Bucket List – Budget Bliss: Bucket List

A Million People, One Very Silly Idea

Published on August 16, 2026 by BudgetBliss1 Comment

What Is the Sound of Nearly 8 Billion People Clapping?

What is the sound of nearly 8 billion people clapping? We still don’t actually know!

But for a brief moment on a Sunday, thousands of people around the world stopped what they were doing and clapped. The sound could be heard by the people who were actually there, but that, dear reader, was not the point.

The point was that, for one moment, people around the world, regardless of country, race, religion, ethnicity, economic status, or whatever other category you care to create, came together in a small act of silliness.

So naturally, I set my alarm for 9:55 a.m. Eastern Time to make sure I stopped whatever I was doing, and another alarm for five minutes later so I could clap along with the scattered members of humanity participating with me.

Did I feel any sort of cosmic connection? No. It honestly felt ridiculous and a little pointless. Nothing changed. There wasn’t a loud sonic boom of nearly 8 billion people clapping together. There was no great sense of unity that descended upon the planet. No wars were stopped. No marriages were saved.

It was actually quite quiet sitting in my kitchen, sweaty from gardening, dirt smeared on my pants, my hair in desperate need of washing from sweat and debris.

Just me.

Clapping.

In my kitchen.

So why even do it?

Well, because I’m almost always down to try new things, especially things that seem a bit silly. And there is something rather wonderful about World Clap Day. We’re all different, yet we could all participate in exactly the same ridiculous little act. Nobody had to agree on politics, religion, nationality, or anything else. We didn’t have to accomplish anything. We simply had to clap. Which is, honestly, pretty beautiful. Beautiful enough that 1.7 million people signed up on the website to participate. Now, did 1.7 million people actually clap? Probably not.

I’m certain plenty of people forgot. Others may have signed up with every intention of participating and then found themselves distracted by work, children, errands, or the eternal black hole of the internet. At the same time, there were undoubtedly people who never signed up at all but happened to hear about it and decided to join in. So perhaps it wasn’t thousands but closer to a million people who actually participated. Which sounds like a huge number until you put it into perspective. Even a million people would be only about one in every 8,000 people on Earth.

And somehow I find that both hilarious and impressive. A million people is almost incomprehensibly large. It is also almost nothing compared with humanity as a whole.

So how did this even become a thing?

Apparently, Andrea Bechis, a UK fitness entrepreneur, had a question back in December: essentially, What would happen if everyone on Earth clapped together. Rather than simply wonder about it, he decided to make it a thing. He picked a date and started gathering support. Originally, he hoped people would gather together in town squares and celebrate collectively. The actual execution was considerably more modest.

Basically, sitting in my kitchen sweating from gardening and clapping. I filmed it, but I doubt I’ll post it here.

Still, there is something inspiring about the whole ridiculous endeavour. With enough gumption and a willingness to endure a little ridicule, you can convince a considerable number of people to participate in your wild vision of silliness. And World Clap Day isn’t the only example.

It reminds me of my favourite holiday, Talk Like a Pirate Day, entirely because it is silly. Created in 1995 by two friends as an inside joke, it escaped Australia in 2002 when Dave Barry wrote about it and transformed into a semi-official holiday celebrated each September 19 by those of us with a sense of humour and a willingness to be seen as a bit odd.

It’s now been going for more than 30 years. It may eventually die out, or it may continue. Who knows? In 500 years, there may still be people celebrating it with the same level of gusto that they celebrate Halloween. Although I’m not sure I envy the future month of August being besieged by all things pirate instead of witches and ghosts.

World Clap Day and Talk Like a Pirate Day share something I find rather charming: neither one is necessary.

Nobody needs us to clap together. Nobody needs us to talk like pirates. There is no practical benefit to either activity. There’s no rich cultural heritage or religious event associated with it. It’s just kind of there as pure amusement. And perhaps that’s precisely why they’re worthwhile.

We live in a world that constantly asks us to be productive. Improve ourselves. Accomplish something. Build our careers. Exercise. Make money. Learn something useful. Optimize our lives. Sometimes I think we could stand to do a few things simply because they’re ridiculous.

There is also something about silliness that makes connection easier. When you’re willing to approach other people with humility and a sense of humour about yourself, you open doors that you might otherwise have trouble walking through. You don’t have to take yourself so seriously. You can laugh at your own absurdity and invite other people to laugh with you.

