When you’re a fat, unfit, formerly-depressed misanthropic wrestling nerd with a keen ability to overshare (did you know I once pooped six times in one day when I didn’t have diarrhea?) there are a few things I could have done with my life as I hit middle age.
The sensible approach would have been to cut down on the treats, get a little bit fitter, and settle into a job which could maintain my interest for the next quarter of a century.
The benefits from that path would have been immense – no longer would long walks be met with a groan and swelling of my fucked ankle, for example.
I could become a mentor to those younger members of staff who must surely be impressed with someone who couldn’t decide what they wanted to do with their lives until their fifth decade on this planet.
And I could retire with enough money to pay for the upkeep on the retinal implants which, in just a few years time, will serve me my daily dose of news, movies and television shows as I lie around in a wooden shack because I can’t afford to buy a house in Auckland. Again (but that’s another story).
But for someone who still watches wrestling – and both cries and cheers while watching it – ‘sensible’ was never the likely option.
So I continue to do what I’ve always done – dream of all the experiences I should be doing while spending money on shit that doesn’t mean anything. All while stuffing as much Sal’s Pizza into my distended belly as possible. Fuck it, their half and half cheese and pepperoni pizzas are stunning. And the garlic knots are pretty damned tasty too. And they have Ben & Jerry’s ice-cream. The bastards.
The idea of a bucket list always appealed to me – but giving yourself a list of things to do before you die sounds like a bad idea, especially if you don’t want to think about actually fucking dying.
I mean getting around to finally solving a Rubik’s Cube when I was 82 isn’t exactly appealing. For a start I’m not actually sure I’m going to get to that age.
And even if I do, given the amount of offal I ate in my twenties in Scotland, I’m almost certain to come down with some form of encephalopathy which renders my brain more useless than an honest politician.
Nope, if I was going to achieve those things I always wanted to in life I am going to do it before I hit the big 47. Fuck it, why not? It’s as arbitrary as death and makes as little sense as the list that follows.
Besides, if I don’t do it soon there’s no chance I’m going to get away with buying only one seat on an airplane rather than the two when my middle-age spread really starts to bite.
So here’s my ‘Fuck you DEATH*, not-quite-ready-to-kick-the-bucket’ list:
- Interview Jimmy Buffett
- Do a stand-up comedy set – and not suck
- Write a non-fiction book
- Score a penalty at Ibrox
- Do a triathlon
- Play an instrument on an album
- Play a round of golf at a Major championship course
- Appear as an extra on a television show/movie
- Ride a wave standing on a surfboard
- Go to Key West and drink beer
- Learn to throw a pot
- Sell a painting
- Volunteer overseas
- Walk the West Highland Way and the Tongariro Crossing
- Ride a motorcycle
- Write and make a short movie
- Bungee jump
- Get naked outside
- Fly first class
- Learn to sing
- Wrestle a match (or more likely, call a wrestling match)
Some are self explanatory. Others not so. I’ll expand. When I can be arsed.
*Miss you, Terry Pratchett.