Settle down. If you don't mind, I'll just move right past that one.

Take a vow of silence for a week. Sometimes I think that would be a fantastic idea. But usually I think that for other people.

Bet everything on the trifecta at Sportsman's Park. I lost so much at Vegas last time I went, that I'm not doing any gambling for a looooong time. And yet I keep feeling the call of the cards, like a distant cry in the night every once in a while. It wafts in off the desert and next thing you know you're standing at the table drinking your 20th Corona with lime, smoking a Camel Light from the wrong end, and doubling down on 15.

Convene a game of Scrabble between yourself, Ivan Boesky, Stephen Hawking, and Prince... Oh right, I was going to skip the "clever" ones. Stupid-ass.

Hit a home run. I have. True it was at St. Mary's High School in Berkeley and was off a 30 mph pitch, but still...

Test-drive a car you can't afford... say, "Thanks, but no thanks." Cars don't do it for me. I've never been the kind of guy to fetishize a Porsche or a BMW. Sure I'd love to drive a nice car, but guys who get off on Road and Track more than Playboy kinda creep me out.

Go up to the hottest woman at the party (the Laetitia Casta look-alike), not the third hottest (the Illeana Douglas), the way you usually do. Isn't it funny that Laetitia has "tit" in her name? Heh. Tit. Anyway, I do understand the point of this, but at the same time: the Illeana Douglases of the world are usually 100 times more interesting, funnier, more talented, and better in bed. And sure, OK, maybe they don't look quite as good on your arm, but dude, take a look in the mirror. How would you look on Laetitia Casta's arm?

Assist a blind man. I had a job for a few summers that was right down the street from a school for the newly blind. I can't tell you how many times I'd hear a "boink!" and then look up to see a blind person rubbing his head and apologizing to the lamp-post just outside our front door. I swear I stopped laughing after about the 50th time.

Look a mobster in the eye. Are you fucking kidding me. I would pee in my pants and then run like Richard Simmons chasing the ice cream truck.

Cross a police line. No. Police just freak me out. Too many run-ins when I was younger. I see a cop now, I just walk the other way, very calmly...

Learn the identity of Deep Throat and whether Oswald acted alone- Oops, I forgot again.

Get married. Next.

Surf. I used to body surf. I got sucked under one too many times. I've developed a healthy fear of the ocean. I like looking at it. That's it. And I'll wade like a motherfuck.

Buy a National guitar; learn to play it. I own a guitar, and eventually developed the theory that my hands are too big to effectively chord. Yes, I know that Jimi Hendrix also had big hands. Please, don't try to shatter this world of self-deception I've created. It's quite fragile. Thanks.

Let someone else take all the credit. Fuck that.

Get your due. Planning to.

Blame a completely innocent bystander. It's. All. Your. Fault. Yes you. I blame you. Now get back to work.

Take the rap. Running out of ideas Mr. Esquire, are we?

Learn to sing. I have a very nice speaking voice. People always ask me if I can sing, and when I tell them I can't, then cannot believe it. But it's true. God's little joke. I have about a 2 octive range. Seriously. My shit sucks.

Dance to Tito Puente. Si, Esquire esta muy multiculturela!

Do a puzzle with a five year old. Hey Timmy. Watch. When I put this piece in... see, that's Sgt. Roberts. Sgt. Roberts is the head of this boot camp for bad men. And see, he's kissing one of the bad men. But, oh my Timmy, he's not kissing him on the mouth, is he? Why don't you put that piece in right over there so we can see what part of the bad man Sgt. Roberts is kissing. I'm so glad your mommy let you come over to play with me, Timmy, aren't you?

Pay off your Visa. M. used to actually freeze her Visa in a bowl of water so she couldn't get to it. I think I should do that soon.

Design a house. Based on my drawing skills, it would have four walls, one window, one door, a chimney with smoke coming from it, and a smiling sun about 2 inches from the roof. And maybe a stick figure family in front of it, if I have enough time that day.

Take a year to live with the monks of Tibet. And then I'll ride the rails across this mad-crazy heart-broke world with a jug of cheap red wine, a few cans of beans, and my poor gypsy heart writing poetry and throwing the pages into the fire, laughing like a wild man. Gone, baby. Gone.

Take a year to live with the girls of Voyeurdorm.com. I will not go see what voyeurdorm.com is. I will not go see what voyeurdorm.com is. I will not...

Tell the truth when you'd be better off lying. Just recently did. I'd rather lie.

