My Bucket List

Is that not the most horrible title ever? God, why was that phraseology ever inserted into our vernacular by Rob Reiner, thereby blocking any avenue I might have to picking something that doesn't suck? Well, in case you aren't aware, a Bucket List is apparently a list of things that you want to do before you die (or "kick the bucket" as it were). And I'm not going to just do the usual "get a college degree/publish a novel/skydive" bullcrap here. Oh no, I plan on living a long time. If I limited myself to the usual fare, I'd be one bored individual by the time I reached 50. Besides, in classic hedonist form, my life has always been defined by my desires or the pursuit of pleasure. That means I have always had a pretty long list. Well, here are a few more things.

1. I want to own a collection of historic firearms, like flintlock pistols and muzzle-loader rifles. You know, the kind that take about a half hour to load, that you'd never want to use for home protection unless you were keenly psychic and could pack the powder down the barrel and have it aimed before the intruder entered your house? Of course, it might not work that way. I imagine a scenario that goes something like this: "Hold on there, Mister Robber Guy!" My speech is just a little distorted because I'm ripping open the little packet of gun powder with my teeth. The kid is just standing there as I'm pouring it into my gun, probably transfixed by the fact that I'm actually going to attempt to shoot him with such a relic. He probably wouldn't even begin to run until I had it pointed at him, and by then, it would be too late. Unless of course the gun misfired, as they were likely to do back in those days. No, I'd just keep such weapons for target practice.

2. I would like to successfully land a cartwheel. I've never done it. Even as a rather svelte child, I lacked the proper grace and fearlessness to just go for broke. I would start to reach for the ground and get this image in my head of splitting my skull, and I would totally wimp out at the end. Nowadays, I fear that if I attempted a cartwheel, my shoulders would rip from their sockets and my arm bones would come tearing from my back. I know it's not a very anatomically-correct scenario; my arms would probably snap at the elbow, but either way, envisioning such an end result has been horrific enough to keep me out of cartwheel mode for nearly 30 years. Well, one day I'll snap out of it. There WILL be a cartwheel in my future.

3. Make a REAL enemy. Yes, that's right. Too many people prefer to avoid having enemies, thinking that they are a hindrance to living a good life. I disagree. Enemies are generally created because we stood up for something we believed in and pissed someone else off. They are our rivals. They are the opposing forces who have shaped us and defined our life's causes. They are living examples of the importance of our own guiding principles and ethics. One needs enemies almost as much as one needs friends. Looking at my life so far, I can't say that I have any "true" enemies. Oh sure, I've pissed plenty of people off, but I haven't done it deeply enough because I've always held something back. The fear of having rivals is essentially the fear of being responsible for one's own actions and beliefs. Once one can reach that pinnacle and create an enemy for life, then I think one has accomplished something truly marvelous.

4. Live for one year like the Dude from The Big Lebowski. Bowl every day, drink White Russians, and smoke crippling amounts of pot. I just want to see if I can make it.

5. Find out a way to build a REAL Lightsaber. Or at the very least commission someone MUCH smarter to do it for me.

6. Pull a Jack Bauer. Spend 24 full hours doing crazy, impossible shit without eating or taking a piss. Examples of such activities? Get shot at (make sure one of the bullets hits a non-vital area). Hang yourself from a hook and have someone administer shocks with a taser/cattle prod. Run through the city streets, vaulting over cars. Drive said cars through said city streets, alluding the authorities while screaming to the top of your lungs into your cell phone. Get into a plane crash. Lose a relative.

7. Not only get published. Get published in The New Yorker. I think I just wet myself at the thought.

8. Achieve the level of coolness or relevance necessary to have someone model a comic book hero after me.

9. Actually learn how to use every facet of Photoshop, without the brain bleed.

10. Be in a crowded mall and suddenly have the people around me spontaneously erupt into synchronous dance, ala Thriller. That would be cool.


  1. The New Yorker? Too much time in the Great Northwest and drinking Starbucks has made you pretentious. Cheers Your Hotness!!

  2. Matt darling, I have ALWAYS been pretentious. lol And believe me, I don't have the reading level capable of understanding most of what is in The New Yorker, but I feel that if I can achieve the ability to impress those snobs, I will have truly made it. Oh yeah--I abhor Starbucks. There is much better local brew to be had. :)

  3. Cartwheels . . . my mum could land those babies everytime, drove me nutz. It was kind of embarassing.


  4. What if I put you in my webcomic? Does that count?


  5. Clara -- My friends were all that way. Buncha Mary Lou Rettons. lol

    Ian -- That would be an honor, fo shiz. Your challenge would be gathering enough Legos to fashion me. LOL