitcase to come off the airport conveyer, the bus door opened right in front of me and I was the first to grab a seat. This made the ride tolerable. It also gave me a remarkable view of brown bellies hanging over hip-high shorts, hip-hop gangsta' wanna-be's, and a few old craggy men and women obviously on fixed incomes. I probably didn't tell this story because I am embarrassed to admit that based on conversations I was hearing I remember thinking that I didn't think anyone on that crowded bus would ever have a chance to squeak past a $30K salary in his/her lifetime. How were they ever going to make it in an economy getting tighter and tighter. That said no one seemed terribly unhappy: people were laughing, making plans, talking about an outfit they saw, cooing a baby.
The Yacht Club. The next day we were invited by friends to have a drink on the deck of a well-known yacht club overlooking a well-known, beautiful harbor. Sipping our icy Cosmos, we watched tow-headed, life-jacketed kids help their tow-headed parents manoeuvre their sailboats back to their moorings. A lobster boat gurgled by. To our right and left were men dressed in crisp khaki shorts and logo shirts; the women dressed in casually elegant linens -- all manicured and pedicured in bright tulip reds, corals, or French white (= $100 just for the nails). I remember mentioning to our friends how bizarre that these two so different parallel worlds could co-exist just a few miles apart.
And just when I thought there couldn't be another stratosphere, I picked up my grade school friend from the airport and drove her further up the coast to stay with her friends a few days before coming to stay with me. It's her friend's 'summer' home - an absolutely stunning just-built property looking across to Misery Island (the rest of the year they live in various apartments and country homes in Europe). The house, the grounds, the pool, the furniture, their exciting life, their two perfect children and sweet live-in Au pair from Poland, the GORGEOUS husband, the money coming out of their ears, the $30 bottle of white wine they opened for lunch along with a succulent sesame chicken salad and French cheese for dessert, my girlfriend's guest room view overlooking the Atlantic -- it was all too much really and I found myself in a funk on the ride back home. A funk because there is the kind of showy display of wealth that is so obscene and tasteless (Britney Spears) you just look on with disgust. But this wealth was subliminaly gorgeous. And yet, how much is too much?
The Yacht Club. The next day we were invited by friends to have a drink on the deck of a well-known yacht club overlooking a well-known, beautiful harbor. Sipping our icy Cosmos, we watched tow-headed, life-jacketed kids help their tow-headed parents manoeuvre their sailboats back to their moorings. A lobster boat gurgled by. To our right and left were men dressed in crisp khaki shorts and logo shirts; the women dressed in casually elegant linens -- all manicured and pedicured in bright tulip reds, corals, or French white (= $100 just for the nails). I remember mentioning to our friends how bizarre that these two so different parallel worlds could co-exist just a few miles apart.
And just when I thought there couldn't be another stratosphere, I picked up my grade school friend from the airport and drove her further up the coast to stay with her friends a few days before coming to stay with me. It's her friend's 'summer' home - an absolutely stunning just-built property looking across to Misery Island (the rest of the year they live in various apartments and country homes in Europe). The house, the grounds, the pool, the furniture, their exciting life, their two perfect children and sweet live-in Au pair from Poland, the GORGEOUS husband, the money coming out of their ears, the $30 bottle of white wine they opened for lunch along with a succulent sesame chicken salad and French cheese for dessert, my girlfriend's guest room view overlooking the Atlantic -- it was all too much really and I found myself in a funk on the ride back home. A funk because there is the kind of showy display of wealth that is so obscene and tasteless (Britney Spears) you just look on with disgust. But this wealth was subliminaly gorgeous. And yet, how much is too much?
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