Silly I thought it would take lifting the cost of gas up to twenty a gallon to accomplish it. Not a spooky virus. But here we are.
Best Practices and other adaptations being made necessary by the novel corona virus are widening the gulch between the privileged and the not.
A trip to the movie theater has maintained a relatively low barrier since not long after the talkies started gracing screens across the country. According to USA Today, the national average cost of a movie ticket in 2018 was $9.11, marking the first time the average price has eclipsed $9.00. For most of the 1990s, tickets sold for an average of less than $5 apiece, and dating back to the 1960s, many Americans could go to the movies for less than a buck.
The concessions are a shamless gouge, but sneaking in snacks and a drink never required ninja-like instincts. A good time at the movies was accessible by all but the truly desperate. Not any more. Theaters are now being retooled for groups of twenty who can afford to shell out $149 to $349 to see a new release.
These changes amount to what has always been commonplace in the more uppity parts of town—clubs. Places that only allow for like private bowling, or golfing or tennis or swimming or whatever else it is waspy Americans do.
Those heckin’ millenials were doing too much roaming around.
Drifting from one hip city to another, breaking up their freewheeling apartment hopping with three day festivals and Art Basels and backpacking adventures through LatAm. They had to be sequestered to a square of surburban land and made to toil mindlessly on leaves while they reproduce at a rate of 2.7 children per household until the monotony of it all buggered them into the ground.
This fate, of course, applies mostly to anyone falling below the murky upper-middle-class threshold. A shrewd $150k/year earner can still cope with the headache of travel in a pandemic and the cost for reservation of large VRBOs. The pleasure continues for the privileged.
I count myself among the privileged few. My winter docket is nearly booked solid with everything from RVing around to all the major ski mountains to extended stay in seven bedroom, five bathroom estates boasting instagrammy vistas. Whenever a local dilettante reserves any one of the various pinky up establishments around Detroit for private event, my name is sure to be on the list. We are dead set on living. As for the big scary terrible consequences of catching C19…balls, let that fear rest on some other sap.
What is important, aside from an immense and truthful sense of gratitude for being on the right side of this situation, is to resist the urge to fight these changes being made by our leaders. Going to war for some answer to how to make it affordable for everyone to rent out movie theaters for two hours is not our job.
This is Andrew Yang’s job.
Our job is to extract as many fiat American dollars as possible from the global equity complex. Said dollars are to be converted into mobile command units. Large envoys that can deploy on short notice and access difficult terrain. Self sufficient off shoots from Mothership that boast all the modern comforts of a modern home.
Fighting the prevailing tide is a fool’s effort. Go with the flow. Love thy fate. All that good stoic stuff. Be grateful they haven’t chipped us yet and installed usb drives at the top of our spines. And that the only solid roadblock is between us and Canada.
For now there are two distinct existences crystallizing.
- The W-4 home owner: scrapes out a modest living whilst being indentured to the mortgage banks.
- The tactical capitalists: experiences jaw dropping wealth creation in the financial markets and other less liquid assets. The hoarder, vagabond or otherwise, giving orders to widen the moat and blow the bridges until we can make sense of this microscopic demon.
When will the scientists raise the all clear flag?
We don’t know. As always, we’ll take it one day at a time. Just like alcoholics.
Raul Santos, November 14th 2020
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