Let Us Now Praise Downwardly Mobile Men

And their spouses, such of them as still have jobs and such as have lost them, such as were partners and such as merely associates, such as whose firms are failing and such as whose firms having restructured their debt must yet endure unhealthy levels of stress, not having received a year-end bonus, forced to commute by subway in the cold and car-serviceless dawn carrying their lunches, their brave little lunches, in the obscenity of brown paper bags ...

Let us praise their Children, never to know a nanny's love, the fitted grace of Baby Dior designer kidsware, the thrill of overachievement with a Fisher Price developmental plaything, trust funds frozen to pay off VISA charges, Aprica strollers rusting no less than prospects for a fast-track pre-school, replacing hopes of Harvard with the bitterness of Nintendo with last year's games....

Let us praise their power ties and Rolex watches, hands sweeping time's pitiless face unbroken by appointments, praise also their designer logos, Izod and Polo Western pony flapping from the frayed all-cotton fibers of a once defiant breast, linen crushed like expectations, Peter Pan collars forever young while dreams grow old, blunt cuts that cannot blunt the pain, Reeboks worn thin on pavement pounded not in preparation for the marathon but in search of work....

Let us praise their cuisinarts and croissants, and the tortellini salad days of youth, the red of their radicchio, the extra-virgin olive of their oils, their wild porcini and the sticky running of their Brie, conspicuously consumed in lingering brunch beneath a firmament that sun-dries all tomatoes, days of white wine and mimosas so swiftly turned to nonbalsamic vinegar of grief; oh Haagen-Dazs for umlaut the bell tolls, praise these who yet can summon courage to grind the beans for their espresso, to eat of foods that have not been reviewed, to face plates whose minute portions signify starvation not nouvelle cuisine ....

Let us praise their health clubs, and their bodies aerobic, misled by Stairmaster to an ever upward climb, going for the bum and getting burnt: Lifecycle's programmed karma coming due, sweatsuits become the slothful signs of unemployment, daily workouts replaced by days spent out of work ....

Let us praise these simple time-share croppers, Information Age Arrivistes, Postmodern Proletarians, who tilled the soil of our supply side with the sleight of their hand and the sweatbands of their brow. Salt-free of the Earth, Turners of the Rolodexes, Makers of the Mergers, who brought forth profit from junk, co-ops from tenements, nutrition from Tofutti. Broke but yet unbroken. Credit poor but infinite in self-worth. The mesquite grill still glows within their hearts. They have not lost their faith or self-esteem. The Chapter Eleventh hour may yet issue in the dawn:

Networkers of the World Arise!

You have Nothing to Lose, but your Stocks and Bonds!

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