Friday, December 4, 2009
Tommy Tool and the future Vicky Clueless-Tool enjoy cocktails after a fabulous dinner at home. Their kitteh Trotsky ambles across the $10,000 area rug in the living room as he makes his way toward the organic food scraps which lay beside the Viking range. Kitteh scores big on nesting nights, as the Guatemalan help won't get to the kitchen floor until morning. Vicky could grab the broom herself, but Lupe can clearly use the exercise. Her repulsive saturated fat diet has left quite the bloated figure on her stumpy frame. Being poor and oppressed - by rednecks? - is no excuse for bad taste and worse eating habits. If only she'd leaf through the back issues of Bon Apetit Vicky discreetly left on the credenza. They are in English, but the pictures are divine and surely the absence of starch and grease would have a subliminal impact on Lupe's epicurean vulgarity.
Stupidity is too simple a a characterization for the delusional notion that the high-living fairy left mid century modern furniture in their living room while moral superiority occupied their REM sleep. Eames and revolution go together like cock and a chainsaw. But they bought carbon credits for their trip to St. Barts and if it's yellow they let it mellow (unless company is there). Cognitive dissonance, Manhattan-style. Fee thinkers in a conga line of self-parody.