Courtney’s Thoughts:
When was the last time you did something and completely forgot that you did it? No, I didn’t go to space, nor will I ever (more on that in a minute), but apparently, I did suggest this month’s topic and until I ready Barry’s take, I had no recollection that it was my idea. This is terrifying (not as terrifying as heights, more on that in a minute) and oddly ironic as I reflect on the “Am I turning into my parents?” column we wrote not long ago.
Anyway, now to the reason we are all here. I listen to a weekly podcast, “Handsome,” hosted by three hilarious comics, who shoot the breeze for most of the time, tackling all the topics of life, and then always take a caller question at the end. It would seem that during a recent episode I was inspired by their weekly caller question and alas, here we are.
Short answer, hell no, I am not going to space. I am afraid of heights. On vacation last month someone thought it would be fun to enjoy a hot air balloon ride over quaint French villages and vineyards. I was not that someone, but I did it anyway. If my husband can endure multiple wine tastings, I can endure drifting in a wicker basket one mile from Earth. Right? Wrong.
Did you know that a hot air balloon is quite literally a wicker basket? No other materials, straight wicker. Have you ever held your breath for an hour while losing all feeling in your hands due to your Superman-like grip whilst teetering atop shaking legs? That is what a hot air balloon ride was to me. Truth be told, that is also my reaction to step ladders and paddleboards.
In addition to my fear of heights and, um, my current desire to live, you know I abhor not having a plan when I travel. Since space has yet to make it to the Travel & Leisure Top 10 list, I am aware of no restaurants that I want to try at the destination, no excursions come to mind, and I am unclear on the weather patterns (are we talking Mars space or Pluto space, or is Pluto still space?) and would have difficulty packing, space is not on my bucket list.
But what I can get into is a song. Music is the salve to my soul. When I ski, a sport at which I do not excel due to my aforementioned combination fear of (you guessed it) heights and speed, I sing to myself on the way down the mountain to calm my nerves and steady my legs. Same song, on repeat.
My go-to song is Charlie Rich’s “Rolling with the Flow,” circa 1977.
“Can’t take it with you when you’re gone
But I want enough to get there on
And I ain’t ever growin’ old
So, I keep on rollin’ with the flow (keep on rollin’ with the flow).”
It’s twangy, it’s catchy, it’s likely not on many Jersey Girl’s playlist, but every time I hear it I immediately relax, sway from side to side (super helpful when skiing, not sure about hurtling toward Earth), and smile.
So, if I’m going, that’s what I am going out to.
Barry, as one of the speakers on my funeral’s eulogy list, take note and go with the flow.
Barry’s Kaufman’s very last song request.
Barry’s Thoughts:
So, if you’ve recently asked yourself, “I wonder how Courtney’s doing?” I’ll answer that question simply: This month’s subject was her idea. I’ll let her text message to me speak for itself:
“August – would you go to outer space if you could? And if did and were told the spaceship was about to explode in 3 minutes what song would you play?”
So she’s doing fine, thanks for asking.
Anyway, it was still a better subject than what I came up with (“Is cereal a soup?”) so we’ll go with it. Would I go to outer space? And if so, and the spaceship were going to explode in 3 minutes, what song would I play?
I would absolutely go to space. First of all, let’s just talk weightlessness. As someone who has felt gravity’s cruel pull more than most, thanks to a deep, heartfelt love of junk food, even a few moments of weightlessness is like heaven. It’s why I spend as much of my time as I possibly can on rollercoasters. To feel that kind of freedom from my earthbound bulk for even a few minutes would be divine.
But I want to make it clear that if you’re sending me to space, you’d better send me all the way. I’m not doing one of these cutesy Katy Perry photo ops where I get about as high as your average Dave Matthews Band fan for three minutes. I want to blast through the rings of Saturn, plant a flag on top of Olympus Mons, and buy a postcard from Uranus. I want to swing by Pluto and let it know, “I don’t care what anyone says, you’re still a planet to me, dammit.”
Also, it would be just kind of nice to get away from earth for a little while. I don’t know if you’ve been following the news, but this planet is being A LOT right now. I think I could use a break.
But, of course, if movies have taught me anything, it’s that going to space always leads to disaster. If you’re not dealing with xenomorph chest busters, you’re battling your estranged father with a lightsaber. So naturally, there would come the dramatic moment when, for whatever reason, I find out that the ship will explode in three minutes. Why three? Ask Courtney.
Now, I did try and get some wiggle room in this one. If my song choice determines how long before the ship explodes, well, then I’m definitely going with something like “The Key to the Gates of Apocalypses” by Mistigo Varggoth Darkestra. Not because it’s a particularly good song (and to be clear, it is not) but because it’s 72 minutes long. Checkmate.
But if I really only have three minutes to live, hurtling through the blackness of space toward the inevitable void of whatever lies beyond this plane of existence, there’s really only one choice. Clocking in at 3:13, I would pick the song “1985” by Bowling for Soup. Again, not because it’s a good song. But because I could then shout to the heavens with my last breath, just before the bulkhead blows and I get sucked out into the screaming maw of eternity, “Cereal is, in fact, soup.”
