Raped by a Gorilla
I wish I was Sherman McCoy— a $1,000,000-a-year Wall Street investment banker. I wish I was living in Park Avenue with an obedient socialite wife, a charming prep school daughter and an astronomical New York circle. Riiiiight.
In Tom Wolfe’s The Bonfire of the Vanities, I’ve learned that being so rich, so goddamm rich is no less frustrating than, well, being so poor, so goddmamm poor. Sherman— the zenith of every young urban professional in the 80s, who has lived a life one could only imagine— can spend attachés of dollars for just a pair shoe… laces! Just when you thought he was in cloud nine, guess again. After he’s fished a “hot ticket” mistress (again, why are the ladies always the troublemaker?), he was dragged into a scandal of capitalism, racism and prejudice.
JUDY MCCOY: Investment banking s an unusual field. I don’t know if there is any way you can explain it to anyone under twenty. Or perhaps under thirty.
A Master of the Universe, the young Sherman was, of course! Along Bruckner Boulevard, his Mercedes-Benz skidded Henry Lamb, a chaste black Bronx teenager, to a coma! Now it became a tremendous state issue! it turned into a paradox, “Is a black life worth less than a white life?” as told by Alfred Vogel in the book.
Technically, the wordiness of the book kinda was a turn-off but then again, the incredible wit of Wolfe was outstandingly satisfying. Some crime-drama novel! Four stars for One Good Book a Week – week three!
Now, ask yourself? Are you a racist? I know I am. I don’t realize the reason on why having South Asians, and a little of the Southwest Asians in the company— or worse, in the country— is my ultimate horror. I think their cultures are great, especially since they bore Mesopotamian and Tigris-Euphrates-ian civilizations but… Maybe I was a mercenary hired against their region/s in my past life/lives… but… I seriously do not know why! Dammit!
I remember my notorious broadcast communication professor who was a racist against Jews and Afros. (He fondly called them “a strain in the eyes” when they appeared in movies.) One time, he was in New York when a black guy begged for some money from him. My prejudiced professor cried in Spanish, “No! I do not speak Spanish!” which drove the poor stranger to his wits.
When he would be showed with displease by my girl classmates saying, “Sir, ang samaaaa niyo,” he would then reply, “Bakit, kung kayo ba, gusto niyong magkaasawa at magkaanak ng negro? Gugustuhin niyo ba?” My classmates could only deliver impish smiles, as the professor would declare in his signature baritone, “Who’s the racist now?”