Monday, October 8, 2007

This Plastered Capitalism

One Sunday afternoon, my Beloved and I were invited to the expansive nouveau-manse of another ex-classmate who doesn't leave comments here.
Bink and his chosen, Craisdara, and their brood, are really a lovely young family struggling to get by on only a budget analyst's salary, a couple of trust funds, and a few government contracts. It was a warm evening and since most of the guests were slumming it there in Rhode Island (the land of docks, rocks, and racing sloops), Bink and Craisdara opted against the overtly Portuguese-sounding caiparinha bar. Everyone brought their own favorite microbrews. One wag even brought his own hefeweisen coordinator, along with his honey-blonde trophy wife and 2.3 children, sans nanny. "Because," they said almost as one, "Even brown people have to get a night off."
To ease the evening for those maters unfamiliar with their children, our hostess had a life-size Eva Longoria PEZ valium dispenser installed in the Dębnik-black and Carara-white marble checkerboard tile foyer. Their Flaschenhals Tonicwater dog stood valiant guard by the lawnboy, and the sullen and bothered older kids were begrudgingly grinding to the sounds of DJ Shadow, who was hired for the night to entertain the kids whenever Arcade Fire left the live YouTube broadcast stage.
My beloved had whipped up a batch of zelnicky and we found we were on the cutting edge once again in the hors d’œuvres category, since the rest of the guests had simply stopped off at the gourmet victualler and only came up with the same old graham cracker chipotle balsamic mustard cole slaw they'd brought to last month's soirée. After all, how could anyone be expected to keep up with the latest in popular Eastern European Oktoberfest peasant delicacies while both the Patriots AND the Red Sox are locked in life-or-death advertising promotions?
By the cast-titanium Interceptor™ grilling unit -- "It'll toast your Margarita Fajitas from zero to sixty in eight seconds," assured my beaming host -- I overheard somebody talking about how she had heard a Christmas commercial on the radio a few days ago and realized that "they've made it all about the money -- All the holidays. So they have to make the cookout season last from March to November and Halloween from August to Halloween and Christmas is all year 'round."
I don't listen to radio much anymore, so I can't verify what she heard. I can, however, agree with her about one thing:
It all is all about the money.
Holiday or not.

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