Clueless Luxury

Have you ever seen Clueless? or any other movie that depicts very wealthy, spoiled individuals absolutely clueless about reality? as in they honestly feel they're being tortured when daddy makes them drive a Honda to school? Or when they're shocked that someone would not have $500 in his/her wallet at any given moment?

I never thought these were based on real people.

But I guess they were.

Go ahead laugh at me. I suppose I'M the clueless one being shocked each time I'm faced with someone who thinks living paycheck to paycheck means owning 4 houses (2 of them appraised at over $1million), having several tens of thousands in savings, and over $100k in his 401k account.

A couple years ago I was slapped into reality by a woman I consider very kind suddenly blurting out "you wouldn't want someone renting from you who couldn't afford the $60 westside rentals subscription. yuck!" Everyone in the room shuddered in agreement.

*I* am one of those who cannot afford the $60 westside rentals subscription.

Someone very close to me- close enough to know I lived without heat in my home from Sept-December last year. Who knew my only access to food August-December was scrounging up the free stuff at volunteer events or demo tables in stores. He told me he is, by no means, living a life of luxury.

This person owns several homes. Drives a leather-interior, Harmon Kardon stereo, convertible 2008 BMW. He eats most meals at restaurants where it's impossible to dine for less than $25. Every meal is organic. Most are gourmet. He has reverse-osmosis installed in his home. His dogs get walked by a professional weekly. They eat raw food. They are cared for by nationally-respected holistic veterinary doctors. He has a full-time accountant managing his money, investments, spending. Advising him how to spend during the year to reduce his taxes to the point some years he gets refunds greater than most Americans' annual salaries. He has a woman come every month to his home and scrub the place clean so he doesn't have to.

This man- telling me he loves me and considered me for his wife- knowing I starved and froze the last 3 months of our relationship - knowing I've been homeless since December.... this man tells me, in the expectation I will offer compassion, he doesn't live in any kind of luxury.

And again, I'm shocked. Shocked that someone could be so out of touch with reality. To drive a luxury car, eat luxury meals every meal every day, to own several homes, to work less than 40hours a week in exchange for a salary 5 times what my greatest salary was (and I worked 50-75 hours a week!).... and to seek compassion for his hard knocks bare bones lifestyle.

I'm shocked and angry. I'm angry at him and all the people like him. and all the people worse than him. I know, theoretically, there are people worse than him. He's one of the good guys actually. I'm giving him the bum rap here- He really is one of the good guys.

But absolutely clueless.

Don't you want these people to be stripped of their money, assets. supportive families? For a couple years? Not knowing they'll ever have security in their lives again? Don't you want them to experience reality for a bit? I don't mean in a cruel vindictive way... I just mean in an educational way.

Sort of like that rule of thought that every person should be required to work as a waiter or busboy for 2 years so they can appreciate what service-industry people deal with.

Just that.

Just an educational, get a grip on reality type of deal.

Of course, if I were some tortured, raped, starving, oppressed woman in Africa, I'd probably be writing about that stupid, shallow, self-absorbed, self-pitying white woman in Chicago who doesn't appreciate the fact she can walk her dog for an hour at dusk without fear of being attacked and her genitals mutilated.

Then again, I'm aware of that good fortune. That I'm indeed living in luxury. Sleeping on my mother's couch. Ruled by her whims and needs. Survived 3 months of freezing--- me, my dog, my 3-month old kittens all curled up with each other every night trying to use our collective body heat to stay warm. Taking turns not eating for 24 hours to stretch out the free food I gathered and the little funds I had. THAT is still luxury.

There's worse. much worse out there. I'm living in luxury just by the fact I live in the United States. I have never lived in war. I have never lived in the projects where war-like conditions are a daily reality for kids right here. A couple miles from my mom's cushy little cozy home south side of Chicago.

How can anyone living in the United States look someone in the eye and say "it's not like I'm living a life of luxury?"

