Filthy Rich

I’m not afflicted with wealth envy, because I’m not a Communist.  I do get upset, however, when the rich leverage their wealth to become still richer (as opposed to creating more wealth through productivity), or when people such as the late Senator Harry Reid become wealthy by abuse of their position, or by fraud (like this asshole, this asshole and this tart).

I’m also not envious of people who become rich by pure luck:  lottery winners, or people like the Sultan of Brunei, whose country just happens to be sitting on an ocean of oil and natural gas — and who went and created a $5 billion (with-a-B) collection of cars, supercars, bespoke supercars and so on, as discussed here.  I’m not upset that most of the cars have never been driven, or that they’re falling apart and becoming unrecoverable.  Rich people do stupid shit, and that’s the way of the world.

As is the case with people who spend over $100 million to own apartments in New Yawk fucking City that they’ll never visit.

The difference between them and the idiotic Sultan is that their spending is an investment, whereas the Sultan’s spending is just money thrown away, as befits so much of this kind of thing in the Third World.  The latter is similar to inheriting ten million bucks from Aunt Ethel, spending $1,000 on handmade chocolate bars, and never eating any of them.  That kind of spending is actually symptomatic of a psychological defect — but still, I don’t care.

The point about those real estate buyers is that if the real estate market crashes, and it will, the value of their investment will plummet — and they still won’t care too much, because they have that much money.  And remember the truism:  in five generations (or less), all fortunes, no matter how vast, are dissipated.

Which brings me back to my opening statement:  I really don’t care how much money people have, nor how it’s spent.

What does get up my nose is when governments do the same kind of thing as the Sultan of Brunei does:  only with our money and not their own.

Johnny Not-So English

Mr. Bean has created a stir:

Rowan Atkinson has reportedly finally moved into his ‘space age petrol station’ mansion after a decade-long planning row with neighbours. The Blackadder star, 67, initially bought the 1930s quaint English home – known as Handsmooth House – and its 16 acres of land for £2.6million in 2006.

He shocked locals in the charming seventh century village of Ipsden in Oxfordshire when he knocked it down and installed a modern 8,000 sq. ft. glass and steel mansion designed by top U.S. architect Richard Meier in its place.

Oy.  From this:

…to this:

Now I’ll grant you that House #1 needed a lot of restoration.  And I’ll also grant you that House #2 is located where nobody can see it (at least from the road).

But seriously?

I note, by the way, that he has ample space to park his supercar collection:

Small wonder that it took him ten years to get permission to build this dropping of visual excrement.  It should have taken longer.

Quote Of The Day

From the Z Man:

“It takes special skill to make it to the Senate. It is one of the best jobs in politics.  You do very little, you get massive bribes, and you get to live outside the law.  As a result, it is a great job, which means it attracts the worst people in politics.”

H.L. Mencken and Ambrose Bierce would heartily approve.


Longtime Reader Newt F sends me the following question:

Yesterday I was online and followed a link to “Top Gun Blogs,” and I was surprised that you weren’t even in the Top 50.  Given that a lot of your readers (including me) would think that you should be, why is that?

Thankee for the compliment, but I don’t think that I can call myself a “gun blogger” anymore, and probably lost the appellation when I switched over from the Nation of Riflemen to The Other Side Of Kim;  and certainly, this latest manifestation of mine, Splendid Isolation, is even further away.

Although if you click on “The Gun Thing” category on the right hand side of this page, you will find over 90 pages of gun-related posts (about five posts per page, good grief), it’s worth noting that jokes and such (“Funny Stuff”), cars (“Drive Time”) and booze/food (“Food & Drink”) have 80, 30 and 23 pages respectively.  Clearly, there’s a lot more than just guns over here, nowadays.

More to the point:  volume doesn’t count as much as quality, and I’m not sure that my recent fevered scribblings about guns are even close to the quality of some of my earlier gunny posts.

None of this matters, of course.  I have no interest in popularity, nor recognition of my writings.  I write for myself, on topics which interest me, and any following I may accrue in so doing is simply a happy concidence.

And you’re all welcome on this back porch of mine.  Just mind yer manners, handle yer guns with respect, don’t spit baccy juice on the floor, and all will be well.

Cheers, y’all…