Comedians do this all the time. They point out the ridiculous things we all do and, for a moment, give us permission to laugh at ourselves together.

So was World Clap Day a success?

Possibly.

Will it happen again?

Who knows?

But perhaps those aren’t the questions that matter.

For a few minutes, people scattered across the planet stopped whatever they were doing and participated in the same completely unnecessary, wonderfully ridiculous activity.

There was no great transformation. No cosmic event. No world-changing consequence. Just people clapping and going about their day. And maybe that’s enough. Because not every moment of connection needs to change the world. Sometimes it can simply remind us that we’re all here, together, being ridiculous little humans on the same planet.

And perhaps that’s what makes it Bucket List worthy. Not because I accomplished something extraordinary. Not because I changed the world. Not even because I felt some profound cosmic connection.

I just tried something silly.

And somewhere out there, about a million other people did too.

Which, dear reader, is a pretty good reason to clap

Make Tuesday a Life Worth Coming Home To

Published on August 9, 2026 by BudgetBlissLeave a comment

It’s a cup of tea in my hand as I look out over the garden, listening to music through my headphones. It’s the feel of warm wood beneath my chin as I play the violin. It’s admiring the neighbors’ gardens and noticing the subtle shifts as the seasons progress on my walks with Pixel. It’s spending Sunday afternoons in my own garden, pulling weeds and watching everything grow. And of course, dear reader, there are long, lazy Saturday mornings filled with cat snuggles.

Small daily or weekly rituals. Almost stolen moments that fill my days with joy.

Life, dear reader, is not always adventures. Sometimes escape consists of a journal entry or a thirty-minute yoga session. Other times, it’s a book and a cup of coffee on your porch. Lately, it has been a morning visit from a cardinal, courtesy of a bird feeder I recently installed outside my bedroom window to entertain my cats.

I have inadvertently taken up birdwatching.

I may or may not be trying to learn his song on my violin.

A girl needs hobbies, dear reader, and in my fast-approaching middle age, I have decided to go full-on eccentric. I shall soon be donning enormous hats and calling people darling. ’Tis a cruel fate, but I plan on embracing it.

Photo by Andrew Patrick Photo on Pexels.com

But underneath all of these little eccentricities is something more important. Each of these habits fulfills a different need.

The violin and poetry fulfill my need to create. When I play music, I lose myself in the notes, sometimes reaching an almost meditative state where the sheet music ceases to be something I consciously process. My fingers simply know where to go. In poetry, I get to play with form, sound, rhythm, and the compression of ideas. I may spend hours contemplating a sonnet, drop a villanelle onto the page in a few minutes, and then follow it with free verse where I experiment with repetition, alliteration, rhyme, and half-rhyme.

On my walks and in my garden, I connect with nature. There is something grounding about putting my hands into the dirt, watching the seasons change, and noticing things that would otherwise pass unnoticed. And of course, there is Pixel, who seems to believe that every walk is an important expedition requiring his immediate participation.

A cup of tea or coffee gives me permission to stop. Sometimes I listen to music. Sometimes I simply sit and think. Sometimes I read or write in my journal. The ritual itself creates a small pause in the day, a moment to breathe before rushing into whatever comes next.

Photo by u0410u043bu0435u043au0441u0435u0439 u0412u0435u0447u0435u0440u0438u043d on Pexels.com

These things may seem insignificant.

They aren’t.

This blog is much more than Bucket List Adventures. It is also about building a Bucket List Life.

A Bucket List Life is not one where you are constantly chasing the next spectacular experience. It is a life where those spectacular experiences are woven into something that already feels meaningful. Travel can be wonderful, but if you need a two-week vacation every year simply to tolerate the other fifty weeks, perhaps the more interesting question is not “Where should I go next?” but “What is missing from the life I come home to?”

One way to begin answering that question is to look at the different areas of your life and consider whether they are receiving enough attention.

Some of you may recognize this concept from Dr. Bill Hettler’s Wellness Wheel, developed in the 1970s as a way of examining different dimensions of wellness. The model considers areas such as physical, social, occupational, intellectual, environmental, spiritual, financial, and emotional wellness. The premise is fairly simple: you can be doing wonderfully in several areas while struggling significantly in others.

