I Want to Live Like Common People

Today in Tedium: The greatest six minutes that the British band Pulp ever put to wax pulled off a lot of small victories as it leaped into a larger one. "Common People" highlighted the lingering definitions of class that the U.K. still hasn't managed to shake; it drew a vibrant character sketch that few songwriters can put together in a single album, let alone a pop song; and it broke through to the mainstream at a time when most British music buyers were focused mostly on Blur and Oasis. It's still highly regarded, and Jarvis Cocker's masterwork still generates cultural discussion. But more than two decades after the song reached its peak on the U.K.'s Official Singles Chart, I have to admit to being curious—are there people like the Greek college student who likes slumming at grocery stores and swilling working-class pubs? Are there people who pretend to be lower-class just because they dig being poor? We have to start it somewhere, so we'll start it there. — Ernie @ Tedium

Russia's richest man likes hanging out with the regular folk

Vladimir Potanin may not be Russia's richest man for much longer—he recently divorced his wife, Natalia Potanina, and she wants nearly half of his $14.8 billion fortune for herself.

But Potanin, the chairman of the conglomerate Interros and a major beneficiary of Russia's move away from communism, is totally cool with hanging out among the public rather than primarily hanging around people at the same financial level as him.

So when he goes out, he skips the bodyguards; he says he doesn't need them. Instead, he tries for a more approachable strategy.

"It is not good to demonstrate your luxury and your wealth: to rub it in the faces of others is insulting," he said in a 2012 interview with Reuters. "So you should be modest, try not to insult people by showing that you can do what they cannot."

That doesn't, of course, mean taking the Metro; he draws the line there, according to the Reuters interview.

Beyond the snarking, it's worth pointing out that Potanin's divorce could have a pretty big impact on the philanthropy scene. As one of the signatories of the Giving Pledge, he had promised to give away much of his wealth before his death.

"I also see it as a way to protect my children from the burden of extreme wealth, which may deprive them of any motivation to achieve anything in life on their own," he said in his letter.

Time will tell if his wife feels the same way.

The director of Ace Ventura: Pet Detective gave up butt jokes … and his fortune

"I was standing in the house that my culture had taught me was a measure of the good life. I was struck with one very clear, very strange feeling: I was no happier."

Director Tom Shadyac had recently been in a serious bike accident, causing a head injury that nearly killed him. On the road to recovery, he had a revelation: He didn't actually like the fame and fortune he had earned as the director of hit films such as Ace Ventura: Pet Detective, The Nutty Professor, and Bruce Almighty. So he started shedding all of it.

He got rid of the massive house and moved into a trailer park. He put nearly all of his money towards funding charitable efforts like a homeless shelter, and instead of directing another big-budget Hollywood film, he instead decided to focus his energy on the kind of project that barely even stands a chance of making back its budget.

The film I Am, which came out in 2010, is basically a story about Shadyac's search for deeper meaning. He spends the film talking about deep stuff with high-profile intellectuals like Noam Chomsky and Thom Hartmann, and ultimately, his search for answers turns into more questions. (If you're curious, Roger Ebert called the film "as watchable as a really good TV commercial, and just as deep," but then Shadyac was never a critic's filmmaker, anyway.)

Though it's been rumored as recently as 2013 that Shadyac might make a return to the director's chair eventually, he's more recently been trying something else on for size—becoming a college professor at the University of Memphis. He's teaching a storytelling course there—which definitely seems like a bit of an upgrade from the usual adjunct.

"The job of an educator is to teach students to see themselves," Shadyac told USA Today College back in March. "That’s my highest hope—to awaken students to who they are, and to provide the tools to walk their own unique path with courage and conviction."

His fame hasn't faded too much despite his move to get rid of the fortune—in 2013, he wrote a best-selling book. But there's a lot to like about the strategy. If you're willingly trying to shed the material stuff, follow the Tom Shadyac school of minimalism.