Befriend Condoleezza Rice

Seriously, I think Condi is awesome.

I admire Condoleezza's intellect, tact, and poise in matters of foreign affairs.  I think she is definitely a trailblazer and role model for women.  It's also cool that she plays the piano and has a signature style.  (Pearls over pantsuits any day!)

I would love to learn from Condi what it takes to be such a successful diplomat and serve the country as she did.  I'm up for making sausages any day!

Fly in a Private Jet

Sorry for the lapse in posts; I have been away at two power (wheelchair) soccer tournaments and had trouble accessing the internet.  Over the course of ten days we flew to Tampa, Minneapolis, and back to Indy.  AirTran broke my armrest on one flight, and we accidentally left my breathing machine on another.  Despite these setbacks, my biggest fear remains getting on and off the plane.  I hate transferring into a seat, both because it hurts to sit without support and because the people who do the transfers are incompetent about half the time.

So, I'd like to fly on a private jet, try it out at least once.  I want to stay in my chair during the flight, and be able to pull up to a table so I can feed myself peanuts and ginger ale.  I could turn and look out the windows.  And let's face it guys.  A plane with a bed is the only way I'll be joining the mile high club...

Hug a Soccer Player

My past four days have been consumed by UEFA's Euro 2012.  My sister is a huge soccer fan, so we've been watching every game.  (Well, I did lose most of the Russia v. Czech Republic match to a quick trip to the mall.)  Anyway, it's made me realize I'd like to hug a soccer player.

If you watch five hours of soccer a day, you see a lot of writhing in agony.  Or, writhing in fakery, if England is playing.  But if someone is genuinely in pain, I doubt wetting their sock and fogging their knee is going to do a lot of good.  After multiple knocks and tumbles, I just want to give some of these guys a hug.  (And a Vicodin, but I'm not gonna get involved in the international drug trade.)

I'll admit this wish is tough to accomplish for a few reasons.  First, most of these guys get most of their hugs -- among other things -- from models.  If not full-fledged models, aspiring models, as in the mysterious "nocturnal incident" attributed to Boateng by commentators.  So, my arms aren't as long or gorgeous as those of a six-foot siren.  This probably diminishes hug quality.  Second, there's the pesky fact that my arm muscles don't really work.

Maybe I need to upgrade to a kiss.  That's do-able, and plausible, as people kiss boo-boos.  In that case, send Neuer my way.  Er ist sehr schoen!

Picnic at Funky Bones

So, it occurred to me that many of the activities I've listed lately are kind of high-brow and/or expensive.  Of course, I can revel in simple pleasures, too.

A few months ago, I read an awesome John Green novel, The Fault in Our Stars.  It's set in Indianapolis, and the main characters have a picnic at IMA landmark Funky Bones.  I feel like a pilgrimage is in order, with a plastic cup and champagne toast in honor of Hazel and Augustus.

All I need is a ride.

Swim with Sharks

Okay, so given my previous post, you might think I have a desire to hang out with Robert Herjavec, Kevin O'Leary, Barbara Corcoran, Daymon John, and Mark Cuban.  Sure -- any one of them could take me to Le Bernadin.  But, higher on my list is hanging out with sharks of the oceanic variety.

When I was little, I was terrified of sharks.  I was so certain a shark was going to try to attack me that I read everything I could about them to be prepared.  Images of goblin sharks haunted me after countless hours reading and rereading about them in the encyclopedia.  I practiced punching should I need to bop the shark on the nose.  I even scraped my fist against a piece of my dad's sandpaper to see how bad the shark skin would hurt.

But, there were so many things beyond my control.  At a museum exhibit, a test indicated that I sent the same electrical signals as a wounded fish (i.e., prey).  Another time, I saw a movie in an omni dome.  The preview was for a movie in which a guy going in a shark tank and getting lowered fairly deep into the ocean.  Great white sharks came.  I watched through a squinted eye.  Then a shark bit the guy's oxygen tube.  I was so scared I closed my eyes and put my hands over them.  Yeah, pretty hard to punch a shark when you can't even look at one.  Matters were not helped by the fact that my parents wouldn't buy chain mail or shark repellant.

Over the years, though, fear morphed into fascination.  I want to see a shark up close and keep my eyes open.  Of course, I want to go all out; I want to go into a tank and see great whites.  We know I can attract them!

Invest

"Invest?  Oh yeees, inveeest..."  That is, perhaps, my favorite line from one of my favorite movies, Moulin Rouge.  Like the Duke, I want to own something.  Not a prostitute in my case, but part of a company.  Well, a whole company would be better, but a piece of one is a start.

Because of Medicaid and SSI, I'm not really allowed to own stock anymore.  I don't think this is fair.  I don't want to rob my fellow taxpayers; if I can earn enough money to pay for my care and equipment with my own money, I will.  In fact, I would prefer it.  But as the current system is arranged, I can only have $500 in my bank account at any given time.  How can I start an independent life with that parameter?

Anyway, first I would buy some Apple stock and Coca-Cola stock.  You know, supporting the stuff I enjoy... If it goes well and I make some money, then I'll unleash my inner Alex P. Keaton.  Rich, I'd run for Congress and change some of those nonsensical rules that are particularly adverse to people with disabilities.