Today I was going through one of my usual twentysomething existential/religious crises that center around the overall uselessness of my chosen skill set (especially if I crashed on a desert island with other humans and had to put my skills to work for us -- we'd pretty much be SOL) and my unbelievably bad dealt hand in romance (especially from grades four through 12). Mid-brood, I realized that in one day, I had run across the following two posts:- This one, from Overheard in New York:
Cleaning lady: I woke up this morning, got on the train, and I asked, "Why, God? Why was I born so poor?"
--State Street Plaza
- And this one, from Gawker:
"24-year-old Kreiss furniture scion Loren Kreiss... enjoys a 1,500-square-foot loft in Chelsea’s Mercantile Building (estimated to go for about $6k per month)....
Says Kreiss, “I think I’m paranoid of people viewing me as just a little rich kid.”
The juxtaposition of the two stories makes me despise New York social stratification with an ire I can't really put into educated, non-swear words.Hot Judas update:
No word yet from NGS.