The holiday is officially over and once again I’m left feeling unfulfilled, despite the fact that I consumed an entire Hickory Farms sausage log in one sitting.
Each year I appeal, in total seriousness, for a single gift that to me screams fun, adventure and envy, but to my family members implies mid-life crisis.
One recent Christmas I requested a Segway. Having ridden one on a group tour, I imagined myself quietly gliding to the convenience store to pick up milk and other household staples while saving precious fuel.
“So, technically, it’s a family gift,” I told my wife.
She bought me a sweater.
A few years later, my wish list consisted only of a 3-D television. Accompanied by those 3-D glasses, which I thought made me look like Tom Cruise in Risky Business.
My daughters complied with my request. Sort of. They pooled their money and bought me a pair of Ray-Bans. I look good, but I still must watch Modern Family in boring old 2-D, high-def. Surely I’m missing something.
This year I contemplated a hoverboard, a transportation method I’m certain I could master even though I typically lose my balance at least twice during yoga class. But after seeing news reports detailing the hoverboard’s annoying habit of catching fire while being charged, I deleted it from my list.
Instead, I requested a drone aircraft.
I thought this would be an easier sell. For starters, I told my wife I have excellent remote control skills, thus I would make an accomplished pilot. “Who knows the quickest way to switch from the DVD player to Netflix on our TV remote?” I asked her. “Me, that’s who.”
I reminded her that, unlike the Segway and the hoverboard, I wouldn’t be accompanying the drone on its journeys. My safety would never be compromised, although I can’t speak for everyone’s well-being. The website, myfirstdrone.com reminds drone enthusiasts that, “you are sharing the airspace with others, including commercial and private passenger aircraft.” Considering that my house is in the path of Southwest jets approaching Midway Airport, I promised I would be careful.
I bombarded her with statistics showing that the act of flying model aircraft is no longer a hobby for old men who have no interest in shuffleboard. Marketing and investment firm Kleiner Perkins Caufield & Byers estimates 4.3 million consumer drones were sold in 2015. The U.S. owns 35 percent of the drone market, though Europe and China are close behind.
Finally, I ticked off the potential uses for my new gift. The vacant lot that we own and are contemplating selling? The listing would be far more appealing if it contained aerial photographs shot by a camera mounted to my drone. Wouldn’t it?
Or, before leaving for a night in the city, I could fly my drone over all available highway thoroughfares and determine which is the least congested. How many times have I been screwed by those uninformed radio traffic reporters?
Or, before letting our dog out, I’d conduct an aerial search for coyotes in the neighborhood. With practice, I’m sure my drone could dip down low enough to buzz their fur and drive them away, leaving my pooch to do its business without fear. Yes, I’d need a night vision camera lens if my dog needed to go out at 3 a.m., as is her want when she’s bored or suffering from insomnia. But hey, my birthday is coming up.
Or, my drone could fly over our neighborhood block party, camera clicking away. It’s mission? Determine which snacks and beverages are already on hand. Then we could arrive with something completely different.
“No more competing guacamole dips!” I said to my wife.
“Or, someone could just bat your drone out of the air with pair of barbecue tongs,” she said. “That’s what I would do since you seem to want to fly it continuously around the neighborhood.”
That’s when I knew there would be no drone under my tree. Instead, I received a pair of winter gloves and some aftershave lotion.
I wonder if I smell like Tom Cruise?
