Granola and Caviar

I’m backstage at a show. Some really well known jam band is playing. I don’t like this hippie shit at all, but my friend is in from out of town and I wouldn’t miss the opportunity to see her. What the two of us are enjoying most is our view of the crowd from stage left. These people are so fucking into this music, and it’s almost touching to witness. From my vantage point all I see are a whole bunch of smiles show all kinds of love. Sometimes I feel like smiles and love are all that matters, even if the music’s not your cup of tea. I’m getting drunk on top of a huge crate that houses equipment or something. Red wine in plastic cups. And I can even smoke too. Then some girl that I think might be a groupie comes and sits down next to us. She ruins my moment. I guess I don’t like groupies, but I didn’t know it until right then.


It’s brought to my attention that a billionaire is having a party for the band after the show. A billionaire? Is having an afterhours? I’ve been around some money before, but never a real billionaire with a B.


“Are you coming to this party with us?”


I don’t know yet.


“Well, have you ever snorted blow off a dinosaur bone?”


I have not.


“Then you should come. This guy has real dinosaur bones.”


Sounds kinda awesome. I don’t snort blow at all actually, I hate people who love cocaine. And even more than that, I hate people who don’t ever buy cocaine, but can’t resist it if it’s sitting there in front of them. It just seems like a weak middle ground that shouldn’t exist. Use drugs often enough to buy them, or don’t use them at all. Anyway, aside from all that, being around large quantities of narcotics always makes me feel like I’m doing something right, socially speaking. Edgy by association, and a total hypocrite.


I decide to attend. So after the show I arrive in one of the most prestigious zip codes within Chicago’s city limits, rolling up and down sidestreets of marvel. My humble resignation is that the wealth around here does not want my Monte Carlo parked anywhere near this neighborhood. Permit parking. No parking. Tow zone. More permit parking. Block after block after block of it. I finally pull up behind a Jaguar and get out. It’s not a spot, but fuck it. I’m going to this party, and I don’t care if my car’s not here when I get back. My friend seems more worried about it than I do, she’s sweet and thoughtful like that.


I haven’t even made my way through the front door yet and I’m already impressed, this guy has a whole five stories off Lake Shore Dr. all to himself. And there really is a taradactyl wing hanging over my head as I take a seat at an endless dining room table. Our host is barefoot, welcoming everyone to the huge spread in the kitchen. There’s all kinds of food: vegan dishes, stacks of pizzas, appetizers, breads, dips, salads, sandwiches, and quite a few other goodies that I can’t fully figure out. There’s beer, there’s booze, there’s a whole countertop devoted to just wine, and even the soda is high-end and organic.


I spot some tiny dancers from the show. They all seem to be familiar with each other. Everyone’s really relaxed, but I don’t know how comfortable I should make myself. I feel nervous. I need a drink. But before I have the chance to get one, the host makes his way over to our side of the room. Someone’s asking him about a military library in San Francisco and whether or not he built it. He says it wasn’t him, it was his cousin.


He turns to my friends and I, introduces himself, and shakes my hand. I didn’t think he was going to do that. I didn’t really picture a man of his stature feeling the need to acquaint himself with someone like me, but I guess I underestimated his manners. I tell him my name and thank him for having me in his home. He smiles, turns up his palm, and motions across the room at all the people as if he’s just now taking it in for the first time himself, and he says, “You’re the gracious ones, thank you so much for being here.”


And I don’t know why it hit me so hard, but I was speechless. How is it that a man with billions of dollars could be thanking anyone for being in his home? I felt like I was in the presence of greatness, a greatness that inspired me, greatness that was no longer unattainable as he brought us all into his world. The guy sent me reeling, lost in his grandeur, but then brought me back down to Earth with a few modest words. In one instant, we shared in a universal sense of pure gratitude, and for that instant we felt the same. If I could make people feel the way that man made me feel in one simple sentence, it’s probably all I’d do. I’d spend my days giving away that feeling in every way I could. That feeling of confirmation, the one that says we’re all good enough when we open our eyes to see.


I realized after meeting him what I want in life.  I want to take care of you before I take care of me. I want my dreams to become a reality that I can invite you to be a part of, introduce you to experiences you never knew existed, and prove to you that belief in yourself is all you really need. I want to take you places and buy you things, just to see you giddy. I want to remove the constraints of life as you know it, show you a love that transcends finances and allows you to be who you want to be. I want to be the purveyor of intoxicating environments you never wanna leave, and I want to provide everyone I love with the freedom to be free.


 I want to make people feel and smile, that’s who I want to be.