Binderama60for60

It’s about to become 2026. Another year. They keep coming. And they keep coming faster! How many more of these are there going to be?

Good question!

That was a key impetus for this whole 60|60 series: mortality. I’m grateful for all that I’ve experienced in 60 years, no doubt. There’s not a lot more I could even wish for, at least in some reasonably, realistic fashion, not to mention morally, legally and ethically.

But, hey, I got only so many years to go, so what are 60 things I should do before I kick. A few of these are realistic, some reasonable, most highly unlikely, some impossible. A boy can dream.

Buckle up!

1. Write a novel. Sell one or two. Or not.
2. Break even in Vegas. Not just for a single trip, but for all accounts dating back to 1998.
3. Finish the FREE 72-ounce steak, along with shrimp cocktail, baked potato, rolls and salad at the Big Texan just off the interstate in Amarillo.
4. Visit Stonehenge at dawn for the Solstice. Maybe a few days early or late, avoid the crowds.
5. Watch all of Kevin Costner’s movies that aren’t about baseball. I kid!
6. I’ll take the ranch, bbq AND honey mustard. Thank you!
7. Become a Notary Public. Just for the seal/embosser/stampy tool thing alone. Btw, it is not Noter Republic, as so many people believe.
8. Find the most comfortable shoes that also look stylin’.
9. Win a participation trophy. I am long overdue.
10. Wake up in Honk Kong, go to sleep in New York. I did that once, in a single day. Now I’d settle for doing either. One at a time. Whenever. No particular order.
11. Complete the idiom decathlon: drink from a fire hose, herd cats, poke the bear, cut a rug, fly by the seat of my pants, paint the town red, kick the hornets’ nest, put lipstick on a pig, say the quiet part out loud, and open the kimono.
12. Look good in jeans.
13. Down a whole tub of Cool Whip, no utensils.
14. Finish a sleeve of Pringles in one long head-back, shovel-n-chew sort of arrangement.
15. Live Matthew McConaughey’s life for 24 hours. Not in a row, just as needed, charged by the minute.
16. Be served fried asparagus at a restaurant in western Michigan after mid-June. IYKYK
17. See my grandchildren do great things. Note: If ever I tell you that my grandkids are doing great things, have me committed.
18. Get a tattoo. Of course I could do this tomorrow if I really wanted to. If I did, it would be Captain Caveman or “MARY” or Bowzer or the Colonel.
19. Go skydiving. Of course I could do this tomorrow if I really wanted to. But I have something.
20. Get pierced. Of course I could this tomorrow if I really wanted to. Unless it’s a Prince Albert, in which case it’s a no. Depends though: how much have we been drinking?
21. Build an empire like the Byzantine one which I learned about in high school though I didn’t actually retain any of it. I could brush up I guess. Or think smaller.
22. Write a sentence as masterfully mathematical, funny, empathic and perfect as what constitutes the whole of first paragraph of footnote 111 in David Foster Wallace’s essay A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again.
23. Suffer a serious injury by rescuing a puppy or an old lady from some bad situation, instead of suffering a serious injury by slipping in the bathroom or setting the kitchen on fire.
24. Pay it forward, seriously. Caveat: I will need to know what “it” is. Are we talking drive-thru coffee? Or an organ donation? Or some kind of surrogacy situation?
25. See all the good stuff.
26. Ride every roller coaster.
27. Get tased. I don’t know why either. Curious I guess.
28. Re-popularize the term, “Sorry doesn’t feed the admiral’s cat!” One of my Dad’s faves.
29. Survive to see justice served.
30. Fully appreciate the difference between parsley, cilantro and oregano. And share my insights with others. At every opportunity. Even at other tables. At length.
31. Achieve total consciousness. Sober. With time to spare.
32. Live so close to a Buc-ees that we can walk there but far enough away to not hear the highway. But still close enough we can use their bathroom, if needed.
33. Have the guys at the country club call me a “ball striker.” Just not in the sauna.
34. Make “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang” make sense. Was I tripping as a toddler?
35. Expertly fold a fitted sheet. Or I’m good to keep balling it up and hiding it in the stack between the folded flat sheet and pillow cases.
36. Fly a plane. And land a plane. Thing is, I have no depth perception, so a lot of people would die.
37. Speaking of planes, I’d take a 747 from a rogue nation. No, make it an A380. And a pilot.
38. Share a Pike’s Peak at Farrell’s with all my friends to celebrate my birthday. Gimme the whole song and dance too, drums, sparklers, singing, etc.
39. Get captured behind enemy lines. Not in a war or anything, just like a charity benefit sort of “jail” scenario. You take Venmo?
40. Learn how to ice skate or roller skate or ski or skateboard or snowboard or surf or anything that involves standing and moving at the same time without a strap to hold onto.
41. Sit behind the president at the State of the Union address. Don’t need to displace anyone, just add a third chair and some bottle service.
42. Relive a day in “Groundhog Day” fashion so that I can learn lessons, make better decisions, become a better person. Screw that! I get to choose the day to relive. And I’ve got a few in mind that I could do again and again without changing a thing, maybe a few tweaks near the end. Gimme one of those days! (Is this what a coma feels like?)
43. Go shirtless and be celebrated. Without pity.
44. Achieve world peace by whatever means necessary.
45. Judge a TV cooking show on a night that features KFC, Arby’s, a 72-ounce steak, bacon and my Mom’s mac’n’cheese.
46. Overcome my greatest fear: eat a bowl of beets, Brussel sprouts and chicken livers while being stalked by crocodiles and that freaky kidnapper from “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.”
47. Succeed at the “trust fall.” Alone.
48. Make the Dewey Decimal System great again. Low priority.
49. Go all-in on a wingnut conspiracy theory. Bucket bonus: start one.
50. Become an MVP for some sports team somewhere, just so I get comped for rest of my life at the local Applebees.
51. Stay hydrated, stretch and get at least 20 minutes of exercise every day. I hear that’s important, people.
52. Patent something. Maybe something easy like a better potato masher, or something useful like universal shower controls that are the same in every friggin’ hotel room I will ever stay in(!), or something hard like a vehicle for time travel.
53. Regarding above: time travel. Post-patent, pitch some ideas to Michelangelo for the Chapel ceiling (“what are you trying to say with this one?”); get Shakespeare to include a character named Doug, a bit of a rogue and fierce lover, painfully witty. As to the future, renew my Spotify in order to convince the people of 2525 that there was once a #1 song called “In the Year 2525,” and also ask them if there’ve been any breakthroughs in universal hotel shower control technology.
54. Complete a series of artworks. Paint, print, sketch, whatever. Sculpture? Just do it.
55. Have a reason to buy a new suit that doesn’t involve a funeral.
56. Stop consuming the news of the day. I’m a geek for the stuff, but it is just not healthy anymore.
57. Grow back a full head of hair, just by sheer will.
58. Experience something again for the first time. I’d intended this item to be more specific, but there are so many things. So very many.
59. Spend the rest of my days living and laughing and savoring with Mary, Bowzer and lots of good people.
60. Ring in the New Year at actual midnight, local time.

Happy New Year!