Not to brag…
When he spoke here last month, Sherman Alexie was asked if he had good relationships, was received well by people on the Rez (The Indian Reservation in Eastern Washington where he grew up).
He made a reference to Isiah/Luke, a prophet never being welcome in his hometown, and quickly moved on to say how much he had moved on, and, trying not to be pompous, mentioned honestly how great it would have been if there had been a successful, straight-shooting Indian writer/comedian/filmmaker like himself to look up to when he was growing up.
He then went into a long harangue, showing how amazed he was at how far he had come. It was meant to be cute and perhaps self-deprecating, but by the sheer length of the list of things he mentioned, seen the Eiffel Tower, been kissed by Sharon Stone, having a huge house, having Robert Redford’s number in the cell phone he pulled out of his pocket, on and on and on, it morphed into something else entirely.
Anyway, I’m at a curious stage in my career. I like to call myself a working writer, analogous to a “working actor.” Some people are impressed I support myself solely through writing. Some, like my wife, are probably a bit less impressed that a 33-year-old Yale graduate makes so little money and has no publishing prospects.
Either way, I haven’t exactly come up from poverty. I’ve spent the last ten years clawing my way back up to the level of comfort and security I enjoyed when I was thirteen.
(Digression: this probably has a lot to do with what I’ve begun to notice recently as a ridiculous change in the standard of living in this country in the last twenty years, due to leftover effects of the boom economy of the 90s and, most of all, people’s ability to borrow vast sums of money. When my dad was in medical school, he and my mom lived in a trailer, next to other med students. I’d be shocked to find a med student today who doesn’t live better than my parents did when my Dad was well through his residency.)
Anyway, like Sherman, I have a lot to brag about too.
I have a laser printer and a lawn mower. The printer has a bug – with MS Word it only prints two pages a minute, but if you plan ahead it’s not much of a hindrance.
Not only have I not had my water cut off since 1998, I’m now so confident in my ability to pay each month that I even sprinkle my lawn, just needlessly padding the bill.
I have high-deductible health insurance and recently stopped going to the dental hygienist school, got a real dentist to fill the cavities the dental hygiene students and faculty have been telling me about for eight years.
I don’t have a cell phone, but I know someone who has Stephen Colbert’s phone number.
I shop at the Banana Republic, and on at least four or five occasions have paid full price for items.
I have a house and a mortgage. Hell, what am I saying, I even have two mortgages!
In recent years I’ve traveled to Costa Rica, Lake Tahoe, and Orlando, Florida.
My wife and I regularly buy some of our groceries at Whole Foods, in Mount Pleasant.
Even though our house has three bedrooms, we only sleep in one. The others are essentially superfluous.
I personally own three bicycles, two of which run quite well.
I got rid of dial-up internet almost two years ago.
I’m not due for a boot on my car (which is foreign and is of a model year in the current decade.)
Said car also has air-conditioning and can be unlocked from thirty yards away.
I very often buy the name-brand salsa, and always get the low-fat cheese, even though it’s almost never on sale.
I have a complete set of golf clubs. (I think it’s complete, I don’t play golf.)
I get my hair cut every four months at a real salon with gay people. When you go there they offer you something to drink, anything you want. Beer, soda, whatever.