Travel might temporarily touch several of those areas. A trip could provide physical activity, social connection, intellectual stimulation, environmental novelty, and emotional rejuvenation all at once. But eventually you come home.

Your luggage gets unpacked.

The vacation photos get posted.

And Monday morning arrives.

The goal, then, isn’t to use travel to fill every empty space in your life. It is to build enough small sources of nourishment into your ordinary routine that you aren’t depending on the next vacation to make you feel alive.

For me, my violin and poetry provide intellectual and emotional stimulation. Tea and coffee, often accompanied by music, reading, or a devotional, give me opportunities for reflection and spiritual connection. Walking and gardening provide physical movement and environmental connection. My cats provide companionship. Friends and family fill another part of the picture entirely.

None of these things fills an entire category by itself. Nor do they need to.

They’re simply little threads woven into the larger fabric of my life.

And that’s an important distinction because wellness should not become another thing we feel obligated to optimize.

You do not need to maximize every category.

You don’t need a perfectly balanced Wellness Wheel.

You need to notice where you feel nourished and where you feel hungry.

Perhaps you look at your own life and realize that you’re getting plenty of intellectual stimulation from your career but almost no physical movement. Maybe your answer isn’t another vacation but a weekly hiking group, a dance class, gardening, yoga, or simply walking around your neighborhood after dinner.

Maybe you spend your entire day surrounded by people and realize that what you’re actually missing is solitude.

Maybe your work is deeply meaningful but you’re financially stressed.

Maybe you’re financially comfortable but have lost touch with creativity.

Maybe your social life is full but you haven’t spent any time alone with your own thoughts in months.

The point isn’t to judge yourself for what is missing. It’s to notice.

Then ask yourself what small, repeatable habit might help.

And make it something you actually want to do.

We don’t need to turn every empty space into a self-improvement project. If you’re deficient in intellectual stimulation, perhaps you don’t need to take an online course. Maybe you want to learn about birds. Maybe you want to read about astrophysics. Maybe you want to learn German, pick up a violin, study medieval history, or finally understand how that strange machine in the kitchen actually works. I’m currently studying the Drottkvaett form from Old Norse Court Poetry and seeing if I can’t apply it to modern English. It’s a lot harder than it sounds, but so much fun!

If you’re lacking physical movement, you don’t necessarily need to join a gym. Maybe you want to garden. Maybe you want to walk around your neighborhood and admire everyone’s flowers. Maybe you want to take up dancing or sword fighting!

The best habit is often the one you will actually keep because it brings you some measure of joy.

That, ultimately, is what I mean by building a Bucket List Life.

Keep the adventures.

Absolutely take the trip to Italy. Go see the concert. Try glassblowing. Wander through the strange old arcade. Eat the deep-dish pizza in Chicago when your flight gets delayed.

Put extraordinary things on your list.

But don’t save all of your living for those moments.

Build a life that contains little adventures on an ordinary Tuesday. Find things you look forward to on Sunday morning. Give yourself reasons to put down your phone, step outside, make something, learn something, call someone you love, or simply sit quietly with a cup of tea.

Because eventually, every bucket-list trip ends.

The airplane brings you home. The suitcase gets put away. The souvenirs find their places on the shelf.

And then there is Tuesday.

Make Tuesday a life worth coming home to.

One Big Inside Joke: An Evening with Weird Al in Hershey, Pennsylvania

Published on August 2, 2026August 2, 2026 by BudgetBlissLeave a comment

The entire stadium buzzed with barely contained energy that only seemed to grow with each passing moment, like an electric current caught in a positive feedback loop. On the giant screen, a figure danced and sang through the backstage corridors, weaving ever closer to the arena. At first everyone’s attention remained fixed on the video. Then, almost imperceptibly, a ripple spread through the crowd as people realized they had been looking in the wrong direction. Heads began to turn one by one until the entire stadium pivoted toward the aisle behind us.

Then he appeared.

The stadium erupted.

Cheers crashed over us like a tidal wave. People leapt to their feet, phones shot into the air, and for a few glorious moments it was impossible to hear anything except the roar of thousands of delighted fans. It just so happened that I was sitting directly beside the path he took to the stage. I really must remember to thank my sister’s father-in-law for buying those tickets. They may not have been the best seats in the house for watching the entire concert, but they were certainly among the best seats in the house for one unforgettable entrance.

