There are some people who believe your soul chooses the situation it wants to be born into, so that it can learn the lessons it needs in order to move up to perfect enlightenment.
If this theory is true, my soul was freebasing Black Flag, wearing a blindfold and listening to Motörhead when it nudged the soul beside it and said, “Pick one for me, will ya?” Not that I ended up so badly. But my soul at least might have had the foresight to be born into minor European, if not corporate American, royalty. Not that mine was, but what souls would choose to be born into a trailer-park family with six teeth and half a job among them?
Is there such a thing as metaphysical retardation?
And why is it such a rarity for a soul to decide, “My spirit must learn to grapple with the problem of having trainloads of money handed to me on a silver platter carried by diamond-encrusted servants”? Who does your soul have to bribe to get box seats in this life?
If there was such a savvy spirit out there 27 years ago, it was Eric Eisner, who chose to be the son of the King of Disney. That’s better than being a real prince because while you get all the perks, there’s not much chance of being overthrown, exiled or killed when the people rebel.
Eric the Bred was featured in the October issue of Details magazine for his Web site, romp.com, which is definitely not his father’s multimedia shindig. “This ain’t no Mickey Mouse shit,” he says to guarantee being quoted, and indeed, while it’s said that the fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree, this one seems to have migrated to a completely different planet — one that’s rated NC-17.
Romp.com features a bunch of Web TV shows, live and animated, that are as Disneyesque as Bob Guccione. One clever premise is “Sex and the Inner City,” a parody of the overhyped HBO show that is best summed up in this line: “With all the emotionally unavailable men out there, where could a sweet, 90-pound crack whore find love?” (We get a nice visual of where she does.) “The Adventures of Bill and Ted” features Bill Clinton and Ted Kennedy as pot-smoking, liquor-fueled superhero buddies who spend time farting in midair and running to the aid of Marion Barry.
Then there’s “Tardz,” an animated series about “the mentally challenged white-collar professional,” who is nearly indistinguishable from everyone else in the workplace except for the way he talks. And in “Tit Talk,” a girl’s breasts argue for control; one of them is a “priss,” the other a “ho.”
This is where I signed off. There are ways to be nasty and brilliant like Richard Pryor or Sam Kinnison used to be. Romp.com has the obscene part down, but it doesn’t get much beyond “cute,” like when you hear a 4-year-old curse.
Still, the not-for-the-entire-family spirit is refreshing, not because it’s rare, but because it’s Eric Eisner. It’s like Prince William going to press conferences in jeans or Ronald Reagan’s daughter Patti Davis being a total bitch.
It’s easy to ask, “a Web site? This is what you would do if you could do anything you wanted?” With all the world given to you, you could at least do something noble, like buy a doctorate and cure cancer, or something exotic, like Michael Rockefeller, the rich kid who was presumably eaten by head-hunters in New Guinea. No Wal-Mart greeters or Subway sandwich artists will ever have the opportunity to be cannibalized on a remote island.
More for your money
You could do something dreamy, like hook up with a fairy-tale princess and die in a Parisian tunnel, chased by paparazzi. You could even do something deliciously idealistic, like piss away the family fortune running for president as the Forbes boy did. Or you could become a world-renowned festering nut like Howard Hughes. Why rich kids squander opportunities like this, I will never understand.
Well, it’s easy to critique when you haven’t walked a mile in their Ferragamos. Everyone likes to think they’d do something lofty with opportunities they’ve never had. I think my goal of traveling the world and giving the Kennedy kids a wide berth at the airport lounge is pretty grand, but it amounts to the same thing: doing what I please. The rich aren’t so different from me: They still all think they need a damn Web site.
Except that they can afford it. So pay attention the next time you reshuffle mortal coils. I’m not graduating to the next level until my name is Gates. I got nothin’ but time. Liz Langley writes for the Orlando Weekly. E-mail to firstname.lastname@example.org
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