Mo Money Mo Problems
Well, now that it's completely old news, I guess it's about time I weigh in on July's City Paper cover story about venerable D.C. institution, Late Night Shots. I'm sure that once again I'm the last blogger in the city to comment, but with maybe four of you out there, I can't imagine anyone will mind.
Now, I'll preface this by saying that two or three times in my life I've been called a rich kid. And this has always been an odd thing for me to hear.
You see, while I did grow up in a large-ish house in Rockville, we lived in Rockville, not in Potomac.
And while we still lived in Rockville, we lived on the East side of 270, not the West side.
While I did go to private school, I went to a Catholic school. (And for the record, no, it wasn't one of the two wealthy Catholic high schools in the D.C. area).
While my mom's family was based in Cleveland Park, they lived on the Wisconsin Ave side, in a shared wall/row home, not in one of the towering Newark Street compounds. (And this was in the 40's, long before the NW D.C. housing market became what it's been for eons).
And no, I've never been given a car (new, used, stolen or otherwise) as a gift. No, my folks have never paid my rent. Yes, I have been employed since eighth grade, and, no, I did not get a single one of those jobs through any sort of family connection.
I have never been to camp, no one in my family has never been a member of a country club, and none of us has ever owned a boat of any kind.
But here's the deal: If you grew up poor....or even if you grew up underprivileged or decidedly working class (my Dad fell in somewhere within that range in 1940's coaltown, PA), those distinctions don't mean a damned thing. East side, West side, Connecticut Ave. side, Wisconsin Ave. side....A big whatever. To them, you're getting by just fine, and you probably have a little scratch left over at the end of the month. Your family goes out for dinner a lot, your family goes on vacation every year. Guess what? To most of the world, that makes you a rich kid.
But to actually wealthy people? Let me tell you, we were merely middle class...maybe upper middle class. Those petty distinctions -- all those things I say to assure people that "well, no we aren't actually rich" -- trust me, those distinctions are anything but subtle. They are enormous to those people with actual wealth.
I say this to illustrate that to some extent I do feel some sympathy for the insecurities one can develop when you realize that people just might resent your upbringing. Everyone wants to be loved for who they are, or at least have a shot of being liked for who they are. And growing up with more toys that other people will certainly diminish your chances.
All of that said, I've very much learned over the years to despise the kind of rich kids one finds on the streets of Georgetown.
Long before I'd heard of Late Night Shots, long before Collin Finnerty was found guilty of chasing an innocent stranger down Wisconsin Ave., threatening violence and repeatedly calling him a faggot (by the way Loyola, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU THINKING? Fucking Jesuits!), long before Bourbon was overtaken with young Republicans who left coke residue all over the bathroom, I knew all too well the perverted attitude delivered by kids who have grown up in an environment of entitlement and superiority.
I've seen the culture fairly close up, and I dislike it on a number of levels. I'm quite accustomed to feeling unwelcome in their bars, in their neighborhoods, at their parties. The few times I befriended kids who grew up with any moderate wealth, I learned to recognize all too well their parents' disapproval of me as a friend to their child.
I got by. I made lots of friends. I'm pretty happy with who I am. And life turned out to be more or less....well, wonderful, when you think about it.
But the City Paper story (which, no matter how much pleasure I took from it, was a decidedly unbalanced hit job on an easy target) forced me to try and think of those kinds in Late Night Shots. I kind of felt like they had a right to defend themselves in the story. I felt that they didn't really deserve to have their full names published in the piece. I kind of felt like they should get a chance to respond.
THEN I reviewed the 500+ comments left at the end of the story on the CP's Web site.
Holy fuck... I fully realize that any message board will attract some flies and some trolls, and that sometimes you just need to take Internet posts with a grain of salt. But the comments -- CONSISTENTLY espousing hateful, elitist and even racist sentiments, reinforced just about each and every awful thought I've ever had about rich kinds and their shitty attitudes towards the rest of the world.
The most telling comments in my opinion, were the two following posts:
"possumfest" offered: " We are better athletes, smarter in business, more attractive, tougher, and, in general, winners of the genetic lottery."
...while MGR chimed in: "At the end of the day, they hate because they are jealous. Jealous of our priviledge [SIC], jealous of our economic success, jealous of our fun. I hate to say it but they hate us for the same reasons the terrorists do."
And now I get it. It all comes back to what I started with -- the undying insecurity that comes with wealth. The soul-crushing doubts that one faces when you just don't know if people love you for who you are or for what you have. The last defense one has when one finally learns that, no, all those people that you've been taught are beneath you...they do not automatically, by necessity, admire you.
And so early on, you're taught....repeat after me...."They're just jealous."
No, people don't hate you because you're selfish. No, they don't hate you because you're cruel. No, they don't hate you because your friends and neighbors manage to get away with crimes the rest of us would go to jail for. And they don't hate you because you are shallow and materialistic.
That's right, there's only one reason that most Americans hate you....Just keep telling yourself that its because they are *jealous* of you.
Five hundred eighty three very angry posts later, I know one thing for certain:
Say what you want, but you rich kids CARE what we think. You obviously care a whole lot, otherwise you wouldn't feel so scorned by this article. Otherwise you wouldn't have responded with so unbelievably much small-minded hate.
It hurts that we don't admire you, that we don't want to be like you, and that in the spare moments that we give you any thought at all, we tend to mock you.