Of course, before Weird Al took the stage, we were introduced to his opening act, Puddles Pity Party. Now, dear reader, if someone had told me beforehand that I would thoroughly enjoy watching a giant sad clown sing power ballads, I would have questioned their sanity. Yet there he stood: towering over the stage, face painted in permanent sorrow, speaking scarcely a word while delivering one astonishing vocal performance after another. The juxtaposition was equal parts hilarious and impressive. Somewhere beneath the oversized clown costume was a voice worthy of Broadway. It was the perfect opening for a Weird Al concert because it left the audience delightfully confused, thoroughly entertained, and wondering what wonderfully bizarre thing could possibly happen next.

As the evening unfolded, I was delighted by the familiar songs I have come to love over the years. I could not help but dance along from my seat, much to the amusement of my sister beside me. Between songs came the signature humor I have come to expect from none other than Weird Al, who is truly a national treasure.

I am certain, dear reader, that he needs little introduction. For over four decades he has somehow managed the impossible: parodying popular culture with biting wit while never feeling mean-spirited. His songs gently poke fun at our favorite artists, our culture, and ourselves, all while celebrating the very music they imitate. If by some extraordinary chance you have never experienced his work, then by all means pause here for a few minutes, or perhaps a few hours, and explore his library on YouTube, Spotify, or whichever musical service you happen to use. I’ll happily wait.

After his grand entrance, he quickly pivoted to Polkamania! Announced by an accordion descended majestically from the ceiling as though it were some sacred relic delivered from the heavens. Before a single note had been played the audience exploded into cheers. I challenge you to find another performer capable of making thousands of people wildly enthusiastic over the arrival of an accordion. Only Weird Al could transform an instrument often associated with polka festivals into the undisputed rock star of the evening.

The performance itself was every bit as delightfully absurd as one would hope. Costume changes happened at an almost impossible pace. During the compilation numbers it seemed jackets, wigs, and entire outfits vanished and reappeared between verses so quickly that I found myself wondering whether there was some hidden portal backstage devoted entirely to quick changes. It was choreography in its own right.

The comedy never stopped. At one point Weird Al paused, looked thoughtfully at the audience, and confessed that he felt as though we were all waiting for something that we had a sort of weird energy he could sense and only one thing would satisfy us:

“A drum solo.”

The drummer dutifully struck the drums perhaps twice.

The crowd responded with thunderous applause as though we had just witnessed the greatest drum solo in rock history. You would have thought John Bonham himself had returned to perform Fool in the Rain. That, perhaps, was the joke’s greatest strength. Every single person in the arena understood exactly what was happening and committed wholeheartedly to the bit.

Of course, the crowning jewel of the evening for me was Amish Paradise.

Living in Lancaster County gives one a rather unique appreciation for that particular song. Much of the music video was filmed less than an hour from where I live, and here we were in Hershey, practically in the shadow of Amish Country itself, singing along with thousands of fans. It was the first Weird Al song that I ever heard, the first rap song I ever liked and I am not ashamed to admit I know every word. It felt oddly fitting, almost as though the song had come home.

I will readily admit, dear reader, that I am not usually one for concerts. First, there is the crowd. Simply reaching your seat involves weaving through a maze of people carrying trays piled high with pretzels and bags of popcorn, balancing oversized drinks, or standing uncertainly in the aisle while trying to decipher the seat numbers. Then there are the inevitable lines for merchandise, food, and the restroom. Add in the ever-present smell of buttery popcorn, soft pretzels, spilled drink, and several thousand warm bodies packed together like sardines, and I have generally concluded that my headphones provide a far more civilized musical experience.

Not to mention the audience often has the audacity to sing along. I realize this is considered one of the principal attractions of concerts, but listening to my favorite songs accompanied by hundreds of enthusiastic yet spectacularly off-key strangers has never struck me as a compelling selling point. Throw in questionable acoustics and modern ticket prices, and I have often wondered whether many people attend concerts simply to say they were there.

Yet somewhere around the third or fourth song, I began to see why people do.

