Our economy revolves around lunch. Lunch, for early-jogging hard-charger, is first meal of day. Appetites sharpen; greed is at its peak. People make deals at lunch because they're hungry. But mere deals are not enough. What boosts economies into orbit are insane ideas - inventing an oven that will cook things in minutes; putting electronic asteroids in space; developing a pill to prevent pregnancy; creating a set of man and woman dolls who own all things real people do; using money a company hasn't yet earned to buy it now - kind of ideas that seem demented if you're drinking fruit juice but make complete sense if juice has been fermented.

For money to be made, someone has to say to someone else "Yes." And for lots of money to be made, someone has to scream "Yes! Yes! Yes!," whoop, holler, high-five, clink glasses and throw bread at other tables. What made Fifties' economy fizz wasn't good old family values. It was three-martini lunch.

Businessmen present themselves as clear-eyed conservatives who have studied figures and made most cost-effective, risk-reward balance, optimized, rationalized decision. In reality, recklessness is at very heart of capitalism; gravy train is a runaway, and Casey Jones is in cab. No one in his right mind would invest in a tenth of things capitalists invest in. That's why now, when we're all in our right minds, zip is happening. No economy ever fizzed on carbonated water.

So next time you find yourself lunching with a trio of smug, clear-eyed joy-buzzards, say "yes" to that Cosmopolitan Martini. Chances are one of them will crack and say "yes" too. Then they all will, and money is as good as in bank. And if they don't, who wants their gutless, bloodless, plodding, namby-pamby, scaredy-cat, pussyfooting business, anyway?