New Avarice

(2000)

Old Avarice

(1997)

I'm years away from the Southcoast Capital Corporation, but I'm still struggling with the concept of money and what it does to people, myself included. I don't want to screw myself, but I also don't want to wind up rich. I can't stand rich people. The more people make, the bigger assholes they become, the more self-important and pompous and boring. And I'm not immune. Which is why I want to avoid too much money. It helps that I'm too lazy to ever move out of my current home. I have to keep my aspirations pretty low.

Amiable relationships suddenly get ugly when money's thrown into the mix. Money's a big stomach ache waiting to happen. Why, it's a big stomach ache happening right now. My problem is that while I don't really want the money itself, I want what it represents—or at least what it represents in modest amounts: that I've got a good head on my shoulders and no one's making a sucker of me.

My dad & I constantly have arguments about my comparatively weak sense of avarice. He claims I'm not his daughter. He doesn't want what the money represents; he wants the money itself. We're a continum, my family. My grandfather at the top of the greed chain, counting his money for fun and never throwing away a twist tie and making my grandmother rinse out paper towels. Then comes my dad, who loves stockpiling money, but who also loves to spend it. Then me. I love to spend it, but I'm not too comfortable getting it or keeping it around. When Dad tells me I could really be making a lot of money, I keep explaining that hoarding cripples your spirit. I should know: I'm a hoarder by nature—not of money, but of supplies—canned goods, stationary, shampoo. It's a nauseating compulsion

Old avarice