I know a girl who recently took up parachuting…for fun! As a matter of fact, over the years, I’ve known several people who parachute and many of them have spewed their “sales pitch” as to why I should experience the raw exhilaration that comes with, potentially, splattering to the ground like a raw egg.
Because my boss hates me, I once did an interview piece with a professional skydiver for a news story about senior citizen skydivers. My pressing question wasn’t about the act of jumping or the funniest memory he held from years of being in the skydiving biz. I wanted to know:
“Who packs the chutes?”
He proclaimed that “HE did.” I asked the obvious follow-up question: “How do you know if the chute is packed correctly?” He cleverly replied “after the jumper lands.” Hahahahaha! And now I have a better understanding as to why my parents, all of my school teachers, my boss, my editor and my ex girlfriend seem less than amused with MY smartass answers.
I’ve yet to join the ranks of those who toss piles of discretionary income aside in order to fall out of a plane, and I‘m fine with that. I do it every day, thank you very much…it’s called getting out of bed. Living on the edge indeed.
When my friends attempt to indoctrinate me, I issue a blanket excuse:
If I’m gonna die from a heart attack, I’d rather it be while having sex with a 22-year old girl (perhaps two at the same time) after eating a bag of pork rinds, a large pizza, 5 shots of Irish whiskey and a pack of cigs. My list is in no particular order…with the exception of the being dead part. Now that I think about it, this is precisely how I spent last Thursday evening…with the exception of the being dead part. And, because healthy decisions are a priority in my life, I purchase ULTRA light cigs.
If we can figure out how to execute my heart-stopping bucket list, AS I’m parachuting, I’ll consider giving it a whirl. Until then I shall keep my feet firmly planted on terra firma…where it’s safe. Or is it??
One need not be a daredevil, attempting to jump the Grand Canyon on a motorcycle, climbing Mount Everest or swimming the English Channel in order to throw caution to the wind. Living on the edge takes on many forms which varies from person to person. For some, it’s day-trading stocks, others roll down the fast lane by taking a detour from their diet, eating that piece of sinful cheesecake.
A few people take detours while on a road trip with co-workers- with one passenger entering a wet t-shirt contest at a biker bar in Dothan, Alabama- where the healthiest thing in the joint is fried cheese and the upper torsos of the contestants. Especially a young woman by the name of Heather from the H.R. department on the second floor…hypothetically speaking, of course.
Dating women from the West Bank can prove to be an exercise in dangerous activity for, uh…some guy I know.
I have a writer friend, Todd, who will assure you that his riskiest move was getting married. I know his wife and, other than the fact that she hates me and will probably end up murdering both me and Todd one day, she seems like a delightful young woman. She makes great lasagna too. I figure that’s how Todd and I will unknowingly meet our demise.
It seems to me that everyday life presents a certain level of danger…parachute or not. A former colleague of mine, who worked for a major record company, often stepped out on the ledge (and his wife) by way of a voracious appetite for the escort ladies.
He represented a huge pop star (her name rhymes with Britney…I mean Whitney.) Because of her wild success, he had more money than he knew what to do with (which now belongs to his EX wife.)
He always thought that we were oblivious to the fact that he attended industry functions with a “working girl.” Obviously, he was oblivious to the fact that his wife wasn’t stupid. I suspect he has his hands full these days since his artist Britney, I mean, Whitney, can‘t seem to get her act together.
He held doors open and pulled out chairs for his escorts, which makes him a true gentleman. I’m convinced that he probably received some sort of discount for being chivalrous though.
The Crocodile Hunter, Steve Irwin, handled the world’s deadliest snakes, put his child’s head inside a crocodile’s mouth, put his OWN head inside a crocodile’s mouth, took naps inside a crocodile’s mouth, and he’s killed by a stingray. SERIOUSLY?? A stingray??? Stingray’s don’t even have TEETH! WHEN will these savage stingray murders end??
Did you know that fishermen and fishing related workers rank as having the most dangerous occupation in the workforce? If they’re fishing with my buddies they would be safer, as my friends usually pass out drunk before making it to the car for the trip to the lake. Good news for fellow motorists, boaters and the fish I suppose.
By the way, did anyone else believe that an umbrella could break the fall from a second story house? Anyone? I blame no one but myself…for not making Dwayne, the sissy kid next door, try it first.
I have a co-worker who used to be afraid of flying, until he became suicidal. I’m kidding…he’s actually still afraid to fly. He hasn’t been to work in four days, now that I think about it.
New Orleans is an ongoing episode of “Truth or Dare.” It’s a town steeped in rich, flamboyant history. Other than the “to-go” cup and people who carry on wildly animated conversation with themselves in the park, it’s my favorite thing about the city.