There is something remarkable about standing among thousands of complete strangers who all understand the same references, laugh at the same jokes, and erupt into applause because an accordion has descended from the ceiling. Before the show you chat with the people beside you in line. During the performance you exchange knowing glances at jokes only fellow fans could appreciate. For one evening, you become part of a wonderfully peculiar little community brought together by a shared affection for one delightfully eccentric musician.

The excitement becomes contagious. Energy flows from the audience to the stage and back again in an endless feedback loop. I found myself shouting lyrics to songs that would not even make my personal top ten simply because everyone around me was having such an incredible time. Somewhere along the way I stopped observing the concert and became part of it.

It was certainly a different experience from seeing Joshua Bell last fall, where the audience sat in near reverent silence between movements, hanging on every note. Nor was it quite like attending Flogging Molly years ago, where the energy was louder, rougher, and far more chaotic. Each concert possessed its own distinct atmosphere.

But Weird Al’s felt less like attending a performance and more like being invited to the world’s largest inside joke. For one evening, thousands of strangers gathered not merely to listen to music, but to laugh together, sing together, and celebrate an artist who has spent his entire career reminding us that perhaps we should all take ourselves just a little less seriously.

So remember dear reader, to be a little bit bigger and little bit weirder.

How might you find a little weirdness in your own life or at least some music?

You don’t have to be a devoted music fan to appreciate the experience of a live performance. In fact, I would argue that’s precisely the point. Bucket lists aren’t always about checking off your favorite activities; sometimes they’re about discovering something you never expected to enjoy. Whether it’s a local orchestra, a bluegrass festival, an outdoor Shakespeare production, a tribute band in the park, or your favorite artist on tour, give yourself permission to step into someone else’s world for an evening. You may leave with more than a few songs stuck in your head—you may discover a community you never knew you belonged to.

Letting the World Spin Without You: JOMO

Published on July 19, 2026 by BudgetBlissLeave a comment

Dear reader, I think I have made it quite clear over the years that I am, for a myriad of reasons, simply not a sports person. I don’t typically watch or participate in many sports, nor do I have any particular inclination to change that. I have nothing against them, of course. Why should I advocate for depriving someone else of an activity that brings them joy?

Yet over the past few weeks I found myself, quite unexpectedly, drawn into the orbit of soccer—or football, as nearly everyone outside the United States insists on calling it. (I’m beginning to suspect America simply enjoys being contrarian.)

The World Cup had arrived, and suddenly it seemed to be everywhere. Friends hosted watch parties. Restaurants filled with cheering fans. Social media overflowed with celebrations, dramatic finishes, and clips of supporters singing in unison. Perhaps it was because the tournament was being played on home soil, but even people I had never known to care much about soccer suddenly had passionate opinions about offsides, penalty kicks, and championship predictions.

Watching all of this unfold, I experienced something surprisingly familiar.

The fear of missing out.

It wasn’t that I had suddenly developed a deep appreciation for the sport. I hadn’t. It was the feeling that everyone else was participating in a shared cultural moment while I stood quietly on the outside looking in.

Perhaps I should learn the rules.

Maybe I ought to watch a few matches.

Should I start reading about the teams so I can contribute to the conversation?

If you’ve ever felt that little tug, you know exactly what I’m talking about. FOMO has very little to do with the activity itself. More often, it stems from our deeply human desire to belong. We see everyone around us enjoying something together, and we begin to wonder whether we should be enjoying it too.

But somewhere along the way, I realized something.

I didn’t actually want to watch soccer.

What I wanted was the feeling of being included.

Those are not the same thing.

There is something wonderfully liberating about recognizing the difference.

Photo by Ali Karimiboroujeni on Pexels.com

In recent years people have begun talking about JOMO—the Joy of Missing Out. Rather than anxiously trying to participate in every trend, every event, every conversation, JOMO invites us to make peace with the opportunities we choose not to pursue.

Not everything has to become our hobby.

Not every cultural phenomenon needs our attention.

Not every invitation must be accepted.

Every “yes” we give something is also a “no” to something else. Our time and attention are finite, and spending them intentionally is one of the greatest gifts we can give ourselves.

For me, that meant happily scrolling past match highlights while smiling at the unmistakable enthusiasm of Dutch fans dancing in brilliant seas of orange. Their joy was contagious, even if their pastime wasn’t. I could appreciate their excitement without feeling compelled to make it my own.

