The Billionaire Loves His New Steakhouse

Here's a recommendation, in my words but straight from the mind of the billionaire: If you ever become a billionaire, you really must buy your own steakhouse. There's lots of things money can buy -- cars, planes, houses, politicians -- that'll never make you happy. But a good steakhouse never lets you down.

I was there ... And I know what I saw ... Of course I'm talking about Patsy's Steakhouse, the place on the east side of town, for my money the best steakhouse we have. And that goes double for the billionaire's money. Patsy's getting old, and ever since Ray died she's deserved more than this, a life of watching big mouthed senior citizens shovel it in, then going home alone. The billionaire asked me about it and I said, "I would," meaning should he buy the place outright? Patsy named her price and that was it, along with a few details about the deed.

I should back up a bit before I say that I sat down with the billionaire for a nice juicy steak. I was already at Patsy's, in the foyer, when in comes the billionaire and his retinue. He sees me and recognizes me, the second time in one day, and goes, "The Easter Bunny guy!" I motioned him over by the restrooms and told him in low tones, so as not to embarrass him, "Listen, bud, if you call me 'the Easter Bunny guy' one more time, I'm gonna kick your ass till you're walking on your hands. I'm so much more than that."* He studied my face for any shame I had, and seeing none, goes, "Point taken."

Then he bought the place and we sat down for a nice meal, on him. With each bite, first one, then another, then another, my eyes rolled back in my head and I was gasping for air. The billionaire matched me climax for climax, the meat was that good, and of course tender. You never want meat to melt in your mouth, but you do want a tenderness that at least hints at melting. Then you look down and see what's left. You hope it's a lot, but sooner or later, barring a miracle, it's down to the bone, or nothing. I lifted my shirt and showed the group my puffed out belly. The billionaire lifted his shirt, too, then outdid me by disrobing to his shorts and energy belt and exulting in the moment, "I feel like a new man!"**

I clinked my glass and called the whole restaurant to silence before raising my iced tea and proclaiming, "To the billionaire!" There were voices of agreement in response, the lower tones of men, the medium tones of women, and the higher tones of a couple kids, who somehow were unable to go to a sitter, or not trusted enough to be left home alone with their TV, video games, or computer. You see a family like that and you remember back to your own youth, stripping naked when the adults left and streaking around the timber with cousins. But I also missed many a steak dinner...

Now that we were fast friends -- The Billionaire and The Easter Bunny Pauper -- there was no telling what the future held. One thing I knew, once I became his most trusted confidant, both our lives would be enhanced.** He really appreciated me threatening to kick his ass.* But I know enough about group dynamics to know I'll need plenty of other gambits.***

As we left the steakhouse, my heart was glad when I looked up and saw Patsy drive by in her cool collectable pink Cadillac, the first fruits of her labors in building a steakhouse a billionaire would want. Such a wonderful guy. 

All hail my friend, the billionaire and his ass*, as yet unharmed.

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*Confident back talk is our greatest psychological leveler.
**I knew we'd make an irresistible syzygy.
***I'm the King of Group Dynamics.

Wild Thing

I just heard one of the greatest songs of all time on the radio, "Wild Thing."

You know, you hear a song like that and it puts you in a certain mood, a certain frame of mind, like rrrrrowwwl.

All day yesterday I was thinking of me in a Cadillac. But you know, those things come with more than one seat! And I'd like to have my very own "Wild Thing" right across from me, or, better yet, right in the middle as I'm crusin'.

To quote from "Wild Thing," with the guitar bits necessarily a part of it:

"Wild thing, bah duh bah dah dah, you make my heart sing, bah duh bah dah dah, you make everything... groovy."

Then I love it how the guy says in his best, most plaintive, casual, laid back aside to the lady fair, "Wild Thing, I think I love you." That'd be cool to say, just like that. Let's say she's extra wild. In the seat of your car. And obviously it's a convertible. Her hair is blowing free. She's very very sassy. We go to a malt shop and she orders whiskey, slamming it down and looking at you in with that come hither glance, her hair tossed back before looking straight ahead like she's impatient. I'm looking over at her but she's not looking back, pretending not to see, filing her nails. But she can see well enough, and she goes, "Like what you see?"

Then right after that part, "I think I love you...," which would be hard to argue with if you said it in just that way, he goes, "But I wanna know for sure... C'mon and hold me tight..." Ummm. This is the part where I pull her in real tight, real close, up close and personal, right here, and growl it, "I love you..."

Bah duh bahba bah bah dah ... Ending off with "Wild thing, I think you move me... You move me."

Wish I Had A Cadillac

Well, I spent quite a bit of time working on the old exercise bike. I greased it up extra slick and dug out some of the gunk in the chain. There was some rust in some of the other places, which I couldn't do much about, so I spritzed some oil on it. Things seem to be loosened up quite a bit, at least to the point that riding it is not a nightmare.

I'm kind of proud of my diligence. It's not everyday I take on a task like that. The thing has been in Grandpa's garage for 30 years -- although one other time I had it out and was checking what it'd take to get it fixed. It seemed like a real job, so I put it back. Except I hung it upside down, because I heard that's supposed to help if you're not going to use something for quite a while.

Now it's down -- I did it! Now I'm thinking what other worlds there might be to conquer. I guess it's true, if you set your mind on something, and you want it badly enough, you want to accomplish it, things actually are possible. But wishing, wishing, wishing does not always make it so. It takes, like I said, diligence, and you can't be afraid to put some work into it. If you're afraid to do a little work, believe me, you're not going to get much of positive value in life.

You know, there's something I always wish I had, and I'm setting my mind on it right now. A Cadillac. I don't care what year it is, just so it's in nice shape, runs, and hopefully gets good gas mileage. And what else? Looks good, which is the same as nice shape. A '56, '58, '66, '74 -- those are some of the vintage years. Which would likely be fixer-uppers, although if I can oil up an exercise bike, what is there I can't do?

Something newer would be better -- if it could be managed. Now that they use Led Zeppelin music and edgy, shifting graphics on their commercials, a Cadillac isn't just for old timers. Although Grandpa of course preferred Chevys. You think of a Cadillac for the stuffy old banker, the guy with the toupee who doesn't like to talk to you. But that's not just who they're for anymore. They're for the youthful business exec, they're for the grocery store manager, and, if I knew where to get the money, they'd be for me.

There's where my wish is going to come up against the hard reality of an actual quandary. I haven't got the money. But if I had the money and then I had the Cadillac, I would be driving downtown, and people would see me, and guys would call out, "Hey, Easy Money! How's it goin', dude?"