The Other Bucket List

There is this whole ‘bucket list’ thing people do, things they want to do before they "kick the bucket." Fun things, accomplishments, facing fears and smiling at those fears, those kind of things.

What about a bucket list of things we absolutely never want to even touch before we die? A bucket list of things that we want to avoid-at all cost. Yeah, you gotta think about that one, huh? And you can’t pick things like stomach cancers or some slow debilitating disease. We don’t have choices on those. They just show up. I’m talking about things we can or can not chose.

Like going to a hookah bar and smoke something. This was some new trend my son’s generation came up with and I hope it dies with the baggy pants. Why would I want to go put my lips on a pipe that someone else had their cankered covered lips on? And what exactly are we smoking that can beat a good $5 cigar from Tony's on Central?

I don’t want to ever be in a bar fight. At my age, I would have to cheat. I would have to do something early in the fight, some shock and awe thing, or I would die. If I missed, if I wasn't fast enough, I can’t call time out and hope they honor it. Besides, what is there to get so ramped up about that a good scotch couldn't settle?

I don’t want to ever go to a rap concert, although rap is dying out and being replaced with something else. I can tell it would be too loud and they wouldn’t have single malt scotch. They would have blended which is just wrong and everyone there would be wearing their baseball caps sideways. That just bugs me.

I don’t want to go to watch the Olympic Games, at least not pay for the tickets. If someone gave me tickets, I would probably go. The best seats are always my couch. “But it’s the Olympics,” I can hear the pleas. If I went, I would want to go to one of the minor competitions, like something between the country of Georgia and Guam. I would want to try to make them feel good about being from there.

Along those same lines, I don’t want to ever go to a Super Bowl. Still the best seats are in my house, but also no one really watches the Super Bowl except for the commercials and they don’t have those at the game. Just really expensive hot dogs.

I don’t want to go elk or deer hunting. I don’t mind others who like that, that’s fine. But I’m in this whole fairness season of my life and just think sniping an elk at three hundred yards with a bullet that makes no noise before impact is cheating. Now, I would go and even orchestrate a trip to hunt elk under the rules that you have to sneak up on them and slap a “I 

 NY” bumper sticker on its rump before it could tear me in half with his rack of antlers.  Or even paint balling one with bright orange paint.  It would be even more of a challenge if we did all this to a momma grizzly and her cub. There could be some good times there.

I don’t think I will ever vote for the State Mine Inspector. Not unless I know the person. I will always leave that box unchecked.  

Body waxing-really? Who came up with the idea of slathering on medicinal grade wax on a hairy part of your body, imbed some gauze in it, and then ripping it off once it hardens? Now, I know some men are right out of the Planet of the Apes series, but that's why they made safety razors.

This is just some ideas. You probably have your own. I am sure they will change like the wind but this isn't a bad start.

Some things just don't change.

Decades ago, when it rained, boys in their black Converse would take their Forestall class carriers to the flooded gutter, the wood island, holding eight penny nails for radar and communication antennas. Boys would ease the two feet of two by four pine from their father's last project and in the midst of the downpour and occasional lightening strikes, and while the shoes filled with warm dirty water, the boys would play until the keel of their ship hung up on the shallow sea.

Fast forward thirty years and the boy has grand children. His shoes are Asics instead of Converse, instead of tube socks he wears, well, tube socks, and his carrier has graduated a foot to a Reagan class complete with rusted nails along its gunnel's for Phalanx anti-missile defense, causing the depth of her keel to sit a little lower than her predecessor. But rain in the gutter and a simple board has become the imagination of thousands of boys-no matter their age.

Storms are rare in Phoenix. Deep gutters are even rarer, especially deep seas that move a ship to just before being swallowed by the city's underground. Only thing missing is a Wienerschnitzel Coke.

Oh boy, here we go!

I think there are several things that rise to the top of the creamy soup heading in to this time of year, this time of year being the Christmas season. Yes, you heard me, the Christmas season. Look, as soon as Walgreens and Costco put out the Nativity and Santas’ that look like gnomes, it’s time to break out the sweat shirts, wool socks, and we can all stop shaving our legs. I don’t care if it is still so hot outside you get butt chaffing, ‘tis the damn season and we need to be ready for it, like it or not!!!

Like I was saying, a couple of important things this time of year. First, set a budget you can easily break without losing sleep. Every year, sometime around 2:24 and 2:37am, I start waking up in a cold sweat worrying about whether I paid the power bill or overlooked them when I bought the “Johnny Rockets, Ghetto Commander Action Troll Dolls—‘as seen on TV’.” If you have a budget that you have room to bend a little like day old pasta, you should be fine.

Another item is boundaries. Somewhere around Thanksgiving, people start bugging us like left over cereal milk left in the front seat of your car. Once you break that thin seal of slime on top, the odor of the true contents waft over you and you are smelling it for a week. Set boundaries. Just say no, to anyone who wants to visit for anything over a forty-eight hour window, especially if they smell like stagnant milk left in a car. If they’re nice, then play it by ear, but don’t force it. Find them a nice Motel 6 nearby and arrange a visitation schedule. Allow them to bring food to the dinner. Better yet, just have them give money.

Pet your dog.

Practice singing Christmas carols with the wrong words. Then, when you’re standing in line at Starbucks, you crank out the wrong lyrics. You have, in just those few seconds, set a course for those around you for the rest of the day. They will have that tune you created in their head for the rest of the day, maybe even changing your lyrics into their own. Sometime late in the afternoon, they will look up the real lyrics on this here computer because they forgot them. Now that is seasonal fun!!

Remember, songs, dog, boundaries, and breakable budget. If you do, you should be fine.