Perhaps that is the real lesson.

We do not need to borrow someone else’s passions in order to live a meaningful life. We simply need to cultivate our own.

So the next time the entire world seems to be rushing toward the newest trend, the latest series, the biggest sporting event, or whatever everyone insists you simply must experience, remember this:

It is perfectly acceptable to let other people have their joy while you quietly pursue your own.

Sometimes the greatest peace comes not from doing more, but from realizing there was never any need to join the crowd in the first place.

Photo by Tobias Bju00f8rkli on Pexels.com

Why I Finally Fell in Love with Tiki Bars

Published on July 12, 2026July 12, 2026 by BudgetBlissLeave a comment

Ever curious, I pressed my hand against the weathered wooden door beneath an otherwise unassuming sign. My eyes struggled to adjust from the brilliant Florida sunshine to the dim interior where a carved wooden mask silently greeted us. Tropical plants spilled from every corner, framing walls covered in intricate carvings. A smiling hostess emerged from the shadows.

“Two?”

Following after her felt like stepping into another world. Everywhere my eyes wandered I discovered something new: mischievous masks peering from the walls, towering totems, dancing island maidens frozen in carved wood, and ceramic mugs shaped like volcanoes, sea monsters, and forgotten gods. Bamboo, woven rattan, stained wood, and shimmering tile blended together into organized chaos. Colored lanterns bathed the room in a warm amber glow while deep rhythmic drums pulsed beneath the conversations, as though the building itself had a heartbeat.

I had heard of tiki bars before, but I never understood why people became so enamored with them.

The tiki bar as we know it began during the Great Depression when Ernest Raymond Beaumont-Gantt, better known as Donn Beach, opened a Polynesian-inspired bar unlike anything Americans had seen before. It wasn’t meant to be authentic Polynesian culture so much as an elaborate fantasy, complete with exotic décor, inventive rum cocktails, and the promise of escaping everyday life for a few hours. After World War II, America’s fascination with the South Pacific exploded, and tiki bars flourished throughout the 1950s before gradually fading into kitsch. Thankfully, the craft cocktail movement of the early 2000s rediscovered what made those original bars so magical.

Now, I should confess that my first tiki bar experience wasn’t exactly inspiring.

Back in the early 2000s I found myself sitting beneath a thatched roof at an outdoor bar in Atlantic City during Biker Weekend, surrounded by enough leather jackets and chrome to outfit a small motorcycle dealership. Palm trees had been added with varying degrees of enthusiasm, the drinks were decent enough, and I left wondering why anyone made such a fuss over tiki bars.

Years passed before my boyfriend insisted we visit Trader Sam’s Grog Grotto at Disney’s Polynesian Village Resort.

Apparently, getting inside is something of an adventure. Guests begin lining up well before opening just to earn a place on the waiting list. After finally securing our names, we were quoted nearly a two-hour wait, so we wandered over to Adventureland. Since we were already embracing the tropical mood, we stopped at Walt Disney’s Enchanted Tiki Room to visit the singing parrots before boarding the Jungle Cruise, a leisurely voyage powered almost entirely by terrible puns.

Halfway through the afternoon we discovered we’d missed the phone notification summoning us back forty-five minutes earlier than expected. We hurried across the park, explained our predicament to the hostess, and, thankfully, she smiled and waved us inside.

Behind the ordinary wooden door waited tropical magic.

Storm clouds rolled overhead. Thunder cracked across the room. Ancient gods awakened. A volcano erupted. Every specialty cocktail seemed to trigger another hidden surprise as lights flashed, effects sprang to life, and the entire room joined the performance. We shared appetizers served on a surfboard while chatting with another couple eager to recommend their favorite drinks and point out effects we hadn’t yet witnessed.

Naturally, we ordered the cocktail that required sacrificing to the gods in hopes of calming their wrath and preventing the volcano from erupting.

Interactive dining at its finest.

One sip later, I understood.

The drinks weren’t simply fruity cocktails dressed up in novelty mugs. They were surprisingly complex, balancing citrus, spice, bitters, and multiple varieties of rum into something far more sophisticated than I expected. Combined with the immersive atmosphere, the whole experience felt less like visiting a bar and more like stepping onto the set of an adventure movie.

