Friday, I saw the dream of capitalism fulfilled. I read at Google’s New York office.

If every company were as profitable as Google is, we’d be the happiest nation in the history of the world. (Truth is, we’re not even the happiest in our world. The new Division I Champion of happiness is Denmark.)

But I urge you all: go to see a Google office. It’s the workplace as fantasyland. All their employees eat lunch for free, five days a week, in two cafeterias; both cafeterias are manned by a guest celebrity chef, and both offer even entry-level day-laborers the joy of all-you-can-eat celebrity shrimp or celebrity steak or celebrity vegan surprise—(let me repeat) for free!

What’s more, throughout the office, every hundred yards or so (the space is huge), snack islands give bottled water away—and nuts and cereal and granola-bars and gum and breath mints—plus a lot of other things I didn’t have time to sneak into my pocket on the way out. Of course, being hyper-profitable buys one a kind of generosity turbo charge; a sense of everyone’s racing together toward perfection; the wind whipping a pretty color onto the whole world’s cheeks. It’s nice. I wonder how many companies have ever gotten the chance to be so munificent?

Anyway, another perk Google affords its employees (along with the Razor kick-scooters that people use to get around, and the indoor basketball court, etc.): free books. Once every week or so, the company invites authors to give readings. Then, it gives every employee who shows up a free copy of whatever the author’s hawking. On Friday, I was that author, selling my wares.

My crowd was, it pains me to admit, sparse. (Ouch.) My first reading in New York, my hometown, and the moderator had to ask the “crowd” to move in toward the center seats—because, that way, the room wouldn’t look so embarrassingly empty when Google put the event up on YouTube. All the same, I had the pleasure of being introduced by Spencer Spinnell, head of sales strategy for Google Print Ads. Spencer is also a friend of mine since we were 10-year-old summer campers together.

He’s thin and handsome now, but let’s just say he was “big-boned” as a kid. (Sorry, Spence). As for me, I was a skinny homesick wimp. We fought often back then—petty stuff: Reese’s Peanut butter cups, whose job it was to clean the toilet for inspection, that kind of thing. Our friends devised a way for us to fight fairly: we’d race from our bunk to the waterfront (advantage Strauss, because I was faster). But the race could involve pushing and hip-checking (advantage Spinnell, for obvious reasons). The only time we attempted this race/fight thing—just as I was about to win—he shoved me from behind and into a canoe.

But I digress.   

The reading got me wondering about the nature of book tours: How does one define success? To repeat, my event was poorly attended. (Because of the kind of scheduling snafu that’s epidemic in the book-tour world, I happened to be the third reading that week). Half the “crowd” had their laptops open as I spoke. (“We try to cut down on rudeness,” said Alexander Newman, the nice guy at Google who picks the readers and sets these events up. “But we’re not always successful at it.”) And, since it was my first reading, I hadn’t perfected my spiel. (I read for about five minutes too long—“10!” I hear an imaginary audience yelling in response…) 

And yet, I sold about 35 books, enjoyed a great, free meal, and took pleasure in the pinnacle of free enterprise—so that was cool. And the event’ll be up on YouTube: me standing before a crowd that’s been doctored to look fuller than it really was. So, who’s to say it was a total bomb? (Answer: Me.)

Anyway, this coming Monday night—June 23rd—will be my book party. It’s open to the public, with free wine and food and two great performers: one, the author of the wonderful "Areas of My Expertise," John Hodgman, of “The Daily Show,” “Baby Mama” and Apple ad fame; the other, the increasingly-famous singer/songwriter Jonathan Coulton, he of Baby Got Back and Code Monkey notoriety. They’re both crowd-pleasers and I’m hoping to ride their coattails, a little…..

It’s in New York City. 58 W. 10th St., (Between 5th and 6th Avenues). Please come and do something funny: I need material for this site. It’s not hard to do something blog-worthy, and then you’ll see yourself on Newsweek.com.

Anyway, that’s all I got. Strauss out.