What If?

I think we’ve all played the “what if?” game with the lottery: New car; new house; charitable giving, etc. Certainly a sudden influx of unlimited funds would open a lot of windows looking out on a lot of dreams.

But another “what if?” has entered my consciousness recently through a television commercial that, every time I see it makes me think not what if, but “who would I?” If I won the contest to take ten people to the Super Bowl, who would I take? This might be harder than “what if” I won a million dollars. In that case, one thing I would not do would be to take ten people to the Super Bowl.

First of all I don’t think I know ten people who would want to go! Maybe three or four would do it just to do it even though they really have zero interest in football. And if the Super Bowl was being held in, say, San Francisco (or Paris) I would have no end of takers just because it would be geographically attractive but, sorry, this year’s Super Bowl is in Indianapolis. I’m sure it’s a very nice city and has several nice restaurants and our hotel room(s) would be, well, nice but even as hyped as the Super Bowl is, it’s just another football game for a lot of people and not even on the radar as anything special for some of my friends and/or family.

The Super Bowl is not actually on my own bucket list but I would probably go if I won a ticket, or ten, even to Indiana. I do watch a lot of football and I have some favorite teams I’d like to see in the flesh or, at least, in their shiny, tight uniforms (am I revealing too much with that statement?). Anyway, through no effort on my part, I’m entered in this contest so if anybody would consider going please make yourself known to me. When the arboretum calls I don’t want to be caught with my plants down.

Now if I could take ten people to see The Book of Mormon on Broadway I would have another problem altogether. So how do I enter that contest?

King of the Birthdays

This is Tom Bullock, Sr. He turned 99 on November 18th. He makes my recently celebrated 75th, as jolly as it was, feel like chopped liver. Happy Birthday, Tom, next year I’m coming to your party!

Yucca Truckin’

This is a little report on a great day at the end of October in (and out of) a truck in Yucca Valley and the Joshua Tree National Park outside of Palm Springs, Calif. After a very early, very civilized, breakfast we hit the first dirt road within ten minutes of departing the breakfast host’s cozy desert-style home on the outskirts of Cathedral City.

There are actually designated areas in Yucca Valley where you can 4-wheel it through the brambly mesquite, Joshua trees, shell-casings and bullet-riddled hulks of abandoned vehicles. It’s beautiful in its own rough way and “truckin’” it feeds into the macho posturing of every all-American male. There are also promontories and peaks that can be reached by “gunning” it up steep trails where distant vistas and valleys are spread out as far as the eye can see. On a clear day in the desert the view can be a hundred miles and the colors are subtle and magnificent.

We stopped for pee breaks and a tailgate lunch but mostly it was roaring and bouncing along heart-stopping narrow-cliff climbs (and descents), along with the rough beauty of the California desert. I must confess at one point I got out of the truck (I wasn’t the only one) and walked a few hundred yards ahead to rejoin my designated ride after it negotiated a very steep and unsafe-looking arroyo.

Our fearless leader had a global positioning device (and all of the drivers had walkie-talkies) that kept us on the right track (mostly) when the wrong fork was a possibility. It was obvious that without these modern devices an unwary vehicle could be in a pickle very quickly. After a morning of fearless(?) trekking in Yucca Valley we entered the civilized confines of the Joshua Tree National Park by a weird back-country entrance and were obviously back with the more civilized wanderers, passing designated nature walks, birding opportunities and a couple of benign-seeming official ranger vehicles. We were definitely a motley crew that needed monitoring. At least until the selected cheeses/crackers, freshly-cut fruit salad and fresh-baked brownies hit the tailgates. Ain’t nothin’ like a semi-gourmand picnic to enhance the experience of a bunch of rough-ridin’ cowhands.

It was a great ride, a nice rough-house day and it ended back in Cathedral City where we washed off the grime and dust in a wonderful shaded pool, only corrupted by a little indecent exposure from various participants. When somebody says “clothing optional” you can easily guess my choice. My thanks to all the guys; for the trucks, the gas, the lunch, the pee breaks and the salt-of-the-earth camaraderie; and, of course, the exposure.

The Last Super

Anybody who truly has my back more than superficially knows that I’ve had a crush on Superman since, well, practically the day the folks at DC Comics invented him. Consequently, through the years, I’ve tried desperately not to collect Superman paraphernalia, and have mostly succeeded. But recently I indulged my own base instincts and bid on a man-of-fragile-glass Christmas ornament on e-Bay. I’m not all that sure how I stumbled across these rarities but I think it had to do with my interest in Christopher Radko ornaments in general and then, specifically, the one he designed for release in 1996 depicting this particular paragon of adolescent superficiality.

Actually, I find Radko ornaments in general kind of bizarre, if not downright ugly. Their very unalloyed unattractiveness is sometimes what actually draws my interest along with, of course, the incipient glitter inherent in the medium. The Radko ornaments are no exception. We are all attracted to glitz, right? It’s just too bad most of us are incapable to discerning the difference between innocent glitz and tasteless bling.

Anyway, after a couple of weeks of making unsuccessful bids on Radko’s Superman I changed my strategy and posted a maximum bid and stuck with it. Over and over I was notified that I had been outbid and I would immediately go on-line, seek out the next offering, post my maximum and wait it out. Persistence finally paid off and I’m now the owner of a semi-rare Christopher Radko ornament in the shape of Superman. His body is muscularly distorted and his visage is fey and effete and almost feminine but, hey, who am I to complain about those little details? I own it; I’m now living with it and I’m proud of it (I think).

Okay CoCo Key

Water parks are a helluva lot of fun for a wide range of reasons. Just the joy of being unashamedly soaked to the skin has been true since the days of jumping through lawn sprinklers as a child. And it certainly carries over into adulthood when, as a supposed grown-up, you deliberately go on a “flume” ride; the rollercoaster-like divertissement featured at most modern playlands. If you go on a water ride and you don’t get wet, where’s the fun in it and why even bother?

Water parks have age limits as to just how old and/or big a child can be to take the plunge on certain slides, and for good reason. Some of those suckers take a drop from as high as seven or eight stories, and around some of the curves the G-force can be brain altering. It’s just like a roller coaster except you’re not strapped in and you’re not wearing much.

Okay here’s the deal. Along with a minimum age I’m now firmly convinced, from first-hand experience, there should be a maximum; my suggestion being about 55 or so. Also, there should definitely always be a weight limit; for any age.

The facts: a 75-year-old mound of 225 lbs. of blubber should be barred from participating. And I have the bruises to prove it.