But I guess it's just because we're so jealous, right?
Now, I'll preface this by saying that two or three times in my life I've been called a rich kid. And this has always been an odd thing for me to hear.
You see, while I did grow up in a large-ish house in Rockville, we lived in Rockville, not in Potomac.
And while we still lived in Rockville, we lived on the East side of 270, not the West side.
While I did go to private school, I went to a Catholic school. (And for the record, no, it wasn't one of the two wealthy Catholic high schools in the D.C. area).
While my mom's family was based in Cleveland Park, they lived on the Wisconsin Ave side, in a shared wall/row home, not in one of the towering Newark Street compounds. (And this was in the 40's, long before the NW D.C. housing market became what it's been for eons).
And no, I've never been given a car (new, used, stolen or otherwise) as a gift. No, my folks have never paid my rent. Yes, I have been employed since eighth grade, and, no, I did not get a single one of those jobs through any sort of family connection.
I have never been to camp, no one in my family has never been a member of a country club, and none of us has ever owned a boat of any kind.
But here's the deal: If you grew up poor....or even if you grew up underprivileged or decidedly working class (my Dad fell in somewhere within that range in 1940's coaltown, PA), those distinctions don't mean a damned thing. East side, West side, Connecticut Ave. side, Wisconsin Ave. side....A big whatever. To them, you're getting by just fine, and you probably have a little scratch left over at the end of the month. Your family goes out for dinner a lot, your family goes on vacation every year. Guess what? To most of the world, that makes you a rich kid.
But to actually wealthy people? Let me tell you, we were merely middle class...maybe upper middle class. Those petty distinctions -- all those things I say to assure people that "well, no we aren't actually rich" -- trust me, those distinctions are anything but subtle. They are enormous to those people with actual wealth.
I say this to illustrate that to some extent I do feel some sympathy for the insecurities one can develop when you realize that people just might resent your upbringing. Everyone wants to be loved for who they are, or at least have a shot of being liked for who they are. And growing up with more toys that other people will certainly diminish your chances.
All of that said, I've very much learned over the years to despise the kind of rich kids one finds on the streets of Georgetown.
Long before I'd heard of Late Night Shots, long before Collin Finnerty was found guilty of chasing an innocent stranger down Wisconsin Ave., threatening violence and repeatedly calling him a faggot (by the way Loyola, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU THINKING? Fucking Jesuits!), long before Bourbon was overtaken with young Republicans who left coke residue all over the bathroom, I knew all too well the perverted attitude delivered by kids who have grown up in an environment of entitlement and superiority.
I've seen the culture fairly close up, and I dislike it on a number of levels. I'm quite accustomed to feeling unwelcome in their bars, in their neighborhoods, at their parties. The few times I befriended kids who grew up with any moderate wealth, I learned to recognize all too well their parents' disapproval of me as a friend to their child.
I got by. I made lots of friends. I'm pretty happy with who I am. And life turned out to be more or less....well, wonderful, when you think about it.
But the City Paper story (which, no matter how much pleasure I took from it, was a decidedly unbalanced hit job on an easy target) forced me to try and think of those kinds in Late Night Shots. I kind of felt like they had a right to defend themselves in the story. I felt that they didn't really deserve to have their full names published in the piece. I kind of felt like they should get a chance to respond.
THEN I reviewed the 500+ comments left at the end of the story on the CP's Web site.
Holy fuck... I fully realize that any message board will attract some flies and some trolls, and that sometimes you just need to take Internet posts with a grain of salt. But the comments -- CONSISTENTLY espousing hateful, elitist and even racist sentiments, reinforced just about each and every awful thought I've ever had about rich kinds and their shitty attitudes towards the rest of the world.
The most telling comments in my opinion, were the two following posts:
"possumfest" offered: " We are better athletes, smarter in business, more attractive, tougher, and, in general, winners of the genetic lottery."
...while MGR chimed in: "At the end of the day, they hate because they are jealous. Jealous of our priviledge [SIC], jealous of our economic success, jealous of our fun. I hate to say it but they hate us for the same reasons the terrorists do."
And now I get it. It all comes back to what I started with -- the undying insecurity that comes with wealth. The soul-crushing doubts that one faces when you just don't know if people love you for who you are or for what you have. The last defense one has when one finally learns that, no, all those people that you've been taught are beneath you...they do not automatically, by necessity, admire you.
And so early on, you're taught....repeat after me...."They're just jealous."
No, people don't hate you because you're selfish. No, they don't hate you because you're cruel. No, they don't hate you because your friends and neighbors manage to get away with crimes the rest of us would go to jail for. And they don't hate you because you are shallow and materialistic.
That's right, there's only one reason that most Americans hate you....Just keep telling yourself that its because they are *jealous* of you.
Five hundred eighty three very angry posts later, I know one thing for certain:
Say what you want, but you rich kids CARE what we think. You obviously care a whole lot, otherwise you wouldn't feel so scorned by this article. Otherwise you wouldn't have responded with so unbelievably much small-minded hate.
It hurts that we don't admire you, that we don't want to be like you, and that in the spare moments that we give you any thought at all, we tend to mock you.
But I guess it's just because we're so jealous, right?
Labels: assholes, late night shots, rich
posted by t-o-n at 7:14 PM
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