Dude, You Should Totally Do That!

I'm no entrepreneur, but I'd like to think that I can recognize a good business idea when I hear one.

I've had a few great brainstorms of my own. Circa 1999 I had the thought of opening Bill's Burgers, a fancy hamburger spot in Williamsburg ("fancy burgers for your fancy ass"). Now whenever I lay my eyes on a yuppie hamburger, I kick myself—hard—for missing out on that party (or should I say patty, har har) train. The yuppie ice cream truck, free-range/local/organic/human-grade cat food delivery service, and Goldman Sachs corporate sandwich cart are still in development phase. (I'm looking for business partners if anyone wants to float me, say, one or two million dollars.)

I was wandering around today, eavesdropping on people as I normally do, and heard a pretty novel idea. Three semi-adult frat boys were hashing out the details on an energy drink to be called Guido Juice. Containing seven essential amino acids (?), it would guarantee that you "get laid" that night or else you could get your money back. They turned the corner at University while I continued along 14th Street, so I missed out on some salient details. Would the drink be targeted toward men? And would it contain some kind of transformative substance that would make some asshole guido irresistible to the opposite sex? Or maybe it would be loaded with rohypnol and geared toward women? Anyway, those guys are fucking class A braniacs and I wish them all the best.

For all you non-NYCers, this is the sort of ridiculous stuff you constantly hear. Especially on an early spring day, like today, when people, buoyed by the warm temperature, are overstimulated, talk really loud, and wear unseasonable foot wear. Eavesdropping is definitely one of the most tantalizing aspects of life in NYC. Today alone I heard two construction workers tease a third who was planning to spend the afternoon at a baby shower, two security guards at Chelsea Market talk about what they do and don't like about cops, and, in my ghetto ass liquor store, a middle-aged man explaining the trials and tribulations of staying off the hooch to the Bacardi rep who was giving out (disgustingly warm) free samples. (Don't worry, he wasn't buying liquor, just lottery tickets).

But the highlight of my day involved a non verbal encounter: a huge muscle bound guy, totally oiled up, wearing a very loose fitting muscle shirt walking a tiny tiny miniature pinscher.