"In the hole" used to be such a beautiful and lilting phrase. "At last, Dick Cheney is in the hole!" I yelped in 2002. Or "my foreface is booked until 1:15, but I could take you in the hole in 5 minutes. Give me time to bleachen up."
Now "in the hole" has a stigma attached. It's not about "in," anymore, nor about "the," neither about "holes." It's about being poor. And I've been stimatized, poor, scandalized, and a boor. But of everything I've been, if I had to pick what I would be right now, it would be the most beautiful ratite, if not avian, in the world, with brilliant ideas that important people listen to, several hundred thousand barrels of fish in my checking account, a pink cashmere sweater with the boobs cut out, and a plate with 8 or more pieces of toast on it. That's what I'd be right now.
Yet I'm in the hole.
Please let me know if you can give me any money. I'd love to have it.