Everybody wants a box of chocolates, 24

20 03 2018

Too much money makes people weird.

I am not at all opposed to weird—I got a whole series on “weird wonder”—but man, the weirdness that comes out of wealth often ranges from the pitiful(ly out of touch with the rest of the human world) to the just plain creepy.

I’m not quite sure where to put this:

The audacious real estate project – branded Powder Mountain – is becoming a mecca for altruistically minded members of the global elite. “The goal will always remain the same,” says Elliott Bisnow, Rosenthal’s business partner: “To be a beacon of inspiration and a light in the world.”

A mountain retreat for the psychographically correct billionaire as beacon. Huh.

The beautiful surroundings and unique blend of people, Rosenthal believes, will create the “exponential opportunities of the future”. “I have this whole rap with Gertrude Stein, Katharine Graham, De’ Medici, Bauhaus. There’s this rich history of groups coming together, where the whole is more than the sum of the parts, right?” he says. “I think that’s what’s happening here.”

Again: huh.

It’s not just rich folks on a mountain, though; it’s also rich folks thinking something like this is a good idea:

Further Future, a gathering in the Nevada desert attended by the ex-Google CEO Eric Schmidt, which has been described as “Burning Man for the 1%”, promises a culture of “mindful optimism, wonder and exploration”. . . .

Oh, god. Burn it all.

Anyway, back to Powder Mountain (which, really, that’s the best name you could come up with? Powder fucking Mountain? Christ, I think there’s some 75′ snowhill in south-central Wisconsin called Powder Mountain): of course, it would be gauche actually to discuss MONEYMONEYMONEY at a place like this:

Rosenthal had told me I would be immersed in a community of “polymaths” and “savants”, but they would be a humble bunch. “If people are really like ‘oooh’, showing off, showing you pictures of their supercars or some shit at the dinner table? Probably not a cultural fit at Summit,” he says. . . . .

Like others, I had been quietly schooled in the unwritten social rules. Asking someone what they do is considered a faux pas (the socially acceptable alternative is “What is your passion?”). Business cards, I was warned, should not be exchanged in a brazen way.

So, okay to exchange those cards, just not “brazenly”.

Oh, and I don’t need to mention the talks take place in a yurt-ish structure, do I?

For years the team worked remotely in Amsterdam, Tel Aviv, New York, Miami and Barcelona. They would combine work with snowboarding in Montana and surfing in Nicaragua. But by late 2011, the friends were approaching 30 and starting to travel less. They were living and working out of a mansion in Malibu and, Rosenthal recalls, hosting “amazing dinners that became pretty culturally significant in LA at that time”.

I. . . what?

I [journalist Paul Lewis] steer the conversation to the subject of how utterly detached from the real world elites seem to have become. “Elitism, the way I would define it, is obtainable,” he replies. “All that stands between you and being elite is your own investment in yourself.”

I invest myself in sleep: I am a sleep-elite! And cheese! I am a cheese-elite!

Oh my god, I hadn’t read all the way through, and just stumbled on this (after Lewis had pressed him about hard work not always leading to wealth):

“What are you doing to create the utility for yourself? Are you introducing people so they can collaborate?” he says. Struggling Americans, he adds, might want to “host a dinner. Invite 10 strangers. See what happens.”

Rosenthal presses on with his thesis, telling me there are just not enough people in the world who will “excessively commit their lives to something. Journalism, cheese, automobiles, whatever. Rocket ships – perfect example. Everyone wants to work at SpaceX, no one wants to go to engineering school.” [emphasis added]

“Everyone wants to eat cheese but no one wants to milk the cow!” I am an aphorism-elite! Pay me monies to talk at your rich people!

There is, of course, more of this, because there’s always more of this. I mean, these people are so ridiculous that I almost feel a little bad pointing out how ridiculous they are.

When I hitch a ride in Chawla’s SUV, he tells me how he came to invest in Powder Mountain. He had just been on a disappointing trip to Verbier, a resort in the Swiss Alps where the food was “not that progressive”. Utah, he says, made for a refreshing change. “I bumped into 30 of my friends. I didn’t have to do anything. The food was amazing,” he says. “There was a moment when they served coconut water.” Coconut water was the very thing he’d been craving in Switzerland. At that moment, he thought to himself, “These guys just get me.” He adds: “I thought, you know what, I’d love to support this project.”

