You have to give the proper respect to a man who chases a longtime dream.
Take Brian Herzlinger, the filmmaker who shot a movie about his lifelong goal of dating Drew Barrymore. Herzlinger took a childhood fantasy and created the award-winning film, "My Date with Drew" (mydatewithdrew.com).
Funny? Yeah. Strange? Sure. Does he run a fine line between fandom and stalking? Uh-huh. Still, the man deserves some respect for his tenacity.
I myself harbor odd goals that began as childhood fantasy. There was a time when I played air guitar in front of a mirror to rock music and wore short skirts with high heels.
Third grade was so sweet.
Sure, I was playing air guitar to Heart's "These Dreams" and walking around with my mom's clothes and shoes, but that was the dream.
How dreams change.
Back then, I had three goals for myself:
Become a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader.
Become Miss America.
Hunt down the golden dragon with emerald eyes in Bangkok.
More than 20 years later, my time had run out on two goals.
First of all, apparently, Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders have to be able to dance, cheer and look hot in super-short skirts.
As we watched some footage from a past football game, I related my old goal to Derek.
Derek's a great husband. He smiled and nodded in what seemed to me - at the time - to be encouragement. I got up and performed a cheer, dancing around in my pajamas.
By the time I was finished, Derek had stopped smiling and nodding. "Wh-wh-what was that?"
"That was me being a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader!"
"Huh."
"Whaddya mean, 'huh.' C'mon, I have talent, right?"
"Define talent," Derek said.
"Didn't you think I had the right amount of enthusiasm? Wasn't I cheery? Didn't my moves inspire you?"
"Define inspire."
"Inspire you to make a touchdown?"
"Oh," said Derek, who wore the same pained look he gets when he has to go shoe-shopping with me. Several beats later, he decided on an answer. "Then, yes."
I did a final triumphant jump, which resulted in a pulled back muscle.
"OK, OK, not gonna happen," I moaned as I toddled like an old woman toward a chair.
Then there was the goal of being crowned Miss America.
As a kid, I made wardrobe changes with the contestants. My mom - wearing a similar pained expression to Derek's - watched as her youngest daughter rifled through her dresses to find something befitting the evening gown competition. And when the bathing suit portion came up, there I was in my swimsuit, prancing around.
I called my mom the other day and asked her if she remembered the pageantry.
"How could I forget?" she asked.
"Wasn't that fun?"
"Oh, yes. Barrels of laughs," she deadpanned.
"Didn't you think I would someday be Miss America?"
"Miss what?"
"Miss America, Ma. I'd be Miss America."
Again, several beats went by before I would get my answer. "OK, then, yes."
That night, I turned to Derek and asked him if he thought I could have been Miss America. "Yeah," he said.
"Why?"
"Because you have all of the talent."
Now he says I have talent.
"Why talent," I asked, wondering why he didn't choose good looks, personality and poise.
"I don't know, it just seemed like a good answer."
"A better answer than 'good looks and poise,'" I asked. It's true - I am the queen of variations of the "Does this make me look fat?" question.
Exasperated, Derek did what he always does. He fell back on Africa. "Why'd you ask me about being Miss America anyway? What kind of question is that?! You could have been the president of Uganda, if you lived there. Whatever you want to be."
"Well," I sniffed, "it's not like I can be Miss America now. I'm married."
Derek laughed, relieved to be off the subject. "That's true." Yeah, that's it. The only thing standing between me and that crown is Derek, which brings me to the third goal of finding the golden dragon with emerald eyes in Bangkok.
Thankfully, the hunt for the golden dragon is a goal that time, age and marital status will not change.
Whether or not the statue really exists remains to be seen, but it's still a lot closer to reality than me becoming a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader and being crowned Miss America.
Illustration by Jon J Murakami
