Richistan

“In his entertaining book ‘Richistan,” Robert Frank of The Wall Street Journal declares that the rich aren’t just different from you and me — they live in a different, parallel country. But that country is divided into levels, and only the inhabitants of upper Richistan live like aristocrats. The inhabitants of middle Richistan lead ample but not gilded lives, and lower Richistanis live in McMansions, drive around in S.U.V.’s, and are likely to think of themselves as ‘affluent’ rather than rich.

“Even these arguably not-rich, however, live in a different financial universe from that inhabited by ordinary members of the middle class: they have lots of disposable income after paying for the essentials, and they don’t lose sleep over expenses, like insurance co-pays and tuition bills, that can seem daunting to many working American families.
“Which brings us to the dispute about tax policy.
“[John] McCain wants to preserve almost all the Bush tax cuts, and add to them by cutting taxes on corporations. Mr. Obama wants to roll back the high-end Bush tax cuts — the cuts in tax rates on the top two income brackets and the cuts in tax rates on income from dividends and capital gains — and use some of that money to reduce taxes lower down the scale.
“According to estimates prepared by the nonpartisan Tax Policy Center, those Obama tax increases would fall overwhelmingly on people with incomes of more than $200,000 a year. Are such people rich? Well, maybe not: some of those Barack Obama proposes taxing are only denizens of lower Richistan, although the really big tax increases would fall on upper Richistan.
“But one thing’s for sure: Mr. Obama isn’t planning to raise taxes on the middle class, by any reasonable definition — even that of the Bush administration.” — from Paul Krugman‘s 8.22 column in the N.Y. Times, called “Now That’s Rich.”

Tip Hunt

I sent a message to a friend who always goes to the Telluride Film Festival, which is starting six days from now but never announces its slate until the night before (or Thursday, 8.29). I actually wrote three…no, four guys about it, fishing around for anything.

“I’m hearing Mike Leigh‘s Happy Go Lucky,” I told friend #1. “I’ve never loved a Leigh film, although I’ve liked or at least respected each one. And I know about a special tribute presentation for a major director (which will include a short 10 or 12-minute reel from his latest film, which will open later this year), along the lines of a tribute TFF had last year for Paul Thomas Anderson that included a short There Will Be Blood reel.
“I’m also hearing that Guillermo Arriaga‘s The Burning Plain won’t be there. I’m hearing…okay, intuiting that Jonathan Demme‘s Rachel Getting Married may be included, but this is based on a long history of fall Sony Classics releases showing up there. What else?”

Last Moments

As today is probably the day when Barack Obama‘s actual vice-presidential pick will be text-messaged around, I am taking this opportunity to say (a) Joe Biden….please, and (b) if Obama had truly man-sized cojones (which means, in part, not caring if your friends and enemies think you have big ones or not) he would suck it in, allow his penis to revert down to the size of a cashew nut and persuade the demonic Hillary Clinton to join him.
Just like JFK sucked it in and got the slippery, conniving, wheeler-dealing Lyndon Johnson to be his vp.
Because then, at least, BHO would have a genuine shot at winning because those Hillary holdouts might finally say “okay, I’ll vote for him.” Clinton is a conniving diabolical fiend and a fang-toothed, baggy-eyed monster from hell, but she shares many of the same values and would probably be able to assist BHO in Congress, blah blah, and she’d kick ass on the campaign trail and so would Bill, even with his resentments and whatnot. Politics is about locality, practicality and cutting deals, and you don’t have to like someone to make a deal that will get you what you want.
CNN is reporting that BHO called some of the short-list guys and gals yesterday and told them he’s chosen someone else. I presume that group included Hillary. I presume — hope, pray, need to hear — it’s Biden. A part of all of us will die inside if he picks Texas Rep. Chet Edwards.

Cranked and Deflated

It’s a little bit of a deflater when you go to a film that’s been buzzed up, or which you’ve been buzzing up in your head, and then it turns out to be, like, less than that. I had two such experiences yesterday. What happens is that in order to work through your reactions you wind up calling everyone you know who’s seen them and bat it around. That eats up an hour or two, easy. Especially when you’ve got two films to discuss.
I’ve learned from experience to tap something out right away or you’ll forget where you put the fuel. One easy way to get rolling is to bounce of someone else’s reaction, and one thing I heard this morning is that a certain earlybird fellow suspects that one of the films I saw yesterday may be a “near masterpiece.” Yeegodz.

Kong on Skull Mountain

McCain not knowing how many homes he owns is a good score for the Obama team. That plus defining rich as having $5 million in assets are excellent personal-economic-values distinctions that need to brought up again and again. But as Richard Miniter wrote yesterday on pajamasmedia.com, the easiest and least problematic answer to “How many homes do you own” would have been for McCain to say “none — my wife owns them all.”

But that would mean big John McCain acknowledging to the whole world that his presumptive dominant alpha-male posture is that just — a posture — compared to Cindy’s economic power. And righties can’t do that. They need to be able to beat their chests like gorillas in front of their friends and their business or political friends, or they’re nothing. That’s why McCain pretended not to know (or care) yesterday. Because speaking the truth would have made him feel diminished.