American Psycho? I Ain't Scared.

I finished reading American Psycho tonight.  I had a conversation with a friend of mine who works for a large firm, one mentioned in the book.  Let me preface this by saying that he is a genuinely nice guy.  Honestly.  He is Patrick Bateman's age with a Bateman-like pedigree, in fact, I heard him on the phone with a buddy of his, having a Bateman-esque conversation as they tossed various restaurants around to see where they could get a reservation.  Here's how it went down:
Me:  Hey, I'm reading American Psycho, have you read it?
Him:  Nah, but I hear it's really good.
Me:  Yeah, it's um...interesting.  It goes into great details about where everyone buys their clothes, what fancy tailor fixes them, where they're going to eat, stuff like that.  You know, it's about all you Wall Street types.
Him:  I don't think I'm very Wall Street.
Me:  Let me ask you a question.
Him:  Sure.
Me:  Where'd you get that shirt?
Him:  I had it handmade in Hong Kong.
Me:  Wrong answer.

One could argue that my friend is the "Economic Human," a theory that states that humans are "narrowly self-interested actors who have abilites to make judgments towards their subjectively defined ends."  This is in contrast to "Homo Reciprocans" whose name suggests some humans are motivated by the desire to be cooperative and improve their environment.  I personally know him to be the other (although he could be the Economic Human during his office hours), which brings me back to who?  Patrick Bateman.

Here's the thing.  We in the U.S. practice the neoclassical theory of economics which "maximises the role of the private business sector in determining the political and economic priorities of the state."  Hand in hand with this is the notion of "neoliberalism," a "paradigm that leads to social, cultural, and political practices that uses the languages of markets, consumer choice, transactional thinking (ahem), and individual autonomy (more on that later) to shift risks from governments and corporations and to extend MARKET LOGIC INTO THE REALM OF SOCIAL AND AFFECTIVE RELATIONSHIPS" (I added the caps).

No wonder Patrick Bateman went completely out his mind. One woman I met at the gym said that she worked for Random House when the book was published, and that people (primarily women's groups) were out on the streets protesting its publication. I'll say this:  his treatment of women is misogynistic, reprehensible, unforgivable, odious, and loathsome.  I think, especially in light of recent happenings on Wall Street that I know I don't need to remind anyone of that their treatment of us, you know, good old Main Street USA,  isn't much better.  Here's the deal:  the above theory takes the following factors into consideration.  This is a "value model:"

• desirability of certain sectors of the economy over others
• desirability of certain actors in the economy over other
• desirability of certain distributions of resources in the economy over others,
• constraints on choices or policy paths which might otherwise be made.

Here's my problem with a "value model."  Whose values?  And who decides what is desirable?  And what are the "actors?"  Economic Man?  Or Reciprocus Man?  Clearly, our current society is based on Economic Man.  Ellis goes into great detail in  his book about where people buy their clothes, who tailored them, how to wear pocket squares and tie clips.  There is a particularly telling scene where Bateman nearly has an anxiety attack as he realizes that one of his pals has a better business card than him because it has a watermark.  As for individual autonomy, I think that is a laughable notion.  The Wall Streeters in the book may have the autonomy to purchase the things that they want, but those purchases are made in a never ending, tail chasing game of one upmanship.  In a funny scene with Bateman's ex-girlfriend, she points out that a very expensive painting that he paid $12,000 dollars for is hanging upside down.  As for "transactional thinking," one cannot possibly live an entire life happily based on the transactional approach.  At some point, one person will say, "that's not worth what I'm paying for it," whether that price is literal or figurative.

I'd like to talk for a second about the "hardbodies" that figure so prominently in the book.  In order to be a hardbody, one must be blonde with an amazing body, finely manicured, pedicured, and facialed (speaking of "hardbodies," Alison Poole, one of the characters in the book was created by a friend of Ellis, Jay McInerney who wrote the novel Story of My Life.  Poole is based on McInerney's ex-girlfriend and current n'er-do-well, Rielle Hunter --yeah, that one, who at 6 months pregnant made a sex tape with John Edwards -- while Edward's wife was home fighting breast cancer).  A hardbody must hire midgets to act as elves to serve food at your Christmas party, then whine incessantly about the quality of the Waldorf Salad that she didn't even make but had catered (as Bateman's fiance does). 

