Tonight, at a Major American Retailer, I bought some champagne. There was some kind of sale going on, so I bought two. I walked to the register with my two bottles of champagne (I am on something of a champagne kick recently) and set them down on the conveyor belt. The cashier said: “Damn, you like Andre?”

I said, “Of course I like Andre—it’s $5!”

“No one likes Andre. Why doesn’t anyone like Andre? There’s no hangover.”


“It’s cheap, too.”

“So cheap!”

“I wonder why no one likes it.”

“Buncha jerks!”

“I’m gonna tweet about this later. I thought I was the only one who liked Andre.”

“You’re not alone!”

I walked through Emeryville back into gloomy Oakland with my two bottles of champagne—one in each hand. People were amused when they passed me, or when I ran through a crosswalk. “What the hell is that guy up to? Man I’ll bet he’s about to have a really good time with those things.”

You know: someone carrying two bottles of champagne . . . now that’s a person with a fine idea. I am glad that at this juncture in human existence that person was me.

(EPILOGUE: Later, talking to a friend: “I have bought two bottles of champagne. I will save one of the bottles for the next time I see you.”)