Exhange Value: some loot for your life

While reading this story, quite a few thoughts began to swirl around in my head. Among the most curious was the fact that this took place in what appeared to be New Orleans. Or at least somewhere in Louisiana. That notion quickly led me to wondering if the setting was pre or post Hurricaine Katrina. Although I don't recall seeing any direct references to it, the overall theme of the story (money, and the unique "prison" it creates) can certainly be applied to the Katrina tragedy. The poor, the put-upon, and the destitute need the freedom of having money to rebuild their lives. But how far should one go to get that money, and when it comes to $$ do words like "enough" and "too much" even exist? I think they should, but they do not. It took more than just money to revitalize New Orleans. I think that love, spirituality, the company of friends, family, and inner-peace were also just as important.

The central fear in this story is the fear of loss. Specifically, we don't know how much we can truly lose until we have a lot of stuff to lose. Early in the story Cooter refers to the riches they have found in the old woman's apartment as being 'cursed', and he could not possibly be more correct. But not in the sense that the items themselves were cursed. Owning her riches is the true curse. Even though it is most pleasant to have a life of a certain amount of fortune, along with that fortune comes the responsibility of what to do with it: spend it? A very fun thought, but isn't it true that we should $ave our money? Invest it, perhaps? That is not exactly the wisest thing to do with money these days, is it? In a strange way, it seems as though money can confuse a soul and make it stop caring. There is so much prestiege placed on having nice things and lots of money, but the truth is that $$ indeed does not buy happiness. It buys stress, paranoia, and more often than not the desire to have even moooore of it. And the money that the old lady/Cooter/Loftis procured is tainted in the sense that it has not been earned. However I find that to be a strange notion, since the old lady worked for the person who willed her the money. Therefore, didn't the old lady technically work for the money?

All their lives Cooter and Loftis were poor. They dreamed of the "big $core", and didn't seem to care how they got it. To them the solution to all of life's puzzling twists and turns could be solved with money. But soon after discovering their new riches, they began to feel the emptiness of owning "stuff". There was no true substantial inner value in what they had. Self-satisfaction and self-indulgence were no longer the glowing flames of warmth and comfort. I think that perhaps everything would have turned out alright for these two if Loftis never sold his ring for candy. He did not see the true value in the ring, only the value in a yummy Clark bar.

Every penny of their new loot that was spent was money they didn't have anymore. And they were desperate to keep it, much like the way the old lady was. Having money was the ultimate, the pinnacle of achievement in life. And they had it, and they were very apprehensive about giving it up. Money is also revered this way in real life. Actually, even moreso. There is an overwhelming, dreadful fear of not having it. I found it interesting in this story that we were given a somewhat different perspective: the complicated fear of having it.

Here is an abstract thought, but one that I feel passionately about nonetheless: I hate money. I have absolutely zero respect for it. In one way or another it hurts every man, woman, and child on the planet. "But Jamie, we need money to survive." Yes, we do. And I hate that. It is a prison.
Cooter and Loomis finally got their big score, and they are liable to lock themselves inside their apartment with it forever and waste away.
Cooter and Loomis will be dead...mere rotting meat...yet the ca$h and pianos and the tree will still have value long after they are gone.

Well, that was certainly uplifting (sigh)

**some pretty nifty and horrific dead-old-lady-gore, though