The other day I bought toilet paper and a few bags of detergent pods and some Cadbury mini eggs and a couple of other things. The total would have been $56 dollars, but with my CVS card I got a discount on the detergent plus a $10 bonus. I ended up paying $22 total.
I find that sort of thing thrilling. Granted, once I got home and discovered how intensely scented the detergent was, I understood why it was so deeply discounted. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to fall asleep on my perfumed pillowcase last night. The scent will fade, I’m sure.
Which is all to say that I appreciate a deal. I practically kissed the guy who rung me up. I prefer to check out in person at CVS precisely because I want to share the experience. It’s part of the fun.
I occasionally wish I was rich. Some people make it look fun. George Plimpton was really good at it. He did cool things and generally tried to spread joy and culture. It also seemed like if he suddenly lost all his money, he’d be okay. Like maybe he’d just live in a small house on a beach and sell carved wood sculptures, then write about it. He knew how to be happy.
I’ve been thinking of him a lot as I watch our former president flail about with his stupid properties and owed settlements. He seems so unhappy, so desperate. His life is empty, his soul is empty. He only wants to acquire and dominate.
He had all that money, and all he ate was McDonald’s. Even at his favorite fancy restaurant, he’d get french fries. If it was doing a Warren Buffet frugal thing, it would make sense, but it’s really just because he’s scared of life. Scared of the unfamiliar.
I thought he was interesting in the Eighties. He fit the times, all brassy and inflated. He was a weird, sort of fun character. I thought then that he knew he was just play-acting, that there was someone self-aware underneath. Instead, he bought his own hype. Squandered all of the money his father gave him and was eventually owned by everyone he owed.
He’s stuck with that role he created for himself, trapped inside an inflated dinosaur costume, roaring and posturing. I’ll never understand why his supporters like that. Are they trapped inside their own inflated dinosaurs? Do they wish they were? Do they envy what looks like protection?
Could he really be elected again? Is the whole country an inflated dinosaur? Sometimes I think it might be.
This is brilliant.
I love the image of the inflated dinosaur. You so perfectly captured him in this essay. I love you you connect an innocuous moment to larger trends.