But then I remember they’re all billionaires with their snoots so far up their own asses they sneeze into their large intestines—

He tells me he’s “still evolving”. He’s been meditating, reading, learning about ecology and sustainable farming. If Bisnow is committed to altruism, why is the Summit Institute, the not-for-profit wing of his empire, so minuscule, with an annual budget that is a fraction of what it cost to build his house?

“We’ve just been so busy with so many things, we thought there’s no rush,” he replies. “Why not just slowly ramp it up?”

—and I think, Fuck ’em.

Advertisements




You can be active with the activists

19 03 2018

Cynthia Nixon is running for governor of New York. Huh.

That’s a real, not snarky, “huh”: I don’t like Cuomo and thus am interested in any Dem who’d run against him, and don’t know enough about Nixon to have an opinion one way or another.

Yeah, I generally think it’s a good idea for candidates to have political experience at the lower levels before running for higher levels, but, unlike the presidency, I don’t think that’s an absolute requirement for other offices. And she has been politically active for years, which does count.

As for policies: she’s in favor of fixing the MTA, (which, jesus, someone should be) and opposed to the Independent Democratic Conference (which gave the Republicans control of the Senate), and she highlights the screaming inequality in our state—so, y’know, righteous on the basics.

It’ll take more than basics, of course, not least because other candidates (if there are other candidates) will also be righteous: she’ll need to lay out a framework for how she plans to govern, that is, what skills she’ll bring to move her agenda through the fetid mire that is New York state politics.

I don’t know if she has those skills, but she’s got time to show what she could do; if I’m not yet convinced, I am convince-able.

After all, she does start with one significant advantage:

 





We celebrate the land that made us refugees

17 03 2018

Happy feckin’ St Paddy’s Day.

Sláinte!





Weird wonder #43, update

14 03 2018

Alas, the last of the Oldman Cats has died.

I reprinted one of the the dialogues here, but you can find more old-cat wisdom scattered across his writings for Lawyers, Guns & Money, including this bit:

OLDMAN MUND: I SO FUCKING BUFF I DO CROSSFOOT

SEK: You mean CrossFit?

OLDMAN MUND: CROSSFOOT MAKE ME SO FUCKING BUFF

SEK: You don’t do CrossFit — but you’re annoying as people who do, so there’s that.

OLDMAN MUND: FUCK YEAH I DO CROSSFOOT I DO IT RIGHT NOW

SEK: That’s not CrossFit — that’s you crossing your feet.

OLDMAN MUND: FUCK YEAH I CROSSFOOT

SEK: Why do you even —

OLDMAN MUND: I SO FUCKING BUFF

SEK: No, you’re old and feeble, so you cross your feet when you walk and —

OLDMAN MUND: CROSSFOOT MOTHERFUCKER SO FUCKING BUFF

SEK: I’m gonna let you have this.

OLDMAN MUND: LIKE YOU HAVE CHOICE I WILL CROSSFUCK YOU UP

SEK: That’s not even a —

OLDMAN MUND: YOU SHUT UP NOW I GO BE FUCKING BUFF OVER HERE

SEK was Scott Eric Kaufman, and it is in the past tense that another, bigger, Alas lies: Scott died in the fall of 2016 from a chronic medical problem that turned acute.

I never met him, never interacted with him, but even now, writing this, I’m tearing up, because he was young, and smart, and funny, and kind, and he brought his whole human self to his writing. Check out the encomiums to him.

I don’t quite believe in an afterlife, but if there is one, it’d be nice to think Oldman cats Virgil and Sigmund are hassling SEK about mofungo and sideways hopping at all of the strange noises in the great beyond.





Take a minute to concentrate

12 03 2018

My students did not sign up for 28 days of cursing.

I’m teaching American government this semester, the first time in 5 1/2 years, and I pretty much don’t mention the current occupant of the White House.

I mean, I will mention “Trump” or “the president” if it’s relevant, but otherwise I am zipping ze lips.

Again, my students did not sign up for 28 days of cursing.

I know, it’s been over a year, and I haven’t gotten used to . . . our current situation. Part of me thinks this is good—this is not a normal presidency, and Congressional Republicans are dodging the fuck out of their institutional duties—and that becoming inured to how fucked we are is half a step from accepting it.

But another part of me is like Come ON already, get off your ass and MOVE. Things may be terrible, but there are chances, still, for something better.

Shit, you’ve heard all of this from me before; in fact, this is a big part of why I haven’t written much of late: I’d just be repeating myself.

Grrr, stuckness sucks.

Half a thought emerges, and I think, Oh, and then             it drifts away.

Drifting, huh, too much of it this past year, in every way. Time to gather the scatterings and chase after those drifts.