Remember back in the unemployed days when I had that occasional gig as a Spa-Boy? Oh, those were the days. Nothing puffs the ego quite like wearing polyester pants with elastic waste bands and picking up towels left by hot women much younger than you. Well, the spa was attached to a five-star hotel which also includes a five star restaurant. A seriously expensive five star, eighty year old, plush leather seat, restaurant. The kind of place that reeks of old money, fat stogies, and middle-aged women with face lifts. On Friday night, to celebrate the new gig, friends and I went there for dinner. Loved, loved, loved the idea of going back there for dinner. After all, what says American Dream more than from going from one end of the service economy to another?

And I threw down. We all did. Never have I spent so much money on a dinner that didn't involve the potential of getting some. We're talking serious decadence here. We're talking crab crakes, filet mignon, and cherry upside pie a la mode.

It was yum.

The icing on the cake? Gratuitous Keanu sighting at the bar.