I read an article in The New York Times (sorry, I lost the actual link somehow, but I'll bet you, of the Internet savvy, can find it) that wondered what constituted being wealthy in Manhattan, comparative to other places in the country. The author's conclusion? Being rich in Piqua, Ohio does not necessarily translate to being rich in Manhattan.
Well, duh.
But this article got me thinking about my own life, and in that fact the author should take a little pride. After all, isn't that what these pieces are supposed to do? Make you examine the world around you and try to establish your place in it? Obviously.
I can't exactly comment with any kind of authority on this question in Manhattan, unless we're talking about 2000-2001 here, but I can try to apply the same set of principles to present-day Los Angeles. What's wealthy here? A quick answer -- it's complicated.
The article I read asked some people in Cupertino, California what they considered wealthy, and some shallow jackass replied like this (and I paraphrase): "We compare social status to the kind of BMW someone drives: lower, a 3-series; middle, a 5-series; upper-middle, a 7-series; and upper, the M-series, Bentleys, and etc."
Gag.
But that doesn't seem to far off from the way we guess someone's wealth here in LA -- what kind of car do they drive (full disclosure: I drive a 2005 Toyota Matrix)? Seriously, though, I can't think of a worse measure for personal wealth -- I lived in what was essentially assisted housing in Canoga Park, and there were many a Lexus and BMW and Mercedes in that parking lot. Does that mean the people who drove those cars should be considered wealthy? No, but they should be considered stupid, since they no doubt paid through their noses for their cars each month while living in a dirty shithole that had the occasional shooting in the barren, postapocalyptic-looking courtyard (it even had the abandoned-looking, rickety swingset that is often used as movie shorthand to denote the death of hope, innocence and the future).
So what's wealthy in Los Angeles, and how do we determine the wealthy from those who merely pose as wealthy? For example, does a dog in the purse mean someone is well off, or is it a pretty telltale sign that someone's a poseur? What kind of jeans does the wealthy citizen wear? Where does he or she eat?
My point is this -- the outward symbols that we as a culture use to pigeonhole someone we pass on the street are no longer reliable. A nice car could mean that person is well off, or it could mean that the person driving it lives in a hut because all their money goes to making that car payment so they can look successful to someone who passes by. And I think it's a problem -- when we place so much value on appearing wealthy that we're willing to forgo the basics, such as a shelter that's commensurate with our income, in order to get things that make us look like we have more money than we do, something is wrong.
That's only one thing that's wrong with this place.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
So what have I learned in the four years I've lived in Los Angeles?
One thing, I guess.
I've noticed that 9/11, for all its seeming magnitude when (and up to a year or so after) it happened, really didn't mean that much. Really, it didn't do much other than temporarily delay the trajectory that American society and culture was on beforehand. I submit as an example the cultural marker that is "Fight Club."
In it, when the narrator first sits at a bar and talks to Tyler Durden, Tyler says (and I paraphrase, slightly) "Crime? Poverty? These things don't matter to me. What matters to me are celebrity magazines; television with 500 channels..."
And so on it goes. But so what, you might ask? Remember, please, that this movie was made in 1999, with the book that is its source being published at least four years earlier.
I'll let that sink in, and also give us all a chance to remember what life was like in 1999. God damn, that was almost ten years ago! I graduated from college in the spring of 1999, and I can barely remember what cultural touchstones were popping off at the time. I guess I was listening to a lot of second-wave emo, drinking a ton, and doing all those things you do that hold over from college.
Clearly, however, there was a sense that our culture was becoming somewhat shallow, as evidenced by our collective obsession with celebrity, fashion, style, and other things of relatively minor consequence.
And then the World Trade Center towers collapsed in a pile of flaming and twisted rubble. In a way, I'll bet that Chuck Palahniuk got a little nervous when that happened, as the perpetrators of an attack such as that could have easily been disaffected white males bent on returning society to its basic, primal roots, yearning and hoping to shrug off that which doesn't matter and focus on essentials of life.
And everyone had their own take on what the reverberations of the event were going to be. I'll leave aside political/diplomatic/international relations-related shockwaves, because I'm focusing on the cultural here, but it seems to me that a popular position was to proclaim that the shallow, ironic age of the nineties was done, too be replaced by a new earnestness, no longer cheapened and mocked by Gen X-er led sarcasm or ennui -- in short, a return to those things that really matter. Country, national security, safety, and so forth.
Wrong.
Look at our lives now, six years after the choking haze of 9/11 lifted. We're much more obsessed with voyeurism and celebrity than we were then, so much so that I can't even remember our obsession at the the turn of the century in comparison. There's no way that late '90s Access Hollywood can compare to TMZ.com in its desire to track and assess celebrity, and there's no way the thirst for unimportant, celebrity-related news can be matched by any time in the past. We must know what people who are wealthier and more well-known than we are eat, do and consume. We see it as our right to know where they go, who they go with and why they can get in and we can't. I read an article in this month's Atlantic Monthly that asserted our obsession is becoming dangerous -- dangerous psychologically, in that we seemingly want these people to suffer for our seeing them in public, and actually physically dangerous, as anyone who's seen paparazzi cars swarming for a shot of Britney Spears or Nicole Ritchie can attest.
