[Chapter 852: American Comfort Food]
Greenspan had put the internet on watch, and Buffett had called the tech sector a bubble. It was amusing how these two had all the time in the world to make such declarations.
It appeared that the so-called experts overseas were following their lead. Back in 2004, they were all screaming about a housing market bubble, and in 2014, the same chorus continued. By 2019, these individuals had shifted their tune to claim that buying a home for personal use was still a feasible option.
"Buy a house, are you kidding?" he thought. A property that had once been affordable at $400,000 had skyrocketed to $700,000 for a secondhand home. He remembered a joke about a foreigner who had purchased a house in Shanghai back in '04 for $500,000. When he returned in 2019, he had taken away a cool $1 million.
With that million dollars, he could retire in comfort back in the States.
Investing $60,000 and living rent-free for fifteen years was a fantastic deal. Forget Buffett; even adding Soros wouldn't yield that kind of return.
Was there a bubble?
Not according to the experts, who claimed that buying a home for personal use was still sensible. Where were those expert opinions back in '04, when he hoped to buy a place to live?
Success stories from others often lacked applicability to his own life. The more one delved into self-help and success theories, the more foolish they seemed. Figures like Carnegie and Rockefeller had unique circumstances that paved their paths to success.
Moreover, who could claim their wealth was entirely clean? Their massive fortunes had reshaped economies during both World Wars.
On March 27, the Oscars were scheduled at the iconic location of the Shrine Auditorium in Los Angeles for the 67th Academy Awards.
Harvey Weinstein seemed to be brimming with discontent as he walked the red carpet, his group met with a chorus of middle fingers from the crowd. No matter how he tried to explain, the LGBTQ community had no intention of letting him off the hook. If it hadn't been for the security and police presence, he probably would have faced a different kind of protest--perhaps eggs.
Everything had its own atmosphere. Politicians didn't care about principles as long as they could secure votes.
"Sweetheart, you are so stubborn! You've got a strong shot for Best Adapted Screenplay, and Best Picture seems likely too. Why aren't you going?"
William White glanced at his heavily pregnant partner, feeling conflicted. "It's just... It's awfully big. If I didn't know better, I'd think there were two in there."
"Sweetheart, I don't need that kind of recognition anymore. Besides, if I go, all the attention will be on me, and that's not what I want."
Nastassja shot him a sideways glance. She couldn't deny that the Oscars could serve to boost his fame, but still, she appreciated that he chose to spend time with her. Women often became more sensitive and suspicious, particularly as their due dates approached.
William was not exactly the perfect partner; he had a tendency towards infidelity, and if his partner fell into a depression, that would certainly spell trouble.
Halfway through the award ceremony, William lost interest. As expected, Forrest Gump swept the awards, while Pulp Fiction only collected for Best Original Screenplay.
William knew Harvey had thrown all his weight behind it; otherwise, the latter wouldn't have won even that award.
The 67th Oscars might just have been the least suspenseful one yet. With The Shawshank Redemption overshadowed by Harvey's effort, there would be no dramatic surprises. Pulp Fiction was a good film, but not without its controversies.
Let's not even get started on the LGBTQ issues; although the film's circular narrative and violent aesthetics were intriguing, it still felt like something was missing.
If the timing had been different, Pulp Fiction might have had a better shot. An R-rated film could have won if it hadn't been for the 100th anniversary of cinema.
Each year, the Oscars seemed to stray further from traditional awards, often requiring some quirky twist to maintain their individualistic aesthetic. Unfortunately, they were up against Forrest Gump.
And what of the titular figure playing table tennis with China?
Did they even realize how much effort it took to let the ball bounce back? With the way they played, even a fifth-grader could wipe the floor with them.
A single feather danced through the air, gliding past the treetops and up into the blue sky. In a poetic twist, it eventually landed at the feet of Forrest Gump, who slipped it into the favorite book he was reading while sitting on a bench in Georgia, regaling fellow bus passengers with tales of his life.
The narrative told by Forrest Gump was essentially the American Dream. A man, not particularly bright, persevered and overcame obstacles through sheer determination.
From the Vietnam War to deep friendships forged among comrades, diplomatic missions, and the everyday lives of Americans, Forrest's story unfolded like a condensed history of time.
Comparing Pulp Fiction to this was futile; even if he threw in Schindler's List, it would still take a backseat. Despite the Academy's notable Jewish presence, one must remember first and foremost was the identity of being an American.
Even if one chose not to acknowledge it.
Coughing slightly, one had to admit that if someone's emotional intelligence was truly that low, they likely wouldn't have amassed significant wealth.
Schindler's List was a narrative of reflection, while Forrest Gump was about striving. And importantly, it showcased a sense of responsibility--for friends, for children, and indeed for oneself.
What stood out was that Forrest's comrades were African American men.
This film considered many aspects, and though it was a potpourri of storylines, it certainly appealed to American audiences while remaining average otherwise.
Once again, American productions may not excel in quality, but when it comes to packaging and marketing their products, they were true experts.
Even before the film was completely off the screen, it had already grossed $300 million in domestic box office sales, totaling over $600 million worldwide.
Given such a remarkable achievement, William White was certainly feeling proud. What arrogance! They didn't give him Best Picture?
"Quentin, what do you think? Is there really that much of a gap between our films?"
"Harvey, don't think too much about it; the timing was just off. If we had a different moment..." Quentin actually felt fairly content. His profile had soared significantly thanks to this film. Forget being overshadowed by Forrest Gump; anyone would have faced a similar fate. If one could recreate the imagery from the script, winning an award was nearly a given.
"What do you think about The Shawshank Redemption? Is there a way to give it a shot?"
Quentin was left speechless at Harvey's notions. What gave him the right to even think he could snag a screenplay deal with White Films? Did he truly believe the half-baked ideas he had were worthy?
Women?
That was a laugh. The moment William White called out, a horde of women would come running.
"Cough, cough, that style doesn't fit me. But it is an Oscar-worthy script. Harvey, it's not going to be that easy."
"What's the harm in trying? William White isn't made of stone. Just avoid pushing his buttons."
"Okay, I hope you succeed."
One could not deny how audacious some individuals could be. Forget about William White; this news wouldn't even reach him.
William shrugged off his tingling arm, feeling a mixture of exhaustion and amusement. Being a cushion for someone was surprisingly tiring.
Perhaps if there had been a thirty-minute weight session, it wouldn't have felt so strenuous. But he had to admit, all that fleshiness did feel rather nice.
The industry's leaders were deeply displeased. With the lack of suspense, how could they guarantee viewership? The most significant issue was that this troublemaker was nowhere to be found.
William White's elite status in Hollywood was undeniable. When it came to being audacious, no one could possibly compare to him.
*****
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