I should like the middle class, right? What have they ever done to offend? They work hard and pay their bills (unless it’s their mortgage). They’re content and pleasant. And yet I can’t really stomach the vast lot them – they bore me to no end. If I want good conversation, I head to a dive bar or the University Club, and not the bar at Chili’s.
The way I see it, life exists at the ends. Feast or famine, binge or purge: beauty through conflict. And then there is the middle class, whish is just sort of there, entirely blasé and uninspired. They have few real struggles, and as a result, limited aspirations. Entirely safe, they have nothing to drive them, content to vicariously live through others.
But creativity demands distention and contraction; requires extremes and the internecine quirks of those with too much or not enough. The tragedy is that there are many things that are so destructive (and by extension inspiring) that only the very rich or the very poor can afford to indulge them. The middle classes have just enough to lose to convince themselves to live completely dull lives. Is it any wonder that they are shrinking: they are dying from boredom.