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It is common practice these days for folks to have a bucket list. Personally, I never heard of the term until Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman made a movie called “The Bucket List,” which I have managed to avoid watching.
I don’t like the whole idea of making one. At my age, my bucket list consists of — I want to wake up each morning and be able to pee. Think about it. If I can’t do either, it doesn’t matter what the rest of the day will be like.
Would any of my family or friends believe me if I claimed my life would be incomplete if I never get to ride a yak while visiting Tibet? I don’t think so. But frankly, I am feeling the pressure to come up with a bucket list if only for the sake of conversation. In order to get everyone off my back, here is my bucket list (not necessarily in order of preference).
I’d like to see Joe Banner smile, just once, just not at our expense.
I’d like Alicia Keys to sing “Girl on Fire” to me, even if I don’t have the right credit card.
I’d like a woman to be elected president or governor of this state or mayor of this city, or better yet, all three.
I’d like to see a movie set in Philadelphia without one mention of a cheesesteak.
I’d like a statue of Joe Frazier, a real Philadelphia boxing great, to replace the statue of Rocky Balboa, who only exists in the movies and in the mind of Sylvester Stallone.
I’d like to see the end of social media and texting and for people to begin speaking and writing in full sentences again.
I’d like to hear someone address Ed Snider without the “Mr.”
I’d like to see a holiday without a war.
I’d like to hear a rap artist who can move me like Otis Redding.
I’d like to see the Kimmel Center book a pop artist whom I care about.
I’d like to see a brightly lit and clean City Hall.
I’d like to see the end of the skinless hot dog. Bring back the snap and pop.
I’d like Philadelphians to appreciate the beauty and history of their city in the same way as tourists do.
I’d like to celebrate a hero who hasn’t cheated or lied.
I’d like to see audiences come back to the Philadelphia Orchestra and Philly Pops concerts.
I’d like to experience a quiet and classy restaurant again, one that doesn’t think that Metallica sets the right romantic mood.
I’d like to see the end of reality shows that have no relationship to reality.
I’d like a moderate Republican to get elected anywhere, just for the novelty of it.
I’d like to see the return of mainstream films with the glamour of Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall, the wit and sophistication of Myrna Loy and William Powell, and the impact of “On the Waterfront.” Enough with the superheroes.
I’d like to see an art museum where poor folks can afford the admission.
I’d like to see a Center City free of panhandlers and the truly needy given a safe place to be fed and housed.
I’d like to see Charlie Manuel and the Phillies get one more ride down Broad Street.
I’d like to see a future where newspapers and books are valued.
I’d like to see the Kardashians treated with indifference.
I’d like to see folks around here shop in Philadelphia and help our economy rather than cross the bridge into South Jersey.
I’d like Philadelphia to be known more for the Super Bowl than the Wing Bowl.
I’d like gun collectors to be more concerned about senseless school massacres than tougher background checks.
I’d like bartenders to refuse to serve Lindsay Lohan.
I’d like to see a day when the entire tip I leave at a bar or restaurant actually goes to the server.
I’d like us to be less impressed by celebrity and more impressed by good works.
I’d like to see a time when the terms “victim” and “hero” are not used interchangeably.
I’d like to live in a world where there is always Tony Bennett.
I’d like jazz musicians to start playing for the audience again instead of just themselves.
I’d like pedophiles to be reported and treated, not protected by big, self-important institutions.
I’d like to go to a beach in Cancun where someone doesn’t try to sell me a silver bracelet.
I’d like to travel back in time to see a Bob Marley concert in person.
I’d like to eat in a restaurant where the only choices are not “small plates” and “very small plates.”
I’d like to sing “Thunder Road” with The Boss.
I’d like to finish my life without another assassination of someone I love and admire.
I’d like to be transformed from a bumbler with two left feet into Fred Astaire if just for one dance.
Contact the South Philly Review at editor@southphillyreview.com.
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