That's How It Happened

I attended/crashed a party on Saturday night of some mega-rich playboy Gumball 3000 types. There were four vintage Porsches, and a shiny Ferrari parked outside. The party had all the key ingredients: unlimited champagne, entire hog roast, and in a Zoolander parody, a tibetan monk playing a zither. The list of five habits of millionaires, does include generosity, but seems to have omitted snorting lines and chasing under-clad, possibly under-aged totty. I enjoyed the party, but it made me feel inordinately poor. The NYT Guide to Class merely compounded the situation, revealing that I rate above the 99% centile for education and occupation, but am off the low end of the scale for wealth, with a negative capitalisation. I've thought really hard about what might be going wrong, and realised that it's not my fault. My utter poverty is due to 1. Not having won the lottery, and 2. Choice auctions like this.

Words of the day are: jackalope, wikiphilia, and etouffee.

Hippocamp Ruins Petsounds is this year's Grey Album.

And my new most anticipated sneaker is (fanfare): The Mita Cement Delta Force. (Though I do have a pair of hTM Court Forces winging their way over from Tokyo as we speak.)