The Billionaire School Assembly

I'm pumping my fist, happy with my performance at the school's Billionaire Career Assembly. It was a panel of billionaires, me included, added to the panel at the last minute. I've only been rich a few days, so I wasn't even expecting to be invited. That said, I believe I scored the most points. I certainly landed more body blows. All in all, I did the best.

The first two old-timers were real snobs, refusing even to shake my hand. The third, a younger guy, was nice to me, shaking my hand, then using hand sanitizer. I asked to borrow it. He was gracious to lend it to me, but cleaned it on a handkerchief after I handed it back.

In the session, everyone was interested in how we became billionaires.

The first guy said he focused on getting a good education and kept very serious goals firmly in mind, working hard to be a success.

The second said he worked hard from the time of his first job out of school, saved his money, then invested with a partner and grew their business, hard but rewarding work all the way.

The third one's father died, leaving him as a 16-year-old boy to step in and guide the family company through tough times. He said it was extremely hard work, but he stuck to it and made it to the top.

That left me, without much of a back story: "Would you believe, I got lucky? I was selling Easter bunnies a couple of Saturdays ago, a billionaire happened to show up, and we hit it off as friends. He gave me a large sum of money. In addition to $2,000 for the bunnies, he gave me $2.1 billion just because he wanted to. My advice: Get lucky."

Later, in the Q & A session, one kid took me to task: "My dad says the billionaire's your boyfriend, and it's not just from luck that he gave you so much money. My dad says you 'work hard for your money.' Is that true?" I recognized the kid and I know his dad. I've seen the weasel at the park, "walking the path" as the denizens there call it. I answered him, "If your dad's who I think he is [and he had the same beady eyes and recessed chin], I'd say he's generally in a position to know about that. He speaks as a guy who himself 'works hard for what he gets'--"

Several teachers stepped in to prevent this line of questioning, chanting, "USA! USA! USA!" I raised my arms and called for silence, and promised I could handle the boy's question in a discrete way, while answering it completely. I added, "While it seems to me that teachers are so much younger than when I was a kid, it's interesting to see they haven't loosened up any more."

I then addressed the youngster's point: "But to your question, no, at this time I cannot say the billionaire is my boyfriend. He is a boy and he is my friend, which all of you can relate to, but he's not my boyfriend. That's as far as it goes! As far as me 'working hard for my money,' let me just say that's a filthy rumor and not even close to true. At the present time I sleep strictly alone. Or I should say, I sleep alone except for my checkbook, which is on the pillow next to me.

"Let the record show, the three other billionaires on this panel openly and brazenly confessed to 'working hard for their money,' so compared to them, I would say I'm quite the moral person. Whoever they may have had relations with, and how often, and whatever else may or may not have gone down in the privacy of their bedroom, motel room, or, yes, even the park, this is decidedly not the time or place to discuss it."

Of course each man had his own secrets and was quick to exit the stage as soon as the principal thanked the group. Off to more "hard work," presumably. I didn't follow them, so we'll never know the full disgusting story. It is, however, shameful that any of them were even considered for an event of this nature, exposing themselves and their tawdry pasts to our youngest and most vulnerable citizens. The innocence those kids have, that is something we must and we will maintain.

From this day forth, and forever, let those who would take advantage of their innocence know -- and in no uncertain terms -- the rest of us will not stand for it. Instead, together we will rise up, protecting one another, as well as our most cherished and honored traditions.

Several kids came down, asking for autographs on one dollar bills, fives, and anything else they had. A couple of the little bozos wanted autographs on college textbooks on Advanced Economics and the like.

A Sit Down With Lemuel

The other day I specified the 3 R's of group dynamics, which "R" of course, 1 aRrange; 2 Reconnoiter; 3 Ruminate.

I like to say if you're not aRranging things, things are being aRranged for you. You must be proactive but low-key. People don't really notice. They just think you're being helpful.

As for Reconnoitering, this is another way of saying Keep your eyes open, but also to be deviously aware. It's also something that you have to be very proactive about. And out of the 3 R's -- and this doesn't just go for group dynamics but for all the human environmental sciences -- I think this is the most enjoyable. Because you're using all your senses, engaging your subjects while observing them.

Sometimes with reconnoitering, I know, the observer fears he or she might tamper with the subject too much, but it depends on what you're trying to achieve. Because some are going for knowledge for knowledge's sake, such as to chart general behavior, and, say, you wouldn't want to have a table there saying you're charting general behavior! Just like if you wanted candid photos you wouldn't say Smile and say cheese.