Among many famed traditions borne of the Crescent City is the impossibility to make a left turn, strange odors which emanate from Bourbon Street after it rains, automobiles which apparently are not equipped with turn signals and an inordinate volume of 24-hour fried chicken establishments.
New Orleans also nurtures an environment ripe with eclectic expression, which is brilliantly illustrated by its citizenry and a vast artistic community.
A stage performer who I know called in a panic recently, explaining that two of his friends had been hired to bring their “act” to a new venue. Their “act” involves ropes…specifically, tying people up with ropes on the stage. After realizing that my friend wasn’t joking, I inquired what could possibly have worked him into such a frenzy…other than the fact that he cavorts with people who, apparently, are kinky rodeo performers.
It seems that these two dark horses had to leave town for an urgent business matter- I was unable to verify that it had anything to do with joining a posse or an emergency cattle herding operation. The task at (bound hand) was for my friend to come up with a replacement show so that the rope-meisters wouldn’t lose money for the gig.
I wondered what valuable input he suspected that I could remotely bring to the table, since I only know how to tie my shoes. He figured that I might be able to write some sort of storyline that he and his troupe could incorporate into their OWN version of a rope performance. After confirming that none of them knew anything about tying ropes, presumably an important skill in the bondage world, I helpfully recommended that he might ask a floor clerk at the Home Depot.
Sensing that my friend was seriously panicked, I offered to take one for the team in order to uphold the age-old adage: “The show must go on.” So, I volunteered to let them hang me to death on stage…my “Swan song” if you will. It would be fortuitous timing for me so that I wouldn’t have to pay this month’s rent.
Now you know why people rarely come to me for assistance.
First dates qualify as living on the edge, especially if you go on one with a girl I know. She’s not happy with traditional dates, as evidenced by her bookshelf. She is in possession of a book titled “Creative First Dates.” (Subtitle: Creative maneuver to scam $22.95 from people who simply can’t be satisfied with dinner at Applebee‘s, a movie, drinks and casual sex.)
Because she is a treasure-trove of random information, I listened to her story in the manner of which I listen to most of her stories…feeling confident that I have angered God in some way.
She announced to me that, on their first date, she and a gentleman hopped around to multiple car dealerships and test-drove cars. They posed as a newly married couple and surreptitiously basked in the comic relief. This has “Natural Born Killers” written all over it.
I once had sex in the trunk of a car in the middle of a dry river-bed during a violent thunderstorm, which I thought was fairly creative. Unfortunately, the trunk accidentally locked. Imagine the shock for the police officer who rescued us.
It was not a proud moment for my parents, but I felt pretty good about it. I must admit that it was a valuable learning experience, as I learned that having sex with a family member of a sitting Governor will make legal situations go away. I suppose Governor's are quiet like that.
Driving presents a level of adventure, especially when you’re doing so in New Orleans, where traffic laws and sobriety cease to exist. “Yield” means: “I am not afraid to kill you with this stolen car!”
I’m extremely proud when people boldly face their fears. My next door neighbor is absolutely terrified of dogs. So that she might conquer her fear, she decided it to be a good idea to adopt a dog. I was quite pleased by her stepping closer to the ledge, until I met her dog.
She adopted a yappy dog which looks like one of those little stuffed play-toys that you win from the “claw” machine in front of a supermarket or a Chuck E. Cheese- where all of the pedophiles loiter. I’m not sure about her recovery progress but I’ll give her credit for dipping her (pinkie) toe into the river of phobia.
In case you didn’t know, most people rank public speaking as their biggest fear in life…it’s ranked higher than DEATH on the fear-factor scale. They say you’re supposed to imagine everyone in the audience naked while at the podium. I gave it a try, imagining this very attractive young woman on the second row fully disrobed.
All I can say is that I’m eternally thankful that I was shielded by a podium. Frantic to find a mental "cold shower," I turned my attention to the 70-year old lady on the first row. That did the trick.
Speaking of public communication and nudity…gentlemen, if you’re afraid of singing on stage, get over it. You will be amazed by the doors of opportunity which boldly swing open after singing Joe Cocker’s “You can leave your hat on.” You won’t find this advice on E-Harmony.
I shall pause here and accept your sincere gratitude in advance.
I say the best policy in life is...
Well, I can't really remember, but I'm sure that my advice wasn't going to be dripping with any level of profundity and probably involves something that'll get you into trouble.
I AM, however, a big fan of taking necessary risks and living life to the fullest. Go ahead and jump. Just remember, they don't call it "risk" for nothing. The parachute packer guy could be having an "off" day...
See ya' on the ground!
copyright Pontchartrain Press 2010
