My Life As A Hobby

                         I can’t believe I posted this. No humility. “.   - What the hell did you do that for?” Is not something I usually say at one of the happiest places on earth. Yet there I was on my last trip to Universal Studios in Orlando, saying it to my wife. Because on the second morning, in front of my kids and grandkids, she committed a small but unforgivable act of betrayal, one that stomped my dignity flat. She ordered me an electric scooter.       Yes, I arrived with a bum right knee. Yes, I walked about eight miles the first day that felt like the Bataan Death March. Yes, I was downing ibuprofen like peanut M&Ms.      But still, an electric scooter is crossing a big line. I considered that thing a rolling obituary notice. In my mind, it’s saying to  world, “Yes, I have all my affairs in order.”        I’m not in denial about getting older. I’v...

      I’ve done some dumb things in my life.  On several occasions I have shown Heisman level stupidity, and I’m embarrassed to say I’ve added another one to my collection.      Take this as an official warning. All  y’all planning theme park trips; don’t do this. Don’t be me. Don’t be us.     I was in Orlando, visiting the Universal Epic Universe theme park, and let me tell you: the only thing “epic” was my epic lapse in judgment that brought me to wait in line of a particular roller coaster.       It was in Nintendo Land, and I spent over  2½ hours  waiting for a ride called Mine Car Madness. The only madness was the wait in line. To be fair, they told us it was “135 minutes.” And like geniuses, we nodded and said, “Sounds reasonable.” Apparently, we collectively forgot that 135 minutes is basically the run time of Titanic. The sign at the entrance said, “you must be to this tall to ride.”  It  sh...

      There I stood, a 12-year-old boy in a dripping wet bathing suit, heart in my throat, gazing out from the top of a skyscraper-sized tower that overlooked what appeared to be the biggest swimming pool on earth. I turned and saw that my buddy, the one who climbed up with me for moral support, had chickened out. He was already skulking back down the stairs. I did not need to see that show of cowardice because my own resolve was weakening. So instead of watching him retreat, I stepped to the edge of the platform and took a long look around.     The jumping tower resembled a giant letter “A,” perhaps 25 feet tall, although it seemed much higher to a kid with shaky knees. Along the way up were smaller platforms jutting out every six feet or so, ideal for those less courageous, or perhaps wiser than I felt at that moment.     The view was impressive. I could see the entire pool, which was roughly two-thirds the size of a football field. At the far end ro...

    Ah, Thanksgiving - the holiday built around gratitude, family, and if we are being honest, food. I could add football to the list, but most games on Thanksgiving are so dull they just hasten the inevitable post-meal nap.      It’s definitely an American holiday that’s based on abundance.  Every November, families gather around dining room tables that groan under the weight of golden turkeys, dressing, spiral ham, buttery mashed potatoes, and assorted homemade casseroles.     But lurking among these beloved dishes, hiding beside your mom’s mac and cheese and grandma’s field peas, are a couple of culinary outliers, foods that inspire grimaces not gratitude. Of course, I’m talking about  fruitcake and green bean casserole. If a Pilgrim wife had brought a fruitcake and a green bean casserole to the first Thanksgiving feast, the Indians might’ve killed them all on the spot.     Although they may be served with the best intentions, th...

      I’m going to do something I haven’t done in a long time, in fact, it’s been years. And to be perfectly honest, I’m not looking forward to it. Apparently, the situation requires it, and I don’t have a choice.     I’m going to wear a suit and tie.     We received a last-minute invitation to a hoity-toity charity event that contained two words which chilled me to the bone: “cocktail attire.” So, after about ten years, it’s finally caught up with me: I must don a suit and tie. Until now, I’ve managed to get through funerals and all kinds of social events wearing  a blue blazer, casual  gray slacks, and a polo shirt. Occasionally, I have gotten by with  wearing jeans, a tweed jacket, a black T-shirt, and sneakers - that comedy look. But not this time.     As a result, I’m scrambling through my closet, digging through old pleated pants and paisley ties like a squirrel searching for a buried acorn.     When you begin r...

      I’ll remember that day for a while, especially how fast everything changed. It’s still hard to believe that one minute I was in nirvana , and in an instant, it became purgatory . Let me explain.        I was on a jet ski , cruising on a lake at 40 miles an hour without a care in the world. Nothing but me, smooth water, a life jacket, and the high-pitched drone of the motor. Million dollar homes zipped by like dollhouses. I saw cliffs and trees that belonged on The Nature Channel . My world was perfect.     And then, in an instant, my placid, peaceful world vanished, not with a bang, but a whimper. Without so much as a warning, the jet ski suddenly stopped dead in the middle of the lake. More importantly, it refused to start again.      I felt betrayed because I’ve been good to that ski. I’ve changed the oil and kept it tuned. I’ve babied it on the water. It spent winters in my warm garage after I washed and waxed it. ...