How can you be worth over a million dollars, working less than 40hours a week, and look your homeless ex-girlfriend in the eyes and say "I love you, always loved you, will always love you...I'm struggling too, no luxury for me...oh, I guess luxury is relative"

It's not relative my friend. If you're not starving, not freezing, not homeless, not in fear of being shot/knifed/raped/bombed... you are living in luxury.

Then again, this is the person who stormed off from a discussion about the world and politics and who's leading our world....stating "ugh, who wants to sit through this?! Get me out of here. Where's that Seth Rogan movie playing?"

Wake up. Look around. Get a clue. There's oodles to find if you get your head out of the movie theatre and into those projects down the street from your million dollar home.

Why hello Brad...

I had a dream last night.

I was in my mother's car. In Chicago Heights. Joe Orr Road. Waiting at a stop light. Dark. Stormy. Wicked stormy. Just-so-close-to-a-tornado stormy.

Two tall men are running in the rain to my car. I can tell they're running with the intent to get in and take over. I'm afraid.

C'mon I'm in Chicago Heights at some god forsaken hour with 2 tall men coming at me, how could I not be terrified?

One of them gets in the driver's side, pushing me over so he can take control. The other gets in the back seat.

The guy in the driver's seat is Brad Pitt.

His friend is George Clooney.

They're both grateful to be out of the storm and George is beaming and laughing and chatting away.

I'm so stunned I don't question why they're here or where Brad is taking us.

I find myself in Brad's home. I guess he has a place in Chicago. Or Indiana (Chicago Heights is very close to the state border). Or maybe he drove us all the way to New Orleans and I didn't notice seeing as Brad f*&king Pitt was driving me with George Clooney in back.

I'm immediately handed a pomegranate martini. Organic natch. People are milling about. Friendly vibe. But VIP as well. It's some sort of secret underground fundraiser. Only the really cool, hip, smart -- yet incredibly kind -- people have been invited. Brad wanted to make sure I got there. His home is amazing. Beautiful. Modern. All sustainable. Everything in there is recycled, organic, environmentally and politically conscious.

It's kinda David Lynchian tho...

Downstairs a presentation has begun. A woman speaks. She's a former drug addict gushing with thanks to Brad, George and their foundation for pulling her out of her self-induced gutter and saving her life from drugs. We're all crying from her story. She buckles over. I see her convulse as one does when vomiting. She stands back up, wiping her mouth, uttering "I'm fine...really I'm fine, dont' worry I'm fine" She's obviously wasted in some meth/heroine wacked out desert.

My body is kidnapped by horror. Shame. Despair. Failure. I quickly turn away and walk as far from the presentation as possible. I can't take it. I can't handle watching the failure.

And yet while walking away crying, shaking, praying I'm also thinking "whoa I hope John Cusack is seeing how deeply touched I am by this woman's plight. He would totally want to meet me impressed with my sensitivity and depth."

I overhear Brad or maybe George on the mike announcing to the crowd how everything is ok because my mother is there to help and she has already rescued the woman. He goes on to agree with everyone on the greatness of my mother-- her saint-like life. Everyone applauds and celebrates the good, selfless, miracle-giving life of my mother the heroine.

I get myself together and return to the main room.

It's clear while I was gone wait staff served organic, locally grown gourmet vegan and raw food. Exotic food too. All indescribably yummy. All untouchably expensive and rare.

But now it's all gone. I get a crumb of some goat cheese off a plate.

People wander finishing off their 2nd drinks. Champagne. very very very insanely expensive and delicious champagne. I want to have a glass, but the staff is cleaning up and the crowd is thinning and I worry if I grab a 2nd glass I'll look desperate for the alcohol and, thus, labelled an alcoholic.

So I just stand there. Alone. Hungry. Sad.

Feeling like the poor, hungry outsider I've always felt like growing up. Standing in the classroom alone watching all the kids laugh and play on the jungle gym. Sitting alone in my apartment watching all the people giggle and stumble with each other down the sidewalk late into the night.

But I shared this dream with my mother and she said it's positive. And I think, "Brad Pitt and George Clooney get into my car and insist on driving me to a VIP party at Brad's home--- you needed a degree in Psych from the University of Chicago to decipher this as a positive story?"