Send "Lawyers, Guns, and Money"

Most of today, I’ve had Warren Zevon’s song “Lawyers, Guns, and Money” running through my head. If you haven’t heard it, there are a number of versions available on YouTube (I’m not posting a link because I don’t know if that is allowable in the Kingdom of Bloggerdom).

The song is fun – according to Mr. Zevon (on one of those YouTube videos), he wrote this song in Hawaii on “wet cocktail napkins after a long day of improbable and grotesque mischief.” Now, who can’t admire that?

Actually, consider the antic or the caper . . . the playful misadventure, naughtiness without malice, being bad to the extent that an apology is delivered to a laughing recipient. I recall being in New York City in the late 1980s with my pal Randy. He and I met in mid-town, had lunch at a place with an unpronounceable name, and intended a day in the city. He needed to do an errand, so he instructed me to wait for him at a place called The Monkey Bar.

True to its billing, the place was rife with images of apes – some climbing, some sipping from martini glasses, and others with a creepy gaze. My kinda joint!

Randy and I had this tradition that if one was kept waiting by the other, the one at the bar would order the missing rogue a martini and have it waiting. That day, Randy was more than a little late returning from his errand. I ordered a Heineken for myself and a martini for “my friend.” After a while, the Heineken evaporated, so I ordered a second – and a second martini for “my friend.”

By the time the third martini was ordered, it had caught the attention of a gentleman a couple of tables over. He had big round glasses, a receding hairline, and a charming smirk. I told him my invisible friend was thirsty – he laughed.

Shortly thereafter, Randy arrived. He fully expected one martini waiting, but three caught him off guard. He appropriately cussed me and we had a big laugh. The gentleman observing the scene laughed – and I’m certain looked a bit relieved.

As he and his party finished their meal, paid and left, the bartender said (in perfect Brooklynese), “Have a good day Mr. Simon.”

It was Neil Simon! And we made HIM laugh!

The balance of the day included blocks and blocks of city sights, smells, sounds, and other antics – including one that caught the attention of one of NYPD’s finest on horseback. Who knew it was a bad idea to steal quail eggs from Tavern on the Green and hurl them at buses? The officer shook his head and said, “wouldyacutdatout?”

If you do go TP your neighbor's house tonight, I won't tell.