I have been in Portales so long that youthful dreams have faded into hazy memories (not that living in P-Ville isn’t dream-like).
Before realizing that it takes talent and looks, I vaguely remember wanting to act.
Now, when watching the Academy Awards, I am torn between being mesmerized and irritated at how good-looking and talented everyone is.
It makes me wish that a small asteroid would hit the auditorium.
I also had fantasies about rock stardom. My only obstacles were lack of a voice, musical ability and head-banging hair. (Also, pot activated my allergies.)
I did take beginning piano years ago. After endless practice for my final recital, I performed “Ta-Ra-Ra-Boom-De-Re.”
The most positive comment the instructor could summon in front of the stunned class was, “That wasn’t as bad as I expected. You actually hit most of the notes, even if the timing was off.”
There were also professional sports aspirations — but five-eight and a buck-forty wasn’t the right combination for unlocking those goals.
At least I’m still swinging for the minor-league fences — with dreams of producing local-access-channel shows for my cousins: “Chef Juandel’s Cooking with Saturated Fat” and “Bargain-Bin Hunting with The Anglo Mariachi Cowboy at North Plains Mall.”
We also hope to co-host “Three Macho Dudes Afraid of Crossing the Border Legally — into Mexico.”
Even a blindfolded squirrel is bound to hit the pi