1956 Hallicrafters in Dijon Yellow

I was having lunch at the club with a woman I was seeing at the time. In addition to being very beautiful, she was also a tiny bit younger than me. Also, on that particular day, she had come directly to lunch from the Pilates class she had been teaching. So, she was still in her Lululemon attire.

We were having lunch on the terrace overlooking the 18th green and were seated at a table next to three tennis ladies. I didn’t know them, though that wasn’t unusual because I don’t really know anyone, but I gave them a friendly wave because it is a friendly club and I pretty much wave at everyone.

One of the ladies, in a flamingo pink tennis dress, said, “I don’t know you. Are you a new member?”

This kind of stuff doesn’t really bother me, and also, maybe a bigger factor, I’m on really good meds, so I replied, “fairly new, I’ve only been here 7 years.”

Then I smiled.

“That’s odd,” she said, “I’m such a social butterfly, I thought I knew everyone. What street do you live on?”

Even in such a small community as ours, the street you live on bestows some sort of social status.

“Valencia,” I said, pointing in the vague direction of my street.

Then I said what I always say in these situations. “I moved into Larry Sharnak’s old house. I golf with him.”

Larry used to be a board member, and, for reasons I find unfathomable, is generally beloved in our community. Basically, I was going for acceptance by association.

Then all 3 nodded their heads. Of course, they knew Larry.

I could now order my half chicken salad sandwich with a side of coleslaw.

But first, the flamingo pink dress needed to take a shot.

“It’s so nice you can have lunch with your daughter. My kids live so far away in California.”

I’m not sure what I would have said. Luckily, one of her lunch mates, in a Dijon yellow dress, wisely decided to save the day. “I’m Deborah Mason,” she said. Then introductions were made all around.

“Are you retired Ron?” asked Deborah.

“No,” I answered.

“What do you do?”

So, this is when I lied. I guess I was still a bit irritated over the ‘lunch with your daughter’ comment.

Now, although I lie all the time, I really don’t ever lie about my job. The only time was when my friend Bernie and I went to Club Med and I told people I played the triangle for the Toronto Symphony.

“I’m an artist,” I said.

“Painter?”

One of our members, Larry Dinkin, was a very well-respected painter with pieces in over forty museums.

“No, no. I’m a conceptual artist.”

“How interesting,” said Flamingo Pink in a tone which implied it wasn’t interesting at all.

“Yes, I make arrangements of vintage radios and then photograph them. A little in the style of Dale Chihuly.”

It wasn’t in the style of anyone. I owned a 1000-piece Chihuly puzzle of an installation of radios he had in Seattle. I just put radios on my shelves and took pictures. I had a few on my phone. To be honest, they could be art.

Then Deborah, pointing to the third woman, who had yet to speak, said, “you know Linda has a gallery in Palm Beach.”

Just my luck.

“Is your work being shown anywhere?” asked Linda. She said it while eyeing my date’s Lululemon outfit. Also, in a judgmental tone which made Flamingo Pink seem kind and understanding.

Now of course, I could have just said, “just kidding,” and retreated as gracefully as I could have.

But then I’d be left with a half-finished story. Instead, I decided to dig myself a little deeper.

“God no,” I said as haughtily as I could muster, “I didn’t think anyone did physical art anymore. All my stuff is NFTs. Gotta be on the blockchain. Crypto is the future.”

I didn’t believe that at all.

So now they would ask what NFTs were, and I would say, “non-fungible tokens,” hoping I pronounced fungible properly.

Then one of them would say, “never heard of them.”

Then my date, who was not a stranger to my fabrications, would pipe up with a zinger.

“That’s probably because,” she would then take a long sip of her unsweetened tea, “you’re too damn old.”

Ok. So, a little short but that would have been a perfectly good ending. Nice funny story. Move on.

But no.

Because, after I said NFT, Deborah, Dijon Yellow, said, “oh, like Bored Apes.”

Then Flamingo Pink said, “Ethereum is the best.”

And then Linda said, “I have two NFT installations at my gallery. Can you send me a link?”

The chicken sandwich was as good as ever but it felt like I was choking on it.

My date was not thrilled that I said no to the waiter’s offer for cappuccino, and I sped my golf cart back to the house. When I got home, I called Lewberg and explained my situation.

As always, Lewberg said, “I’ve got a guy.” Lewberg’s guy wanted $1200 for the mining costs.

I didn’t know very much about this but I’d done some research on Ethereum, and that seemed like a lot.

Lewberg said, “it’s not Ethereum. It is Sovlar.”

I told Lewberg I didn’t know what that was. He said not to worry. “It is a new cryptocurrency token that is linked to the American dollar.”

I didn’t know what that meant, but I wired him the money.

I now had five NFTs of photographs of radios on a shelf. I titled them RadiosOnShelf1, RadiosOnShelf2, RadiosOnShelf3, RadiosOnShelf4, and RadiosOnShelf5. Here’s what they looked like:

RadioOnShelf1

RadioOnShelf2

RadioOnShelf3

RadioOnShelf4

RadioOnShelf5

To make them look like digital art, we ran them through a program. The whole thing was ridiculous.

Lewberg’s guy asked how much I wanted to sell them for. I said $1000 each. I figured the tennis ladies could afford it. I wasn’t wrong. I sent the link and they each bought one. As I suspected, the woman in the Dijon yellow dress bought the Dijon yellow Hallicrafters. Then Lewberg bought one.

I said, “Lewberg, the whole thing is a scam. This is just me covering up a lie.”

Lewberg said, “Pappy, I believe in you.”

Linda put her Zevy NFT, RadiosOnShelf4, on display in her gallery. Within 2 weeks, it sold for $18,000. The others sold for more. Lewberg got an offer from an overseas buyer for $42,000.

“Pappy you’re a genius,” he exclaimed.

I decided to wait until it hit $100,000. Not because of the money.

But because I thought ‘The $100,000 NFT’ was a great title for the story.

Also, I might have gotten a bit greedy.

So maybe it was a little bit about the money. Also, I had started to plan #6, 7, 8, and 9.

Now, I don’t want to throw my now ex-girlfriend under the bus. But it was her idea that we spend two days in the Bahamas without our cell phones.

She said it would be romantic.

She said it was only two days.

What could possibly happen in two days?

Of course, you by now have all read about Andrew Sovlar and what happened to his eponymous crypto currency. He was arrested at his Bahamas mansion not three miles from where I was enjoying my cell-free weekend.

RadiosOnShelf1, the one I kept for myself, was now worth $4. “Lewberg,” I said, “you screwed me.”

And Lewberg said, “Pappy, the pain is what makes you a great artist.”

The End