In a lot of my engagements with people I'm not looking for objective information, of course, because the engagements are primarily social, and I can't step back behind a one way mirror. Believe me, I'd love to! If I could live in a house or skyscraper that was full of one way mirrors, I'd move in a heartbeat. Then give me 30-40 assistants to massage data, and maybe one or two to massage me, and we'd have a great time. We'd be looking for secrets, charting secrets, doing psychological experiments till we were blue in the face. Fun stuff, too, like college students shocking unwitting victims, to prove something about original sin.

But as it is, I'm flying solo. And I don't really call my forays experiments as such. I'm doing what I do to make it to the next level. To get the understanding to give me a happier tomorrow. And, let's say it helps free the country and lessens rural paranoia, bridges some divides and opens up a free flow of trade, not to mention the sharing of ideas, etc., that'll be good too. The third R -- Ruminating -- is in this to some extent.

But let's return to Reconnoitering. I decided to do some reconnoitering of the grange complex. I know things are relaxed at certain times, like Sundays. I don't know where the rural people all go on Sunday morning, so I'm just guessing. The thought occurred to me that they bury themselves in a box of soil from their ancestral land, then close the lid and lay there to recharge. Or it could be they're in church. Either way, the morning is relaxed. There weren't any of the black hooded, black veiled guys in trees, leaving the country vulnerable to interlopers.

I drove out and parked in the same place as usual. Everything looked deserted. The grove, the field, the grange itself. Some of the farmers' daughters shorts were hung on a clothes line. I decided to saunter over and take a closer look. My verdict: Very interesting. My further verdict: Who says Reconnoitering isn't the most interesting R? It's where you get to use all your senses.

After some lengthy reverie in that vicinity, the gentle breezes helping my reverie immensely, I next decided to check out the barn. The door wasn't locked, but that didn't seem unusual, since it's just a barn. I opened the door a crack and didn't see anyone. So I went in. Soon I could hear some noises. It was the horses rustling around, eating, snorting, neighing. I thought of the old joke that horses are nothing but neighsayers, which brought a smile to my lips, playing across my features, enlightening my eyes, and perhaps flaring my nostrils with delight.

My joy was suddenly interrupted by a call from down the other end. I saw a man step from the shadows with a gun and ask me what I wanted. It was Lemuel, the horses' keeper, who, it turns out, lives in a small house behind the barn. From where he stood, with the door behind me open, and the morning sun streaming in, I must have looked like a silhouette. Bad aRranging, but I was caught unaware!

So using my best group dynamics tone (what I call the old We're all in this together tone), I said, "So there you are! I'm glad I ran into you!" That immediately disarmed him because now he knew I wasn't just sneaking around but was looking for him. Then a bit of flattery, "These horses are beautiful. You do a heck of a job with them!" Then some commisserating. I immediately sat down on a barrel, fanned myself with my hand, and said I was still a little tired from Friday night, and that I knew he must be too.

In a few seconds we were like close friends. I pulled over another barrel -- careful not to have him between me and the sun [aRranging] -- and we had a good old fashioned sit down. I was careful to keep my head at a lower level than his.

He told me his story, his love for animals at an early age, the revulsion he'd always felt at immorality, the need for people to go to church, how society is a complete waste, and so on. I nudged him a little -- verbally -- and asked why he wasn't at church. His answer astounded me, "A game toe," one of the exact same things I suffer with, and what I have to thank for my disability benefits. We had that in common, so we were totally on the same page. Same foot too, the right, and even the same toe, the big toe!

The things he said about morality and immorality, I really, really resonated with. And how society is a complete waste. It was all right on as far as I was concerned. (Meaning that's the story he got, since a lot of Reconnoitering is nothing but strategic agreeing with people.) Several times I trumped him, because people like that too; it lets them know you're really paying attention, plus, it lets them know you respect the progress they've made in life and your optimism for them to take it further. Like if he's giving an anecdote about some terrible thing -- let's say the ravages of rock music on religion's popularity -- I have a worse one.

We got on the subject of horses, which of course is his real pride. I buttered him up like a Thanksgiving turkey. Each of these horses he trained. It's his signal they go by when they kick some immoral person to death. It turns out he used to train animals for the circus but quit when a monkey bit the big toe on his right foot. So that's where he got the game toe! Interesting. But why'd he quit? Because he felt like such a failure at the time and swore he'd never again work with animals. Then he moved to this area -- back ages ago -- was tested himself like the others are, passed the test, and eventually got the job from the old guy before him who died, etc., and he's been at it ever since.

He was happy to meet me, he said, and said he was impressed how I passed a very difficult orgy test a couple weeks ago. Somehow I knew better than to dare touch my zipper. He complimented me on my great discipline -- my morality -- and said he knew I was a rare breed. My intuition told me he was sizing me up to take over his job with the horses, just like he got it from the old guy before him, but I didn't say anything about it.

We parted as close friends. Lemuel. A nice guy indeed.

Now I'm back home to Ruminate, which, in part, you've been privileged to witness.