On the one hand, the boyfriend is supposed to drive a beat up car, have an average apartment, and in no way indicate he's rich. On the other hand, he talks about fancy schools, expensive trips, and seems to casually describe a lack of privilege.

So, I'm guessing that having finally "come out" about his wealth, he's suddenly acting differently. I would suggest this: tell him you loved him when you thought he was struggling, tell him you love everything about his personality as you have known it. But tell him also that it has been difficult dealing with his wealth and his allusions to it, and that if it's all the same to him you'd prefer that was left out of the relationship for now, as you are having trouble taking it in, considering the circumstances under which you were raised. My guess is that he will have no problem with this.

Then start working to accept that fact that you hit the jackpot and are incredibly lucky. Not becuase you could have a Beemer if you wanted it, or a round-the-world vacation. But because you won't have to worry about starving. Won't have to worry about your health. Will be able to survive. Learn to be happy about this.

Finally, it's not a character flaw that he discusses his upbrining casually. Two possibilities. The first is this: he's concerned about you, and doesn't want you to feel bad about not having the same breaks, and so treats it like no big deal.

The second is this: economic realities are tricky, and they don't make sense. You can't explain to someone who had everything for the taking that they should be grateful every day of their lives for it, the same way you can't really make the average American actively, continuously thankful for not being raised under Third World conditions. When you luck into something, and when there's nothing on the horizen to threaten it, that way of life is simply the norm. It isn't exciting. It isn't marvellous. It's just what is.

He doesn't sound spoiled. Doesn't sound dismissive of other's hardships. It's just that what would be incredible fantasy for many was an everyday reality for him. It always will be a reality for him. As many soup kitches as he might volunteer for, as little of his personal wealth as he might choose to spend, at the end of the day his life and his luxuary are his reality. And it makes sense, psycholocially, that this would be the case.

Ease up on him, and ease up on yourself.

After all, that obsession with social hierarchy, and the pain of love—especially when found—and the very serious subjects. Divorce. Adulery. AIDS. Poverty. To go by the topics explored on Days of Our Lives and All My Children, these are monuments to complexity and art.

But no, it's not the subject. It's the treatment. The treatment here was lazy and sentimental. It was knee-jerk and easy. Remember the phrase "phoning it in"? That's what Breathed was doing this week.

True, Stephanie Zacharek left out the goy-envy central to the movie. Annonymous-with-the-red-star states the movie's premise perfectly. And gives it the credit it deserves. But to hear so many letter writers complain about the cruelty and the harshness...do you know what black comedy is? Yes the guy is a jerk. Humbert Humbert isn't someone I'd want to spend time with in real life, either. So?

The essence of most Woody Allen films hinges on the same dynamic (if a essence can be said to hinge, sorry for the mixed metaphor). Allen's charcters love those goy girls and that perfect WASP life, and hate the schleppy, Jewish world they come from. There was a different tension in his movies because, famously quoting Groucho Marx, he "wouldn't belong to a club that would have me for a member." So he always felt alien and uncomfortable in those clean houses with those catatonically calm family members and had to escape somehow. The split screen scene at Thanksgiving in Annie Hall perfectly illustrates his love-hate relationship to the icons of suburbia. Similarly, he had to strive to make the WASP girl a New York intellectual, i.e., Jewish (yes, I know, it's a stereotype; but I'm describing Allen's psychology, not objective reality).

I imagine it was a fairly common feeling at the time, since WASPS had cornered the market on what was considered beautiful, perfect, and satisfying, like a commerical for Kools cigarettes. I'm not entirely sure it's disappeared now, if we look at movies like The Devil Wears Prada, or shows like Ugly Betty. This remake is probably lousy What Ben Stiller movie isn't? But what's antagonizing people here has little to do with the new version's quality.

And to respond to one letter writer's statement, yes I'm sure Bruce Jay Friedman knew exactly what he was doing. I suspect Neil Simon was brought in to soften it, though it's up to the individual viewer to decide if he did.

But in the land of musical theater, there's an equivalent to the 'Ginger or MaryAnn' quick profile question: Sondheim or Webber.

I like them both. Anyone Can Whistle, Company, Follies, A Little Night Music, Sweeney Todd, Merrily We Roll Along, Sunday in the Park With George are among my favorite scores. But so are Jesus Christ Superstar, Evita, and the in-my-opinion extremely underrated Aspects of Love. I tend to think there's an American (primarily New York) prejudice against Lloyd Webber which he doesn't deserve and has more to do with timing than anything (a Brit being the only critic-proof and consistently successful songwriter during a time that generally could not be called Broadway's goldent age—even if Sondheim ranks with the greatest of composers) and with the ridiculous level of his success compared to how resistant the general public was to Sondheim.