Stuff I Haven't Written

by David Goldman

Today is my turn to post something. Unfortunately, I cannot think of a thing to write. Zero. Zip. Nada. My last few posts have been pretty serious so I really want to do something light, something funny that people can smile or laugh at while reading. 

On Wednesday no ideas came to me, but I wasn’t too worried because I usually write my post the day before I put it online. I still had another day. Thursday morning I sat down at the computer. Forty five minutes later I got up from the computer with nothing written. I called Roberta to see if she had any ideas. She didn’t answer. I went back to the computer and stared at it some more. By early evening I emailed Roberta, begging for suggestions.  She wrote back with these ideas:

“Write about your dream of becoming a model coming to a crashing halt after you broke your nose in that fight you had in sixth grade.” WHAT?? I’ve never given that dream up and I still hope to hit the New York runway next season!

“Write about how you chose the name Frannie for your puppy.” Hmm, maybe. Let’s see, we adopted her from a rescue organization. They told us her name was Frannie. We thought about it and decided it fit and we liked it. End of story.

“Okay,” she said. “Write about when the cab driver in New York thought you were a boxer.” Here’s the story: I got in a cab in New York. I asked the driver to take me to Radio City Music Hall. He turned around, looked at me, and asked if I was boxing there. I guess the broken nose (see above) still had that affect fifteen years later. I said, “No, I’m not boxing” and he drove me over there anyway. Did you laugh at this story? I didn’t think so.

After a couple hours of not writing anything, taking the dogs out for their eighth walk of the day, and eating lunch, I got another email from Roberta. She told me to write about Anthony Weiner’s weiner. Uh-huh, great, cause no one’s doing that. Every time I hear Anthony Weiner’s name it reminds me of the former Cubs’ pitching coach, Dick Pole. I knew you wouldn’t believe that was his name so I linked it to Wikipedia. Yep, Dick Pole, now there’s a name. But back to Anthony Weiner. There’s really nothing I have to say, except that to kill time I researched why some people with that last name pronounce it WEE-ner and some pronounce it WHY-ner. I’d definitely go with the latter.

Now I’m desperate. Roberta keeps emailing me and asking me if I’ve put my head in the oven yet. I tell  her I would but I’ve got to walk the dogs for the twenty-second time that day. Okay, I’ve got to focus..what can I write about?? How about sophomore year in high school when I was supposed to write an essay for English class about someone I knew well and who was a mentor to me. I copied the biography of Henry David Thoreau from the encyclopedia, convinced my teacher I knew him, and got an A. No, nobody would believe it even though it’s true. By the way, THAT was honor’s English I’m proud to say.

I could write about the time my friend Brent and I were camping at the Grand Canyon. We boarded my dog Quala at the nearby kennel facility. Unfortunately for us, and for Quala, we got back after they closed so we only had one choice. We had to break in and spring my dog. And while we were at it, we switched all the other dogs around.  So, in the morning when Mr. Smith came to get Rover and the kennel worker saw on the paperwork that Rover was in run number three, he’d take the dog from three to Mr. Smith only to have Mr. Smith say that wasn’t his dog. Nah, I won’t write that. I’m not sure that the statute of limitations for breaking and entering has run out yet. 

How about New Year’s Eve 1981? A bunch of us were in San Francisco to see the Grateful Dead. We were all Deadheads and always wanted to see a New Year’s Eve show. So, we saw the concert, (which by the way, we loved) and got back to our hotel around 4 am. My wife, who was my girlfriend at that time, was just going to sleep and I went down the hall to get ice for the room. As I was filling the ice bucket I glanced into the open door by the ice machine and saw all the band members in there just hanging out. They saw me and invited me in. I ran and got Debbie who was already asleep in her pajamas and we spent the next few hours chatting with Jerry and the boys on New Year’s Eve. It’s a good story but if I wrote about it, I’d have to post a picture of myself in a tie-dyed shirt. 

I’ve got it! I’ll write about when I had my pancreas transplant and they left a piece of a staple gun in my bladder! A couple hospital visits, and a little emergency surgery later, I was fine and dandy! Maybe I’ll do this one at some point. And no, if you wondering. I didn’t sue.

Okay, it’s 9:30 Thursday night and I have no idea what to write about. I give up. I’m not writing ANYTHING.