the forgotten percentage...

Ahem. Perhaps you should not be reading this. Perhaps I am not worthy of your time, because...well goddamnit I gotta admit, I'm just a poor, single male without the slightest care for mortgages and bank loans. I am not, I must admit to myself, very important.
I will come clean: I don't have much money...okay, damnit, I have none. I do not have a house, or two kids...or an expensive car payment and all sorts of complex issues with my "investments" and equity lines of credits...etc., etc. The only "portfolio" I have contains a lot of drawings and digital paintings that I use to try to drum up enough work to keep away the eviction notice gremlin. But at least I like what I do. I am trying to do something with my life (heaven forfend!)

So, therefore, I am not an important American. Apparently, even though virtually every dollar I earn goes right back into it, it would seem I am also not an important part of our economy, either.

I understand if you want to stop reading here, and amble off into cyberspace, seeking another blog written by someone with a more vital involvement in the American money game. I really am sort of pathetic. It's okay, point and laugh. Someday I will be in a museum. Austrilopithecus Jeremaximus: The man who decided to live his life for something besides money. What a fool!


Seriously, dear reader...what the hell is wrong with these people? These Suze Orman-reading, SUV-obsessed, squirt-out-the-kids-like-rabbits people? They and the media seem to believe, in their infinite "Idiot's Guide" knowledge, that millions upon millions of Americans simply do not exist. We're not here. We walk the streets as ghosts dodging our way between the harried herds twisting their way to the bank, their broker's office, and Home Depot.
When I say we don't exist, I'm not talking about the disenfranchised poor, I wouldn't dare compare my plight to that, they probably exist in the credit card world more than we forgotten millions do, simply because the credit card set likes to feel sorry for them, and drop off a bag of sweat-stained workout clothes every Christmas at the local shelter.
The forgotten sector are those of us who don't see the almighty HOUSE as the greatest acheivement to be reached. Those of us who can't imagine a college fund ever being a problem because we (gasp!) aren't much interested in having children. We don't see a Lexus or a Range Rover as a goal, when only an operational and reasonably comfortable car is wanted.

I made the mistake of reading a few lines from a Suze Orman article the other night, appropriately titled "Count your blessings...and your money!" (vomit bag please), and I was immediately nauseous (no joke). There it is again. She argues that a lot of people today are clearly misguided and deluded because they don't seem to think money is what it's all about:

I'd be the last person to tell you that money can buy happiness, but I'm fascinated by recent reports insisting that money isn't a major factor in whether or not people are happy.

Please.

What a sick, twisted woman. These are the kind of people who continue to poison the minds of middle America: Just clever enough to sound plausible and make intelligent-sounding arguments on behalf of the rationalization of GREED. What she is doing is bending the reports that she cites into an all-out attack on the notion of financial security as a good thing. Like every other loud voice in America, it's all about choosing an extreme viewpoint and sticking to it no matter what reason might interefere with one's comfortable, easy answers.

Sure, I work and I would like to get more work and better-paying, I would like to achieve a little financial security...but then again, what the hell is financial security these days, short of having a few million in a savings account? Even that can be taken from you in a heartbeat by someone with a good lawyer who breaks their ankle walking up your sidewalk. Financial security does not exist, not unless you're wealthy and powerful. For the other 99.99991 percent of us, any amount of money, properties, investments, savings accounts and other means of holding and developing $$$ is as precarious as a teapot in a bird's nest, no matter how smart you are or how many $22.95 Suze Orman books you read. But, my point is, yes, I would like to have more money, and yes it would reduce my stress level to have a bit more in the bank should my work run dry for a while (I have the audacity to be self-employed), or if I get injured (no insurance makes this a terrifying prospect), but it is by no means the key goal in my life.

There are millions upon millions of us out there, utterly ignored by the media and the money world, because we haven't cashed in on the great western formula for success:

Years spent learning a boring trade that probably contributes little to the world community, only to one's wallet + all dreams centered on earning cash + a nice House + kids to put in the house + nice car to drive kids around in + money for kid's college expenses + a boatload of cash to retire so we can start enjoying our lives for ourselves somewhere around the age of 65. (oh yeah, and a few grand leftover for funeral expenses...)

Gee, can't imagine why that doesn't appeal to me. Those of us for whom the above formula holds little joy are deemed silly, selfish (I just adore that line of argument!), lazy and incompetent. Cleary if we are not interested in the mortgage, the steady job (another phantom concept) and lots and lots of money, then something is wrong with us.

Huge masses of people still believe that if they earn a lot of money, although it means giving up nearly all their time and energy to do it, that they're doing the right thing. Well, that may be right for you, but not for me. And I'd appreciate it if you'd shut up about it, Ms. Orman.

Or maybe, you need a little reassurance? A little extra padding of rationalization for those nights when the demons come to remind you that you're 47, trapped, and so far have done nothing whatsoever with your life but fill the checking account in a continuous loop. Well done, that's a life well lived, right there.

What do you say to yourself when you're 73 and you realize in a horror that you've wasted your life? Oh well, maybe your kids will do something with theirs...