A week ago I was lying in bed, weeping quietly and feeling sorry for myself. I got some weird virus -- had terrible joint pain and muscle aches that persisted through the week. I'm better now, and am vowing never to take my health for granted again. Until the next time I get sick, of course.
My brain is taking longer to recover than my body, perhaps because I've been feeding it junk food for the last week -- i.e. watching a lot of TV. Today I watched a couple episodes of "Filthy Rich: Cattle Drive", a reality show in which the aged 20-something spawn of rich people learn how to be cowboys (and girls...um, cattlepersons?) and drive cattle across the open range. Predictably, most of the kids are shallow and pampered to a ludicrous degree. One of them can't sleep on ordinary sheets and insists on having higher-thread count bedding FedEx'd from Fred Segal (or somewhere). You can imagine how this goes over with the real ranch hands.
"The very rich are different from you and me," wrote F. Scott Fitzgerald (native son), probably not imagining that they would be paraded around on television in all their superficial glory, giving the rest of us someone to feel superior to.
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