So the fuck what? Well, as someone who's studied a fair bit of history, I try to relate to what I'm seeing by comparing it to something I know existed at one point or another. Not a completely accurate, unbiased or clear way to look at things, I'm sure, but it's what I do. Anyway, I see our society, with its shallowness, its focus on brands, profits and market ubiquity, its consumption, and its desire for nothing more than a small taste of being well-known -- I see this and I think of England before World War One.
Like it, our society is troubled by a small war in a far-off place, much like a horse is annoyed by a fly. It's bothersome, but for most, it's an inconvenience that rarely draws our full attention. Instead, we're focused on a material lives, our race to keep up with an upper class that's pulling away from not only the lower class, but also the middle class. Everyone's trying at least to act like they belong with the jet-set, not seeing a looming disaster that will certainly prove to be more than a blip. This event, and I can't pretend to know enough to predict what it will be, will be the cataclysm that 9/11 hinted at.
This is not a threat. This is a plea.
I've noticed that 9/11, for all its seeming magnitude when (and up to a year or so after) it happened, really didn't mean that much. Really, it didn't do much other than temporarily delay the trajectory that American society and culture was on beforehand. I submit as an example the cultural marker that is "Fight Club."
In it, when the narrator first sits at a bar and talks to Tyler Durden, Tyler says (and I paraphrase, slightly) "Crime? Poverty? These things don't matter to me. What matters to me are celebrity magazines; television with 500 channels..."
And so on it goes. But so what, you might ask? Remember, please, that this movie was made in 1999, with the book that is its source being published at least four years earlier.
I'll let that sink in, and also give us all a chance to remember what life was like in 1999. God damn, that was almost ten years ago! I graduated from college in the spring of 1999, and I can barely remember what cultural touchstones were popping off at the time. I guess I was listening to a lot of second-wave emo, drinking a ton, and doing all those things you do that hold over from college.
Clearly, however, there was a sense that our culture was becoming somewhat shallow, as evidenced by our collective obsession with celebrity, fashion, style, and other things of relatively minor consequence.
And then the World Trade Center towers collapsed in a pile of flaming and twisted rubble. In a way, I'll bet that Chuck Palahniuk got a little nervous when that happened, as the perpetrators of an attack such as that could have easily been disaffected white males bent on returning society to its basic, primal roots, yearning and hoping to shrug off that which doesn't matter and focus on essentials of life.
And everyone had their own take on what the reverberations of the event were going to be. I'll leave aside political/diplomatic/international relations-related shockwaves, because I'm focusing on the cultural here, but it seems to me that a popular position was to proclaim that the shallow, ironic age of the nineties was done, too be replaced by a new earnestness, no longer cheapened and mocked by Gen X-er led sarcasm or ennui -- in short, a return to those things that really matter. Country, national security, safety, and so forth.
Wrong.
Look at our lives now, six years after the choking haze of 9/11 lifted. We're much more obsessed with voyeurism and celebrity than we were then, so much so that I can't even remember our obsession at the the turn of the century in comparison. There's no way that late '90s Access Hollywood can compare to TMZ.com in its desire to track and assess celebrity, and there's no way the thirst for unimportant, celebrity-related news can be matched by any time in the past. We must know what people who are wealthier and more well-known than we are eat, do and consume. We see it as our right to know where they go, who they go with and why they can get in and we can't. I read an article in this month's Atlantic Monthly that asserted our obsession is becoming dangerous -- dangerous psychologically, in that we seemingly want these people to suffer for our seeing them in public, and actually physically dangerous, as anyone who's seen paparazzi cars swarming for a shot of Britney Spears or Nicole Ritchie can attest.
So the fuck what? Well, as someone who's studied a fair bit of history, I try to relate to what I'm seeing by comparing it to something I know existed at one point or another. Not a completely accurate, unbiased or clear way to look at things, I'm sure, but it's what I do. Anyway, I see our society, with its shallowness, its focus on brands, profits and market ubiquity, its consumption, and its desire for nothing more than a small taste of being well-known -- I see this and I think of England before World War One.
Like it, our society is troubled by a small war in a far-off place, much like a horse is annoyed by a fly. It's bothersome, but for most, it's an inconvenience that rarely draws our full attention. Instead, we're focused on a material lives, our race to keep up with an upper class that's pulling away from not only the lower class, but also the middle class. Everyone's trying at least to act like they belong with the jet-set, not seeing a looming disaster that will certainly prove to be more than a blip. This event, and I can't pretend to know enough to predict what it will be, will be the cataclysm that 9/11 hinted at.
This is not a threat. This is a plea.
Not much here. Oh, I manage the restaurant in which I've toiled for these past three years. Oh, and I've written one-third of a potentially pretty kick-ass script. Also, I've gotten engaged. And thought of an interesting, viable and relevant documentary idea. But other than that, I got nothing.
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