I’m thinking of doing a kid’s show. Maybe an adult show but as if we’re kids. I’m not sure; I just thought of it when I started typing just now. But it could work.

I’ll call it Bob’s Log House. or Bob’s Got Way Too Much Time on His Hands.

I’ll play a song for all the seniors as we sit in a circle around a bowl of Cheese-Its and a few bottles of Mike’s Hard Lemonade, and I’ll play “Today,” or “This Land is Your Land,” or “I’m All Out of Fucks.” A bowl of gummies to share, perhaps.

And then we can have a special guest. Someone to explain Medicare, or someone to explain K-Pop. And there will be questions and I can move from person to person like Phil Donahue, and tilt my head slightly as if my follow-up question should be carved in marble for its brilliance. Then we’ll give the guest a BGWTMTHH t-shirt and coffee mug. It’ll be great.

Like SNL and other shows, we can have a News Update, and I could comment on what’s happening in the news, in Ukraine, Iran, Venezuela, and, of course, Greenland. I’ll keep the information as valid and accurate as possible, but since it’s my show I might toss out the occasional declarative observation, such as, “Apparently the President is attempting to get away with as much as he can in his first two years since he knows once the GOP is voted out of congress, he is fracked.” Or, “The Bills look good to beat the Broncos this Sunday.” I’ll keep it light, of course.

And I’ll finish each show with a stroll outside to the river; it doesn’t matter what the weather is since the weather was here first and I’m just passing through, and sometimes we need the storms and winds and rain to remind us we can still feel something, that all of the emptiness we constantly sense from others, slips out of our mind when a crisp wind comes down the Rapp and tightens our skin. And we’d walk to the river as I and whatever special guest might join me–sometimes my son, sometimes Kevin from next door or Wayne from the village, and maybe sometimes artist William Clarke or Governor Abby Spanberger–walk quietly until we both toss out short comments about what we discovered today.

Like how I just learned that if you take the pit of an avocado and slice it up, boil it until the water is dark, then let it become lukewarm, it is a powerful pain reliever to rub on your joints and skin, better than the emu stuff even.

Or how in Switzerland it is illegal to own just one guinea pig, or that Australia is wider than the moon (and way wider than the Mississippi), or that a shrimp’s heart is in its head, or how Romans used to drop a piece of bread in their glass before raising a glass, hence, to make a “toast.”

I have more. And you will hear them if you watch the part of the show where some guest and I walk to the river and mention that the shortest regional flight in the world is on Loganair and goes the entire 1.7 miles from Westray to Papa Westray, Scotland, in about 90 seconds. People will love this segment and it might make BGWTMTHH a viral hit.

And it’s educational so I could have gotten a grant from the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, but they’re gone so I can point out in that quick segment the irony of the defunding of the CPB because a tiny tiny tiny fraction of NPR’s budget comes from the CPB; the vast majority of that money was going to local NPR stations to help fund local programming, so now those shows are being cancelled, but the stations have to fill the time with something and since they pay one fee for NPR no matter how much or little of it they use, they are filling in the empty local timeslots with MORE NPR. So that DJT in his effort to get less NPR by defunding CPB, is helping to spread the bass-heavy, treble-absent voices of America. Who doesn’t love irony. I could have an Irony segment where I sit on my porch eating bacon and talk about irony.

I will never run out of material.

Like how when someone is cremated, the eyes vaporize. They just, well, vaporize. And I can’t shake that one. I think of all the beauty in the world, all the fields of the Netherlands with windmills and canals, and the dusty trails of West Africa, or the village streets of Mexico, or the rivers–all the rivers–and the tears from unbearable sadness and unforgivable laughter, and the idea that the eyes don’t so much burn up as much as they vaporize like a tissue tossed on a firepit that lifts into the air, into the darkness, its light fading quickly, and it is again part of the air and the world. That. That the eyes vaporize. Maybe I’ll end one of the shows on that, and the picture can fade out to quick images of places that are too beautiful to look at sometimes, and the faces of people who live inside my soul.

Tune in, my friends, for the new Netflix show, “Bob’s Got Way Too Much Time on His Hands.” Coming soon.