Avoid lying for one whole day. If that's a struggle, you're in trouble, brother.

Take a job that involves a shovel or a hammer. This job doesn't require sharp tools, but someday I think they might end all my problems.

Drive an 18-wheeler. No thanks. But I am curious as to exactly how big those cabs are and just what goes on back there at truck stops.

Replace the carburetor on a small-block straight six. Wild, daddy-o! Wild.

Surpass your father at his greatest skill. Here's the obvious morbid joke: there's no way I could drink a fifth of vodka a day, (and/or) I already stopped smoking so that's impossible. But honestly, I doubt I could ever do this: be a pretty damn good husband for over 25 years, support a family on a high-school teacher's salary, and find time to also be an accomplished artist, writer, inventor, and geneologist. Plus teach my two kids the inestimable value of a good sense of humor, and a healthy love of animals - especially monkeys.

Make love to a woman from a foreign country. And her friend. (Simultaneously, should the opportunity arise.) I once made love to a woman from Delaware. Does that count? I also made it with her friend, but not at the same time... and she was from Chicago.

Become a true connoisseur of just one thing, exotic lettuces, for example. This thing-enjoy it quietly, all by yourself. While rather pretentious, this is actually not a bad suggestion. So many people put their Hobbies with a capital "H" all up in your face. If you're going to do something, like, say, collect manual typewriters, just do it. Don't spend your life showing people your typewriter collection and dragging your family along to garage sales. Just do the fucking thing for yourself, or you shouldn't be doing it at all.

Sell women's shoes. I understand what they're going for here, but I can guarantee you that the majority of women in front of whom you have to bend down and whose feet you have to fondle, will make you wish you weren't the type of idiot to take Esquire's advice to heart.

Arm-wrestle a stranger in a bar. Win. I'm actually really good at arm wrestling. But I think challenging strangers to arm-wrestling is kind of, well, gay. (In the fourth-grade sense of the word.)

Deliver a eulogy (the later in life the better). I made a speech at my friend's wedding this summer. I was pretty drunk and told a very embarrassing story, but I killed. It's not hard to make a group of drunk friends laugh, but it was fun nonetheless.

Make a toast at a wedding. Ha. I didn't even look ahead. I'm getting in tune with the Esquire writers, man. Shit... that's kinda scary. I better stop for now.

OK. That's 100. Shit, this is long. Maybe I'll finish next time.

Meanwhile...

...I spent most of the weekend on the set of Frank's film. It was incredibly nice to be back on a set. It always feels very good to have 10 or 15 people running around to make you look good. The days were long and the weather did not cooperate (it rained almost non-stop), but I really like the crew and the few cast members I've met so far. This should be good.

Finally...

...I got around to seeing two Oscar movies I'd been avoiding: Boys Don't Cry and The Hurricane. Both lead performances were everything they've been made out to be. Hilary Swank was fucking fantastic. As was Denzel. As films I liked Boys better than Hurricane. Neither are great great films, but good and a bit hard to watch.

Now we'll see if I can drag myself to Cider House Rules. However, something about Tobey Maguire makes me want to run yawning in the opposite direction.

---

The Corin "Corky" Nemec Happy Song Corner

 
 
So, she says it's time she goes, but wanted to be sure I know she hopes we can be friends. I think, yeah, I guess we can say I. But didn't think to ask her why, she blocked her eyes and drew the curtains with knots I've got yet to untie... what if I were Romeo in black jeans? What if I was Heathcliff, it's no myth? Maybe she's just looking for someone to dance with... speaking of which. Just the other night Reese, Stamos and Rebecca, Garry (Shandling, of course), Eryka Badu and I went to the Funnel in Beverly Hills to do some dancing. Reese is totally back in shape after the baby and can move like nobody's business. John and Becca were making time out on the floor and Garry and Eryka disappeared so since Ryan was off shooting a movie (rehab, is what I heard - shhhhhhh...), I needed someone to dance with, so I danced with Reese. Rock Lobster came on, but this really fast dub, and we were moving and shaking and sweating and really like locked into each other, you know? And the part where it goes, "Down down down" came and we like totally kinda crumpled into each other and it was really cool and then the song ended and she said, "Wow, I'm going to sleep like a baby tonight" and I smiled and said, "You know, that cliche is pretty much wrong because babies wake up every couple hours". And she just stared at me, confused. But she has a baby herself, so I don't get it.
 
 
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