The Cynic's Gift Catalogue
By Stefan Kanfer
CYNICS, according to Oscar Wilde, are those who know the price of everything and the value of nothing. Faced with the vast menu of life, they gaze exclusively at the right-hand side--until, at last, they forget why they came in. For Christmas and the New Year, then, let this be their gift: to lose their jaded tastes, their ennui with ordinary extravagance and to gain an appetite for value as well as price. If they must commit the venal sin of self-indulgence, let them learn to do it in style.
The cynic must allow no one to exceed him; parity begins at home. That home can be designed by one of the world's great architects--Marcel Breuer. At 70, Breuer is not anxious to design houses. He will take on a dwelling, says his office, "if it allows him to explore new ideas." Such exploration would necessarily include "a nice site and a client who is not only nice but who will also allow construction without an economic struggle." Breuer's value is universally acknowledged. His price: 15% of the building's cost, the standard commission charged by lesser architects. Excellence costs no more than mediocrity--and it can get your name in the papers.
Half a loaf is better than none. And a long loaf--say about three months' worth--is best of all. For the cynic who has always envied Paul Gauguin, the Kungsholm departs Jan. 12 for a 94-day voyage to the South Pacific, calling at such Conradic ports as the Marquesas, Moorea and Tahiti. Average fare: about $6,500. For those who prefer the fictional accomplishments of Phileas Fogg (after all, Gauguin died broke), the Gripsholm will allow passengers to go round the world in 86 days, with stops at India, Ceylon and Singapore, etc. ($3,665 for a double-occupancy inside cabin; $10,110 for a topside single). For those who find beaches tiresome, Lindblad Travel Inc. offers a two-week journey to the South Pole for about $3,500. Penguins are free.
If the itch to travel can be summarily scratched, the hunger for acquisition is not so easily appeased. No need to parody the King Ranch; the cynic can start small. A shrewd shopper may buy an entire ten-acre island in Deerskin Lake, Wis., for $115,000. For a bit more, the Bahamas' entire Whale Cay, complete with mansion and matching village can be acquired: 650 acres, 20 minutes by plane from downtown Nassau, seven white-sand beaches, and all priced to sell at $3,500,000. Is the purchaser partial to antiques? He can live in one (when he is not in his Breuer building). A restored castle near the Loire is a franc bargain at $310,000.
The common disease of the cynic is Vicarious Vertigo--the dizzying belief that he can be someone else. Very well, then, let him be, say, Andre Watts or Artur Rubinstein. Every pianist is familiar with the tale of the Texan who asked an old man, "How do I get to Carnegie Hall?" and received the reply, "Practice! Practice!" Alas, repetition cannot guarantee a recital. But $2,000 can. For that amount, the cynic may rent the entire Carnegie Hall, with Steinway, to play Chopsticks all evening. After all, who's listening? The cynic can be Arthur Fiedler for $500; for that donation, the Boston Pops will go under his baton for one easy piece.
Perhaps the cynic has higher sights.
For his third home, how about a place that formerly belonged to the famous? Or that belonged to the formerly famous? Dean Martin's estate in Hidden Valley, Calif., is on the block. Obviously the victim of a distress sale, the entire 63 acres with practice golf course is a mere $1,500,000. Kim Novak's jutting Gull House in Carmel Highlands, Calif., cannot hold all her favorite animals. Therefore she offers it for $195,000. For those of truly regal envy, Belgian King Leopold II's fin-de-siecle playhouse is going for $800,000.
The cynic need not cross the ocean to become a royal voluptuary. He can start modestly at Manhattan's leading massage parlor, Caesar's Retreat, which can be rented in its entirety for $2,000 a night. Says the suave proprietor: "For our bacchanal service, instead of one Toga girl you get three of them to work you over on a Caesar-sized water bed. Then they go the whole route--you know, champagne bubble baths, popping grapes in your mouth. You get the picture?" Escalating slightly, the cynic may have Hugh Hefner's 97-passenger jet, complete with circular bed and three (count them, three) bunnies.
Price fixed at $5.15 per mile. For those who crave companionship--with funny business discouraged, however--however-Rent-A-Bird escort service in Miami will provide the purchaser with a different lady for $50 per night. A male bird will cost the lady cynic $55. The extra $5 is not for the plumage; it is, says his service, for opening doors, pulling out chairs, car rental, etc.
Demanded Brillat-Savarin: "You, the first parents of the human race . . . who ruined yourselves for an apple, what would you not have done for a truffled turkey?" How about having it at the Four Seasons restaurant, rented in toto, kitchen and all, for $50 per guest. Minimum guest list: 500 sybarites. After several weeks of this, the cynic may wish to avail himself of a dietary physician. Typical fee: $75 first visit; individualized diet, $60. Or he or she may prefer a real change in appearance.
Facelift: $3,000. Sex change: $10,000.
Of course, the most profound changes are the ones that come from in side. With them the jaded cynics run the dreadful risk of becoming interested in something besides themselves. Such alteration is seasonally appropriate:
New Year's Eve is the traditional time to yearn for a new self. But take comfort: the Dickensian notion of a benevolent Scrooge will not outlast the first January snow. Even now the bills for the Christmas presents are in the mail, proclaiming the price of everything and the value of nothing: we shall all be cynics soon enough.
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