About This Project:
I am a middle-aged man averse to taking risks. I have been driving a 1988 Volvo since 1991. My vision board is a collection of thumbtacks pressed into blank cork. I have not travelled anywhere in fifteen years, except to see my mother-in-law in her retirement home in Piscataway. I even wear sunscreen to bed—just in case my night-light emits UV rays. I would like to have some fun before I die. Please help!
I will stay up past 10:20 P.M., not set my alarm clock, and oversleep, which will quite possibly throw off my entire day. You will receive a notarized document indicating the time I officially got out of bed.
I will ride the quiet car on Amtrak and whistle the intro to Billy Joel’s “The Stranger.” I will send you an audio file of my performance.
I will drive my Volvo on the highway with less than a quarter of a tank of gas and text you a video of me panicking.
You get nothing. Not even a receipt. That is a stupid amount to give.
I will wash my hair with my wife’s shampoo. (She has dry hair; I have oily hair.) You will be FedExed one “Before” and one “After” follicle.
I will leave one of my car doors (probably the rear passenger one) unlocked overnight. Should any items, such as my dog’s Frisbee, get stolen, I will send you an itemized list of the pilfered goods.
I will pretend that I am my sister Patti and eat something that she’s allergic to.
I will wash my darks in hot water, just to see what will happen. I will mail you a pair of green underwear, or a brown sock. (Colors not guaranteed.)
I will go to a petting zoo and gently pat an alpaca on his right haunch, and have the event commemorated for you by the resident caricature artist.
I will remove my Invisalign trays (top and bottom) for twenty-four hours. I will send you a computer-generated video projecting how my teeth will shift during the next year.
I will run into a store to buy three items without putting money in the meter. Should I get a parking ticket, I will allocate your funds to reimburse the state for my act of defiance.
I will go around town taking pennies from take-a-penny-leave-a-penny jars and fax you a Xerox of the stolen coin collection.
I will eat a slice of pizza with my nondominant hand or eat the core of an apple. For four Benjamins, the choice is yours.
I will throw a bowling ball down the adjacent lane, and then run away while still wearing my rented shoes, one of which I will mail to you.
I will wear a four-hundred-volt shock collar wired to my doorbell around my neck—during Girl Scout-cookie-sale season. I will allow you to use my wails of anguish as your ringtone.
I will impregnate my best friend’s wife, whose husband is a stuntman/martial-arts instructor. You will receive a copy of the paternity test proving that the baby is, in fact, mine.
I will buy a black-market Bengal tiger cub and raise him in the bathroom of my midtown studio apartment. You’ll give a eulogy at my funeral, and in my will I’ll leave you the five thousand dollars you pledged.