Life As Performance Art 108

Once again, Gentle Reader, I thought I would start tomorrow's post this evening then finish it while enjoying my breakfast, or just before or just after (don't want to get strawberry jam on my keyboard!) I have been reading through this weekend's Globe and Mail, as I do on every Saturday afternoon. It nicely puts me asleep for my big weekend nap in the. I was a bit disappointed to see their usually fascinating central article in the front section, also called Folio, dedicated to a particularly obnoxious billionaire and his not-so-dumb blonde, but equally obnoxious, daughter, whom he has accused of defrauding him and ruining their multibillion dollar empire that he claims to have built from scratch. I will not name them here, this father and daughter act, unless they really do something over the top, and I become so angered that that will be where all my sense of mercy dies for a while. Ah yes, the bright, shrewd and comely daughter of this billionaire. About a decade and a half ago, while still in her thirties, she was flirting with federal politics, got elected as a member of parliament for Her Majesty's Loyal Opposition, then defected to the ruling party, which raised quite the media storm, also causing her then boyfriend, a future cabinet minister after the next election, to dump her like yesterday's smartphone. Let's just say that with his blonde squeeze now being on the power side of the political spectrum that he could, shall we say, no longer rise to the occasion? Or something like that. So, there she was, her picture frequently in the eponymous newspaper, jauntily sauntering along Parliament Hill, looking so pleased with herself, that I had to write under the photo these words: "I'm rich. And I'm blonde. And I have nice boobies too!" I just found her so smug and annoying. Anyway, today I read maybe half the article, then when her rich daddy was whining that his little girl had sold their private jet and now he had to fly commercial flights everywhere, let's just say that my eyes glazed over and I was muttering "Next!" I'm sure that he is flying business class, so I don't know what the rich old fart is complaining about. But what really dismays me is that with all the real news and events going on in the world that a rag as prestigious and with as much cred as the Globe would dedicate that much ink to something so puerile. Oh, I forget. These are billionaires. Canadian billionaires. Uh-huh. I see. I get it. YAWN! I think what I find particularly annoying is the way the rich, powerful and well-connected always seem to get all the press, fuss and attention. I am currently reading Malcolm Gladwell's book Outliers about how gifted people who have not had the good fortune of wealthy or established middle class families, a stable upbringing and relative material comfort, not to mention good timing and good luck, are less than likely to do well in life. People like me. I was, as a child, diagnosed as gifted. (I am saying diagnosed, because being "gifted" can be almost as socially debilitating a condition as having autism or fetal alcohol spectrum disorder) I have an abnormally high IQ (at 140 I would be considered a dumb genius). I am a gifted and able and technically accomplished artist. I am also a skilled wordsmith. Am I ever going to see my stuff in the Globe and Mail? Nope. Not any more than I can expect to ever see any of my paintings hanging in a prestigious gallery. I flunked the connections lottery. I get nothing. Except maybe to write this blog and hope that somewhere in the world there is someone reading my words and maybe feeling even a little bit entertained, enlightened, and amused, maybe? We might not have in Canada an official class system, but success has even more to do with who you know, who your parents are and how much money you have than with having actual talent. I have lots of talent, and plenty to show for it, and what do I get? I live in government subsidized housing and work for a pittance as a mental health peer support worker. And my talents and gifts are never going to get recognized nor will I ever be able to make my mark or influence on things because there is a huge amount of prejudice against people who are poor, marginalized and on low incomes. It is as if no one wants to know us, nor to hear or learn from our perspective and experience. Perhaps we are an embarrassing reminder to the guardians of the lies and myths that hold our social fabric together that our culture and way of life aren't so egalitarian, after all, that there is a class system in Canada, however subtle and nastily nice we all are about it. People tend to hate the truth, and the experience of the poor and marginalized is going to be very uncomfortable and highly embarrassing to the gatekeepers of society. Especially they don't want to even hear of the existence or life experience of people like me, highly intelligent, gifted, and articulate, and polished enough to be able to deliver with deadly accuracy the bullets and missiles of the truth of our chronic experience of marginalization. We need champions if we are going to get ahead and if we are actually going to successfully flourish in our gifts. And there is absolutely no one around interested or available in helping any of us. They are too afraid of us. Unless the various estates of our culture, society and nation actually begin to notice and do something to recognize, mentor and promote and protect us, the gifted poor, and see that our gifts actually do see the light of day. I am not holding my breath.