I may never forgive myself for saying this, but I understand Randy Moss. Not because I have corn rows or I’m a diva wide receiver with a hyper-inflated sense of self-importance, but because I was a poor kid who grew up to have a little money in his pocket.
Thus, I was empathically in tune with Moss when I read that his dismissal from the Minnesota Vikings might be partially related to a tantrum he threw in the locker room upon discovering the catered grub provided by a local restaurateur wasn’t up to his Michelin-star standards.
I had to eat a lot of crappy food as a kid, and I don’t like to eat crappy food anymore. It’s emotionally painful. I feel ya, Randy.
Where you strayed from the saccharine plot of the Horatio Alger stories we live (well, my life is more like Judy Blume meets Danielle Steel, but that’s another column) was your despicable treatment of your fellow man.
Nobody likes rich people, we know that. But rich is relative. I have friends and family who think I’m rich, but I can’t afford a two-bedroom condo in San Francisco. I complain about my real-estate-related financial frustration to make a point—it’s a dick thing to do, so don’t do it.
Everyone hates people in San Francisco because a certain lot of us make a comfortable living but complain about parking meter rate increases and the lack of condos with Brazilian wood floors AND a Viking stove. It’s very important to have both, but it’s also very important that no one ever finds out that it’s very important to you.
Rich people have a lot of secret meeting places, most of which I’m not yet invited to. As a future very rich person, I implore the currently wealthy to gather their status-conferring lockets and come together to draw up a No Asshole Treaty.
All wealth is at least partially attributable to luck. Any self-aware successful person will tell you that. If we can all agree to squash the impetuous tempers of certain loudmouthed members of the elite, perhaps we can get things done. Things like extended Bush tax cuts, permanent abolition of estate taxes, less unionization, and more privatization of education. You know, things that are good for rich people.
I come from the Midwest, and I know a lot of people who come from not much but have persevered and come into something. I by no means am averring that financial success is the only arbiter of personal or human success, but it is one way we keep score. I for one am to this day driven by canned beets, free school lunch tickets, and cardboard Toughskin jeans, childhood memories I care not to have my unborn children relive. I fully concede I didn’t have it that bad, I just always wanted better.
When you don’t have money, all you talk about is money. My family couldn’t have a discussion that didn’t somehow wind its way back to how there wasn’t enough money. Ironically, once you get a little cash, any discussion thereof is strictly verboten, in a capitalist society that supposedly idealizes personal financial gain as the ultimate enabler of broader national prosperity.
Randy, eat your Del Monte lima beans and go get paid. We can rock some truffles and caviar safely behind the tinted windows of your Bentley when everyone else goes to sleep.
But remember, Twitter never sleeps.