Some weeks back I had dinner with two old friends from high school. We wound up hanging out with some college girls and my boys struck out hard with the two 19-year olds of the group; much to my simultaneous amusement and chagrin. You see, my guys are named Dan and Dave. For anyone, who recalls the build up to the 1992 Barcelona Olympics these Velveeta classics were a quintessential part of 90's folklore and a goldmine of opening lines for my buddies.
Things are quite different, nearly 20 years on.
I want to stack the resumes up against each other and ask you guys the question America was so passionate about at a time when we didn't have bigger things to worry about...
Dan or Dave?
Voted most likely for coronary croak pre-40 in bed with five women, bathing in roast pork and Champale. Definitely the Midas type when it came to objects of desire and enjoyment. To compare Danny boy to a Hollywood megastar or a pro-sport phenom, just wouldn't have been fair...for the other guys. Dan was the natural. He spent the better part of the tech and real estate bubbles feasting on the spoils rich men bestowed upon their wives. He held jobs such as producer, author, painter, sculptor and master of ceremonies. I swear I never saw him add any value to anything except his own fun bubble and in spite of all reasons why it should burst, it never has. All this time he resides in his mom's spacious basement in Brooklyn, which he expertly soundproofs and equips with a small bar, jacuzzi and theater-sized projection television. Dan has traveled to more exotic locations and can cook more delicious dishes than any 5-star chef I've had the pleasure of being extorted by.
The Doctor. The guy who made professors nervous to teach at fear of intellectual emasculation. The sharpest tack in a needle stack. Probably known by many of your MDs on The Street. Parachuted out of the game about ten years ago. Trades his own dollar. Kills it. Someone recently asked about who the modern day Jesse Livermore was? Dave. That's who. He wakes up every morning, makes his picks and makes his money. He lives the dream. Thing is, Dave doesn't sleep much. He's never smoked a cig or drank to excess, his nasal cavity is the width of a straw compared to Dan's pipeline. Yet, Dave has hypertension. The oddity compounds when you realize he runs 4-5 miles every morning and is a vegan. Dave has done everything right his whole life. He's far and away the biggest success I know. So why is it that I worry about Dave, a lot more than I worry about Dan?