I’m not going to get overly analytical here (I promise), but there’s this new song called “Billionaire” by a guy I’ve never heard of named Travie McCoy.
Travie longs to be a billionaire “so freakin’ bad,” which, to his credit, is a pretty ambitious goal for a guy who doesn’t understand adverbs. He also wants to be on the cover of Forbes Magazine with Oprah and the queen. He doesn’t specify which queen, though I suspect it is the Queen of England he yearns to be photographed with (or maybe Perez Hilton), which would make for perhaps the most senseless Forbes cover of all time. But if you were a billionaire, you could probably hook that up.
Anyway, this song prompted me to ask myself how freaking bad I want to be a billionaire, and it turns out the answer is “not all that freaking bad.”
Like pretty much everyone else, I’d love to have, like, a lot more money. I mean, if I made 10 times more money, I’d still be solidly in the middle class. One hundred times more money would be awesome. I think becoming a millionaire, while highly unlikely, seems attainable. We all personally know a handful of millionaires. It’s not that unusual. Granted, approximately none of them are journalists, but that isn’t the point, here. The point is, I do want to be a millionaire, and don’t we all.
Being a billionaire, though, is just not something I’ve ever thought about for the same reasons I’ve never considered whether or not I wished to be the Queen of England. Also, I am completely certain that at some point well shy of a billion dollars, I would lose interest in making more money. If I had $600 million, I don’t think getting to $700 million would be much of a motivating factor. I would already own the Kansas City Royals, and there would already be 80s glam metal bands playing in centerfield between innings*. The money would have to start chasing me, perhaps literally.
*This is my brother-in-law Jason’s idea.
So this is a goofy song, but something tells me it wouldn’t be a hit if it was called “Millionaire.”