One of the reviews of the book that came out in 1991 said, and I'm paraphrasing, that American Psycho was like Silence of the Lambs if it had been told through the eyes of Buffalo Bill (remember him?  "It puts the lotion on its skin.").  The difference in Silence is that it is told through the eyes of a female protagonist.  None of the women in this book have the brains to hold a conversation, and they are nearly always drunk, high, or doped up on prescription drugs (which Bateman is as well).  Bateman is a complete misanthrope, showing no emotion toward anyone but himself. 

Riddle me this:  How many times have you walked through the tourist masses in Times Square and thought to yourself, "If that nasty lady wearing the floral shirt with the bad perm doesn't get walking fast I am going to knock her butt right over?"  Or, forget about NYC, how many times have you been in your car and been cut off and thought to yourself, "I am going to ram them with my car,"  or said to your child, friend, or sibling in a moment of frustration, "I am going to kill you!"  You don't do it, of course, because 99% of us are normal, thoughtful human beings, right?

What I think Ellis was showing is that if you took away your inhibitions and fear of breaking the law and any moral or religious repercussions, that you, too, might do something completely reprehensible.  And in our current Economic model, with the acquisition of goods and the market deciding values, with Wall Street fighting any common sense initiatives, i.e. The Volcker Rule, the only rule is to grab as much as you can and not get caught.

I don't think Bateman did any of it.  I think maybe he wanted to and very often thought about it, but ultimately was too worried about ruining his Armani suit.

Just a Walk

I've been told twice in as many days that I should write more, that my writing is "pithy" and "very masculine." (thank you for the compliment to my plucky co-worker, who also happens to be a published author (she is a contributing author to A Cup of Comfort for Mothers...check it out), and to KPS, and I respect their opinions very much). I suppose that explains my stalwart resistance to reading anything by Austen in my book club and why I keep trying to convince them to read Into the Wild (I would try for McCarthy but I'm certain the girls would resist.  Perhaps we can compromise with Steinbeck).  At any rate, I keep thinking to myself, "I don't have anything to write about." 

Sick of my roach infested gym, I opted to walk through the Cloisters in upper Manhattan instead.  I'm giving you a gift by sharing this place with you.  I used to live in the 190's, and I would either run or walk through the shaded trails pretty much every day in the summer.  In the fall, the main trail running through the lower half of the park (Fort Tryon) would be beautifully laden with golden leaves.   Sunlight peek-a-boos through openings in the leaves, and you can smell and practically feel the damp earth, so much thicker than the red rock sand and dirt I am accustomed to.

Walking for me is a very visceral experience.  Not the inert process of the treadmill, but the passing of space beneath my feet.  I like to hear the ground underneath my shoes, smell a flower if I'm so compelled, sneer at ogly men, taste the sweat on my lip. 

I decided to walk up Cabrini today, a tree-lined street a block or so away from the Hudson.  You are instantly transported to a part of New York City that feels serene; there are children riding about on scooters, parents pushing strollers, elderly couples walking down the sidewalk holding hands, and between the buildings, glimpses of the Hudson River and the Jersey Palisades on the other side.

I chose to walk at about 7:00 or so, and the sun was just making its descent into the horizon.  The river shimmered with gold.  I could suddenly smell leaves, water, grass, earth, and I inhaled deeply.  At the end of Fort Washington where the Cloisters begin, there is a flower garden.  This is where the present comes in.  There are many benches set up so one can sit and just admire the garden, the river, and the George Washington Bridge just to the south.  It is an extreme juxtaposition; where dirt meets steel, but both the bridge and the gardens are tended to by human hands.

My thoughts have a tendency to dwell in the ether, and I have been counseled in the past to do things that quite literally connect me with the earth.  There is no thinking forward, no rehashing the past, no wondering what is next when you are nose deep in the bud of a flower.

As I was walking, I thought to myself, "I could write about this!  I could tell people about Fort Tryon, the Cloisters, the beautiful flower garden, about how walking in this corner of Manhattan makes me, I will begrudgingly admit, really like it."  My loyalties, however, still lie in Southern Utah.  Didn't want you to think I turned all urban on you.