Things I Will Never Do in My Lifetime
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| No need to lobotomize. |
1. Get a
lobotomy. Everyone thinks I'm spaced out enough as it is.
2. Run a marathon,
even if I get to eat a ton of spaghetti the day before the run without feeling
guilty. With my luck, the spaghetti would cause me to get a cramp and
fall down, and all the runners after me would pile on top of me and crush
me. On second thought, it is highly unlikely that there would be any
runners behind me. In that case, I'd survive the race but die of embarrassment.
3. Go swimming in
the Hudson River between Manhattan and New Jersey. That would be like
swimming in a giant toilet.
4. Get a tattoo on
my butt. To do that, I would have to let the tattoo artist see my
rear. Then I would have to go to Confession for letting a stranger see my
butt and disguise my voice so that the priest wouldn't know who he was laughing
at.
5. Ride any roller
coaster, especially the Cyclone at Coney Island. Well, maybe if you
offered me enough money to live in luxury for the rest of my life ... even
then, I'd have to think about it and get someone to hypnotize me before I got
on the thing.
6. Walk a
tightrope between two skyscrapers. I leave that to thrill-seeking idiots
with a death wish.
7. Be a Bond
girl. I'm too old, I'm too fat and too many of them get killed. I’d also hate to get stuck with a name like
Pussy Galore or Honey Rider.
8. Be elected Pope. I have too much estrogen and no Y chromosome
and I don’t look good in white robes.
9. Enter a beauty contest. I could ace the talent part, but don’t ask me
to wear a bathing suit in front of an audience.
Ever.
10. Travel in a spaceship. I have enough trouble just getting from The
Bronx to Manhattan.
This brings me to:-
Things I Would SO LOVE to Do
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| It would be fun to surprise these people. |
1. Walk up
Broadway from Times Square singing "Lullaby of Broadway" or "O
mio babbino caro," really loud so that everyone turns around and looks at
me and tourists take pictures of me.
Alternatively, I could stand in front of The Olive Garden and belt out
some of my extensive repertoire of Italian songs.
2. Learn to ride a
motorcycle. Buy a really cute helmet and
some stunning boots and wear them every time I take the bike out. Become known in the neighborhood as Harley
Kate.
3. Ride a
carousel, like a little kid (but without an adult standing next to me).
4. Finish that
novel I started, finally. Make it really
funny. Even though it’s about ancient
Greek goddesses and gods in modern times, make it believable. This isn’t as easy as it sounds.
5. Take part in a flash mob. This is something akin to No. 1 above, but
with a bunch of other crazy, fun people, not just me.
6. Sing a recital in one of New York’s classy
concert halls, with just me and an accompanist.
Blackmail all my friends into coming and bringing all their friends,
too. Give them a crash course in recital
etiquette a couple of days before the performance (i.e. “Please don’t applaud
in the middle of a group of songs. Wait
until the group is finished. Thank
you.”). Make sure to sing things they
will enjoy, so they won’t suffer.
7. Travel to Italy and, among everything else,
visit my father’s family’s hometown. Try
to find some relatives and some family records.
Hope I don’t find things out about my family that I would rather not
know.
8. Take a Mediterranean cruise. Buy so much stuff in every port that I won’t
be able to carry it through customs when I get back to the U.S.
9. Take a motor trip across the United States,
like John Steinbeck in Travels with
Charley. I don’t have a camper or
even a Winnebago and I don’t have a poodle, but that’s okay. I can still write a bestseller about all the
people I meet along the way and all the adventures I have, and my cat can come
along if she wants to.
10. Buy a bicycle and ride it all over The
Bronx. I could become a local
celebrity. “Hey, have you seen the old
lady on the bicycle? I’ll bet you 5-1
she falls off it today.” would become a daily neighborhood activity.
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