Wednesday, August 16, 2000

 

10:53 p.m. Ooooh. I'm so glad I've been able to talk about the weekend's scam and all the feelings associated with it. For once, this web site is right there, cold stethoscope pressed right to my chestbone, measuring the real emotions. I so so so so so so so so much wanted to be rich. But here I am, another day not rich.

This photo was taken at the art show I went to Saturday night, when we just weren't sure. Was the guy from Togo on the level? Were we suddenly going to be transported up and over this crowd, floating high? Could I afford to say to the artist (Janine Cooper -- I promise to do a whole entry on just you, Janine ... and when you see how cute she is, you'll say I should have brushed aside the Togo story and just devoted the words to Janine) -- could I afford to say with a sweep of my arm: "I'll buy the whole lot!"

Could I afford to leave the ranks of those below -- the lady with the drink in hand, a fellow writer? The lady with the antique slip outfit, which she made herself? The fine folks and the kind folks, but not the folks with the big bucks.

Ah, to be rich.

I guess I'm just too good at being poor. If I had to, I could live for one whole entire year and maybe even longer on the food currently in my kitchen. Most of the clothes in my closet are twenty, thirty years old ... or they came in via the street. Ditto most of the furniture. Ask my poor kids -- they can tell you what it's like to rip open the wrapping paper on library books on Christmas morning, or to actually live without central heating in the middle of the coldest winter on record in New Jersey.

Did I mention that I haven't been to a doctor in 30 years? That I've watched that whole mammogram fad come and go, and the closest I've come to one was watching Ellen get her breasts mashed against the screen on her show? I'm poor. Poor. Feisty, but poor. I am so ready to be rich.

Sure, it was a scam. Here, by popular demand, is one of the many relevant websites. The good news is that at least they were having some fun with us. They were going to invest $15 million dollars into our company. Fifteen million big smackerinos. That's a lotto zeros.

Now, I give you my word. If I ever come into that kind of money, for real, I will tell you -- blow by blow -- how I blow it. We all might as well have fun together. I will tell you that it's official: We've been bought. I will tell you how hard it is to choose between a tangerine or a lime iBook. I will take you on my first shopping trip in a couple decades to buy sheets and towels.

I will buy my favors in the journaling community by fulfilling wishlists and making kamikaze donations to certain journalers who are experiencing even harder times than me. I will buy the special Bendos that will make Rob give me a link. I will give Gus all my old furniture so he can furnish his empty place in style. I will create a permanent endowment for JournalCom so that indigent journalers can go to the convention and eat in style.

The important thing, I've found, is that if you get some money -- you must get rid of it as soon as possible. Pass it along. Move it through the economy. Give it to the next guy you see in the street if you have to, but for God's sake, don't keep it around or it will go bad on you and you will turn rotten. That's why they call it currency -- gotta keep it moving.

I can't buy respect and adulation, but I can buy a cashmere sweater. I can't buy time, but I can buy a Timex. I can't buy good health, but I can buy really good sushi, prepared fresh as I watch. I can't buy peace of mind, but I can buy a really good CD-burning backup system that's almost as good.

I can buy love. After my family is better cared for than they can imagine, I can turn it into small denominations and I can keep on giving it away until I stop seeing hands outstretched. Even if people don't actually love me, I'm sure they will like me a lot.