Mr. X
I've got about 45 minutes to kill in the middle of shooting a corporate video for the biggest fanciest -- possibly shmanciest -- real estate agency in, like, the world. They're located on the upper east side. Not much interesting to do around here and it's way too cold to just wander even though it's a beautiful sunny day. So I'm taking advantage of the free wifi at the apple store.

Heading up here this morning, the subway advertising was a full train-car's worth of beautiful scenic photos trying to lure New Yorkers to the Bahamas for a sunny warm respite from the sunny cold. Everybody depicted frolicking in the ads was white, and reasonably well-off-looking. Practically everybody on the train was non-white, and not terribly well-off-looking. A simple marketing error? Or is it part of a capitalist conspiracy to try and encourage the working class to drink more coffee, work longer hours, really pour it on, go go go go, build more freakin' pyramids and make our masters even wealthier, by dangling the possibility that someday, maybe, before we drop dead of exhaustion, we might be rewarded for our efforts with 5 days on a beach?

The answer is "both."

And there I was, off to spend a day amongst well-heeled rolls-royce chauffered real estate moguls, in order to shoot some terrifically goofy little video skits of them for their upcoming awards dinner. I'm putting in roughly two days of work. They don't have much of a budget for this, so I'm *only* getting two-thousand dollars for my efforts.

I don't mind it at all, but when I'm in a setting like these slick Real Estate offices, I sort of stick out. A lot. But it's good that I come off a bit "artsy" (i.e.: slob) because it makes them feel like they're getting their money's worth, paying for a true "auteur" or some shit. And sometimes, the young, clean, lovely, conservatively-dressed business ladies in their DKNY suits and $400.00 shoes take a shine to me. I'm... intriguing. They look at me sideways. They try to figure out whether I'm dangerous or merely hip (I'm actually neither -- shhh). In Portland, conversely, people mostly assumed I was just another out of work asshole. Ding ding!

And I gotta say, everybody at this gig was perfectly nice to me. They didn't treat me like I was beneath them. They didn't look down their noses at me, like the girls in the Pearl did. Though maybe that's just because I was wearing dress shoes instead of my usual beat-up old red chucks with paint on them. (Footwear bias.) And of course, who the hell knows what they said about me after I left.

On days like this, I can't help dwelling on thoughts of class (in case you couldn't tell). As my friend Jon (not me) recently pointed out, New York City throws it in your face constantly. Other places not so much. True enough I suppose. Though most days I don't FEEL it like I do today.

So let me see if I understand the situation correctly: In all human endeavors there will invariably be some individuals who are more capable and some who are less. Right now, our culture largely accepts that less capable people deserve less. Less material comfort, less basic human dignity. Not a very enlightened approach. And of course, the trait that most determines where you fall on the less vs. more continuum isn't your strong work ethic, as the Republicans would have us believe, but rather your willingness and ability to subjugate others, as the Republicans epitomize. (Actually, it was probably your ancestors' willingness and ability to subjugate/exploit/steal from/etc. others that MOST determines where you fall today.) But in almost every other grouping of humans you can imagine, the stronger, more capable people are not only expected to carry the less capable ones, but will do so freely and pretty much automatically. Not everybody on the basketball team is the high scorer, but the whole team wins. Mommy and Daddy work their asses off... kids eat. Et cetera.

Ah, but maybe if you let the lesser basketball players have the ball a little more often, they might raise their game a little. And obviously you gotta let your kids fend for themselves eventually if they are to ever develop into non-psychos.

But more than anything else, the thing that always kills any serious consideration of, say, socialism in America is this: when you're a capable worker making a great effort all the time, it probably rubs you the wrong way to see somebody who never lifts a finger end up with just as much ice-cream as you. Unless you're a generous person. (But if you are, Adam Smith doesn't think you exist.) Of course, the politicians never point out that the people you are carrying on your back aren't just the welfare recipients at the bottom, but the capitalists at the top as well. The definition of a welfare cheat: someone who wants you to work so they don't have to. The definition of a capitalist: exactly the same thing! Everybody sing!

In Paul Fussell's book "Class" he describes the American status system so keenly (though many of his cultural examples are outdated -- the copyright is 1983) and with such dry wit that it makes for an extremely entertaining read. I first picked up the book in college after my friend Ed recommended it to me, saying that the last chapter was about me, specifically. I was like, "Uh?"

Most of the chapters deal with specific social classes and talk about where they are on the hierarchy, how you can identify members of that class, what makes them tick, their psychology and personality traits and how these manifest in the trappings of their lives etc. etc. But the last chapter is devoted to people who don't fit into a conventional class. He called these people "X" people.

Apparenty, X people...

- make no effort to comply with fashion, propriety, shibboleths, keeping up "appearances" etc.
- often are mistaken for members of classes which we did not come from, in either an upward or downward direction.
- are just as comfortable hangin' with the gutter punks as we are with the socialites
- favor clothing from thrift stores
- might walk around barefoot in the office
- have no use for popular catch phrases unless we are using them ironically
- have eclectic taste in music, cuisines, art, literature, etc.

The overwhelming majority of people, who rigidly and eagerly remain within the confines of the class they were born into for the sake of comfort and even for their very identities, have no idea what to make of X people. They are a class outside of class. A class with no class.

Well, yes. The guy's got my number.

It's as if there are people who have simply grown tired of the class struggle game, and see it for the folly that it is and just refuse to participate in it. Sometimes they even live their lives as a conscious mockery of it. Abi, an ex-girlfriend of mine, used to do this really funny thing where she'd identify certain experiences as belonging to what she called "The Ministry of Colonial Nostalgia." One time, when we were on vacation in Tulum Mexico, we were sitting under a grass shade structure on the beautiful beach sipping afternoon cocktails brought all the way from the bar up the hill right down to us by a smiling brown-skinned Mexican man wearing fancy black and white waiter attire. Though we were happy and relaxed, and happily paying for this delightful service, neither of us could ignore the inherent creepiness of it. Abi broke the tension by affecting a bored supercilious British matronly voice, holding her drink aloft and saying "Lovely job conquering this island... cheers."

Okay, so people and societies are what they are. If there were suddenly no governments and no laws, I imagine most people would continue living the way they already do, just wanting to be left in peace. They might even live more harmoniously than they already do. But a tiny minority of people, the ones most afraid of lack, from petty thieves on up to the Bush family, would exploit the situation and wreak havoc, ruining utopia for the rest of us. Thus, our fractured system in all its gory glory.

I understand doing what you gotta do in order to do what you wanna do. I understand people's ego-driven expectations, hopes and fears. I almost understand going along to get along, and the desire to just fucking fit in. I think it's weak, but you can't blame us for being weak. That's like blaming us for being alive.

Still, I imagine we could do a little better. Just a little? Baby steps?

Okay, gotta return to the video shoot. Whoopee!

Next time: Jon takes it up the ass for America! (As if on cue, an achey Coldplay song just came on the PA in the apple store.)