Actually, I doubt that. Watch American Pimp for substantiation, the central premise of which seems to be that The Game is in fact incredibly easy. You gotta wonder though, would the struggling pimps agree to an interview? If they did, would they admit their hardships? The question casts more than a shadow of doubt. Do pimps, maybe even the successful ones, ever wake up in the middle of the night and wonder what might have been?
For all of us, even the L7s, the big existential questions loom. Our choices about friendship, education, love, career, family, all the big stuff, are spilling over with personal meaning, but the decisions can also feel weighed down by a lack of moral purpose. Do I do these things solely for my benefit? If it is just about me, what is the point of personal sacrificc, and what will it all mean when I am gone? Do I do the way my family wants me too? How God tells me too? Do I just do what seems to work for my friends? Putting your shoes on in the morning for those reasons seems like the definition of Socrates’ “unexplored life”. So how do you operate with integrity in a seemingly hollow world? These capital-B-Big concerns can definitely lose you some sleep, but they have also inspired a lot of great writing. Many times I have thought about how my life choices stack up against the problems faced by the characters in Shakespeare, Faulkner, Hemingway, Joyce, Schulz, etc.
But really a writer doesn’t know anything more about the truths of human existence than you. They are just better able to pry their own opinions and prejudices into a pleasing narrative. So in a way, writing fiction is a little like being a pimp. Whether the fantasy is packaged in fake fur and plastic pumps or realistic dialogue and surprising plot twists, both are false and fleeting constructions. The reader gets a cheap thrill as the story builds and then the last page turns, she reapplies her lipstick, and you don’t really know anything more about the world or yourself than you did before. Or even worse, you think you do. I guess, to stretch the metaphor, that is like believing a working girl when she says she really likes you. So if even the classics are starting feel as fake as a stripper’s D cups, what is left? Paul Krassner once said, “irreverence is my only sacred cow,” but you gotta wonder, just where then does the man get his milk?
While we’re on the topic of prostitution, watching the news, even reading the NY Times, is starting feel like a trip to opposite-world, where borrowing more money than you could ever even intend to pay back is fiscally responsible and sending other peoples’ children to die takes courage. The politicians' and pundits' only real ability is to pull themselves into a a miniskirt and smile like it isn’t 35 degrees in the DC night air. At least this go around there is Obama, who seems like a relatively straight shooter. Plus he is like Rocky Marciano in negative: the great black hope. Wouldn’t it be crazy if a black man was president?
Well, not if he is compromised by corporate money, professional handlers and his own burning desire to triangulate to the middle of opinion polls. Is he just Hillary in black face? Probably, but either one will seem like a savior. Obama is definitely a thoughtful, articulate speaker and he has some genuine policies, like health care that you or your employer could afford, and not nuking countries that we aren’t at war with. What a nutcase-liberal that guy is huh?
But at the end of the day Obama is a politician. He gets ahead by telling us whatever it is we want to hear. It reminds me of a conversation I had with my father a few years back when I was doing volunteer work for Ralph Nader. HeMy dad smirked at my idealism, blaming it on my youth. “You young people think you’re so special, looking for a political candidate that has real integrity. Just hold your nose and pick the best looking whore, like the rest of us”. Not the worst advice I have ever heard.
