Riding with Tha King

AC

I picked up Tha King in front of the Sofitel in West Hollywood.  He was headed to Bare Elegance, down by LAX, with $4000 cash, ready to make it rain.

But first we had to wait for his pool rider.

He was wearing a hoodie, and had a voice like Tone Loc from away back in the 90’s, gravely and debauched. He reeked of weed.  As an icebreaker, I asked him if the ladies liked his voice that way.  All conversation flowed from this point. He was surprised I didn’t recognize him, cause he made beats for Future. Also, Young Thug. That’s why he wore a hoodie.  He couldn’t take it off in LA, cause the ladies were all up on him as soon as they saw his distinctive array of tats.  He also wanted me to know, for a second time, he had $4000 cash in his pocket for the club.

It occurred to me to ask why he didn’t just take his shirt off and save himself the money, but that wouldn’t be in the spirit of our conversation and I didn’t want to step on his flow.

Tha King was flowing. His beats were the bomb. The shit be blowing up because the world wants it. They were so good, everyone wanted to work with him and he couldn’t go back to Texas cause people were looking to shoot him, which was too bad because he had a purple Bentley in his garage.  But he was tearing it up in LA. He owned this motherfucker. Besides, the Cowboys were having a terrible year, and he was ready to be a Rams fan.

Did I know The Illuminati chose hiphop as the musical force for taking over the world?  Oh, yeah.  They got that shit locked down. Also, they cloned Tupac, then they killed the clone to deceive everyone. The real Tupac was still alive and kicking it in tunnels somewhere, waiting for his instructions to return.  All the name rappers out there couldn’t carry the message because they had made deals with Satan.  The proof of this was while they said God, none of them could say the words Jesus Christ.

Listen to that shit, none of them say Gee-zus cries.

In any case, Jesus had already returned in the form of Tupac, and was chilling in the tunnels.

When I got home I couldn’t help myself, I searched for Tha King on YouTube.  There he was, flashing his tats and spitting the hard shit. His video had been up for a year and had enjoyed a total of….437 views.  There were two fan comments from a girl who by her picture looked to be about ten years old:

hi there its arie love you daddy

and,

come to winsconsen dad love you daddy love you love you

For some reason, it made me think of this:

The Over/Under

Who cleans the floors?

“The Over/Under in Monterey is $150,000″, announces Reese Witherspoon in Big Little Lies, while driving from her beachfront house to a school cleansed of non-white children. By Monterey, she means Carmel.

Nobody works in Big Little Lies, except for Laura Dern, who does something in finance. Axiomatically she is the villain.  People manage to live without exertion in a world of wall-sized refrigerators, walk in closets with backlit three-tiered shoe racks, and terraced lots descending to the sand.  Because, $150,000.

He designs websites, she does community theater

He designs websites, or something

No, seriously. This is the number HBO inserted into the script for American consumption: see, this is how we live in California. P.S., everyone here is white.   (Except for Zoe Kravitz, who is there to provide Otter Bay elementary with a single mixed race child and a deus ex machina plot device)  Apparently Reese’s husband manages to support the immense architecture of her life doing digital piecework, part time, in the living room, I kid you not.

Being Poor, HBO-style

The Poor, HBO-style

There is no class struggle on HBO.   There is a single mother character, Jane, who is seen, briefly, soliciting bookkeeping work for a local coffee house (again, piecework) but we never discover whether she gets the gig. She’s altogether indifferent to money because she’s contending with issues from her past, which trumps any need to pay bills. We know she’s “poor” because she’s consigned to live in a Craftsman bungalow without landscaping.

Her parlous state does not prove inhibitive to friendships with women who could park her entire house inside their family room, and elicits not the slightest glimmer of envy of her part, (nor condescension on theirs) when she enters their lives.

So if no one is working, how does anything get done?

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Hattie McDaniel, really?  Oh c’mon, that’s not the world we’re living in any more.   Too far. 

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No? Okay, how about her?  This make you feel more comfortable?

Coastal California runs on Third World labor, full stop. For every canyon-tucked, cliffside household a small army of floor scrubbers, hedge-trimmers, diaper-changers, maintenance people and tradesmen emerge from their dingbat apartments, climb into their beater cars and make the long schlep from distant communities to Brentwood and Carmel.  Miraculously, they leave no carbon footprint on anyone’s ledger, least of all Mamacita’s.

Not a single Latino appears in Big Little Lies, which is set in Monterey County, which is 55% Latino.

Look to any Bette Davis-era drawing room drama, and you see thankless Mammy/servant roles filling in the background, mute, but for demeaning dialogue, but nevertheless present in the frame.    Old Hollywood in its most propagandistic depictions of American life was not so far gone it dared deny the existence of working class people and their place in the structure of things.

When you do a Google search for “maids, Monterey” you get images like this:

Maid woman with cleaning tools.

And this:

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None dare call them servants.  Our liberal self-conception precludes it. We’d rather think of them as animated pictograms or portrayed by white models than glimpse a truthful mirror which suggests California is moving closer to Jackson, Mississippi, 1964…

Spencer1

…but with none of the noblesse oblige of that earlier time.

Reciprocal obligations in millennial California take comical forms. Reese Witherspoon’s teenage daughter threatens to auction her virginity on the internet to raise money for exploited women around the world. Her parents counsel against this, but commend her for her social consciousness.

They don’t tell her to clean her room.