Survivor Does Wall Street

Don't believe everything you read. I learned this important lesson anew just moments ago when I opened up today's Wall Street Journal and saw their version of this letter I sent them a week ago: "Jaqueline Siegel and her husband David, whose shameless and self-indulgent lifestyle was profiled in your paper ("The Wild Ride of the 1%" Review, Oct. 22-23), represent the very worst of the human condition. They and their kind are the problem, not the banks or the politicians or Congress. Reading about their decision to build a 90,000 square-foot, single-family home at a cost of $50 million because, as Mr. Siegel said, "I couldn't spend all the money I was making," sent shivers down my spine. The fact that they they are passing on their greed to their eight children is an even more horrifying thought. One wonders what would happen if the Siegels were magically transported to the heart of the Occupy Wall Street protest and left there to explain themselves--now that's a reality TV show I would happily watch!"

 

Harsh words indeed, and I meant every one of them!  But here is what appeared in the paper today:

David and Jaqueline Siegel, whose shameless and self-indulgent lifestyle was profiled in   "The Wild Ride of the 1% " (Review, Oct. 22), are the problem, not the banks or the politicians or Congress. Reading about their decision to build a 90,000-square-foot, single-family home at a cost of $50 million because, as Mr. Siegel says, "I couldn't spend all the money I was making," sent shivers down my spine.

Gone are their eight children who surely will inherit their greed and spread it, procreating with the offspring of other greedy folks. Gone is the statement that they represent the very worst of the human condition, a fact that should never be forgotten by anyone who envies their lot. Worst of all, gone is one great idea for a reality show pitting the Siegels against the "Occupy Wall Street" protesters. I'd watch that--wouldn't you?

Occupy This

Imagine the doorbell rings and you answer it to find a plastic bag containing a long, black wig. You have no idea who wore it, but it's obviously been worn. It sort of smells funny from years of sweat or washings or storage in musty places. I know I would be freaked out and throw it in the trash immediately. I might even carry the trash out to the street, that's how freaked out I would be. Now imagine you are at an auction and bidding on celebrity detritus where that same wig, once the property of singer Michael Jackson, goes for $60,000. The person who buys it takes it home and.....does what with it? Perhaps places it on a shelf next to "the glove," which went for $275,000.

The fact that there are so many rich people who have so little idea of what to do with all their money is infuriating. Instead of whining about evil bankers and mean old Republicans, those would-be hippies and parroting protesters should Occupy Hollywood. Or Central Park West, Malibu, Vail, Chevy Chase and Shaker Heights! Occupy The Hamptons! Occupy Beverly Hills and Orange County! Occupy any or all of Barbra Streisand's five homes! Go camp out on the lawn of a mansion in Newport, Rhode Island, where the people inside the iron gates actually have the money made on Wall Street!

Now that's a revolution.

Money Isn't Everything

Back when my son was in nursery school I had a philosophical debate with Cindy Hibberts, his very wonderful, if misguided, teacher. She insisted that each child have the same amount of time riding the one little tricycle available during recess. One day a youngster was happily tooling around the playground when suddenly Cindy clapped her hands loudly and yelled out, "Okay Will, get off the bike now, it's Julia's turn." Naturally Will, being only three, began to cry, and with good reason: he was having such a good time! I asked Cindy why he had to stop when Julia could always do something else, like climb on the monkey bars or play in the sandbox. "No, everyone gets five minutes on the bike, that's it. His time is up," Cindy insisted, adding, "otherwise it wouldn't be fair." But life isn't like that, I argued. "It is here," she replied, carefully counting out one juice box, three cookies and five apple slices for each child's snack.

Soon enough I was having to explain to my son why that kid had a better bike or another kid won the spelling bee or why we weren't going skiing in Aspen over Christmas break. By the time he was in third grade, Zack had pretty much figured out that life isn't fair, despite all that phony-baloney nonsense at the start. Not everyone has been so insightful, most especially all those kids camping out at all the Occupy Wall Street playgrounds dotting the country. They're stuck with nursery school thinking. In fact, many adults did not get the memo that LIFE IS NOT FAIR and that some people have more than others. What's odd is that the public outrage concerning this cold, hard fact centers only on wealth, when the unfairness permeates other areas as well.

The truth of this hit me in the face last night while watching a TV interview with singer Harry Connick, Jr.  Not only is Connick extremely handsome and extraordinarily talented, but he's been happily married for almost 20 years to a former Victoria's Secret supermodel. Together they have three beautiful daughters, none of whom were born with spina bifida or cerebral palsy or Tay-Sachs or learning disorders or fatal flaws of any kind. They all live in a fabulous home in a pastoral Connecticut suburb, splitting their time between a nurturing family life and flying around the world to all sorts of exciting events. Harry works tirelessly for charity and since Hurricane Katrina has devoted himself to rebuilding his native city of New Orleans, where he grew up under the loving guidance of his father, the District Attorney, and his mother, a federal judge. Harry seems quite intelligent and has a great sense of humor, and besides singing he has acted in many movies and on TV.  Oh yeah, he is also extremely rich.

Now, think of a poor, fatherless child born with fetal-alcohol syndrome into an inner-city ghetto to an ugly, meth-addicted mother, living in a rat-and-roach-infested hole in the wall in a burned-out slum. Why just ask the government for money and health insurance--how about looks and talent and brains? Why not demand that Congress make everyone beautiful? Cosmetic surgery for all! Diet and exercise programs for the fat and out of shape! Free rehab for drug addiction! Tutors for dummies! Fix up my house! Make my sister smart and not nuts! In fact, I always wanted a brother...give me one!

Come on people, fair is fair.

Protesting the Protesters

If you're in your late teens or early 20s and have nothing better to do but go to class and learn something, you might saunter on down to Wall Street in Manhattan, or any of the franchise protests that have sprung up in cities around the country. There you can find like-minded stoners with lots of pierced parts and groovy tattoos who are also against the same things you are, which seems to include just about everything.

Having seen and heard several radio and TV interviews with many of the protesters, I'm stunned that so few of them seem intelligent. When asked their opinions on the Dodd-Feingold financial reforms, 15 in a row had never heard of them, didn't know of either Dodd or Feingold, and could care less. Shouting out "corporations are evil" and "money sucks," and holding signs suggesting we "get the riches away from the rich!" or "end capitalism!" seems to be de riguer, regardless of any basis in fact. One young woman said that "everything would be fine if we just didn't have any money." The mind boggles.

In my day, at least we were armed with the facts before we made complete fools of ourselves. I know I certainly did, except for that one time when I went along with some friends for a Sunday afternoon drive to Fort Dix, an army base in New Jersey, where a protest was going on to "Free the Fort Dix 48!" Or was it 38? Anyway, I had no idea who they were or why they weren't free, but it seemed like a good time and I was dating one of the guys and we were going out for pizza after, so what harm could there be? Plenty, it turned out, when the Army brought out the tear gas and I got a taste of that stuff on the front lines. My vision hasn't been quite right since.

Call me madcap, but I suspect that the lion's share of all those "occupiers" are just as ignorant as I was back then. On the other hand, at least they're getting some fresh air for a change.