I was hooked.

Now, one might think Disney had perfected the tiki experience.

In Lancaster, that may very well be true.

But my boyfriend, being from Michigan, introduced me to a place that somehow raised the bar even higher: Max’s South Seas Hideaway in Grand Rapids.

Home to one of the world’s largest private collections of tiki artifacts, Max’s feels less like a themed restaurant and more like an interactive museum where someone happens to serve exceptional cocktails. Every wall, ceiling beam, corner, and shelf is covered in carvings, masks, vintage mugs, outrigger canoes, glowing lanterns, tribal artwork, and enough hidden details to reward several laps around the building. Upstairs, the bar recreates the deck of a Polynesian sailing ship, complete with a carved mermaid figurehead extending proudly from the bow.

The cocktails are every bit as memorable as the décor, but be warned, dear reader: one or two are more than enough to leave even the most steadfast landlubber feeling delightfully unsteady.

As for the food, order the pu pu platter.

Not because it’s the best value, though it is.

Order it because it arrives at your table surrounding a miniature bonfire.

Because if you’re going to escape to paradise for an evening, your dinner really ought to be on fire.

How can you go on your own tiki adventure?

Of course, dear reader, Google is always happy to point you toward the nearest tiki bar. But if you happen to find yourself traveling through one of these cities, these are a few destinations that have earned a reputation among tiki enthusiasts for transporting guests far beyond their front doors. Consider them worthy additions to your own bucket list.

Smuggler’s Cove (San Francisco, CA) – Often considered the gold standard of modern tiki, with an extraordinary rum selection and immersive pirate-inspired décor.

False Idol (San Diego, CA) – Hidden behind another restaurant, this intimate speakeasy-style tiki bar feels like discovering a secret island.

Latitude 29 – Created by legendary tiki historian Jeff “Beachbum” Berry, this New Orleans favorite is a pilgrimage site for cocktail lovers.

Trader Sam’s Grog Grotto – Disney’s delightfully interactive bar, where cocktails can literally change the room around you.

Max’s South Seas Hideaway – Home to one of the world’s largest private tiki collections and, in my admittedly biased opinion, one of the most immersive tiki experiences anywhere.

Three Dots and a Dash (Chicago, IL) – A hidden basement escape serving exceptional cocktails in an unforgettable setting.

The Inferno Room (Indianapolis, IN) – Equal parts restaurant, museum, and tiki bar, with authentic décor and fantastic food.

Undertow – Designed to make you feel as though you’re aboard a nineteenth-century trading ship crossing the Pacific.

The Sorrow Drowner – A newer addition to the tiki scene that has quickly developed a devoted following.

Tiki Tatsu-Ya (Austin, TX) – A wonderfully theatrical blend of inventive cocktails, immersive storytelling, and excellent food.

Whether you’re planning a cross-country road trip or simply looking for an excuse to escape reality for an evening, perhaps there’s a little tropical paradise waiting just around the corner. Sometimes all it takes is opening an unassuming wooden door.

Finding Opportunities in the Storm

Published on July 5, 2026July 5, 2026 by BudgetBlissLeave a comment

Dear reader, life does not always go as planned. There are times when fires, storms, and even pandemics disrupt our carefully laid plans. We are, after all, but mere mortals battered about by fate’s whims. That does not mean we should throw in the towel. Quite the contrary, we should throw our hats into the ring, step forward to meet fate where she stands, take her hand, and dance.

Which is exactly what I did on a recent trip to Michigan, where the bucket list adventure happened not at my destination but somewhere along the journey.

I certainly had no intention of adding an airport to my bucket list, but when life hands you lemons, make lemonade, or perhaps lemon drops if you’re inclined to add a little vodka and triple sec (and I am inclined). But I digress.

The plan had been simple: depart from Harrisburg, make a brief connection through Chicago O’Hare, and continue on to a small airport in Michigan. As it turns out, dear reader, one ought to be cautious about booking evening flights to the Midwest during thunderstorm season. A powerful summer storm settled over Chicago, grounding flights for hours.

Consider this your bonus travel tip: Don’t schedule evening flights in the summer if you’re going to the mid-west.

At first, I did what nearly every traveler does when a delay appears on the departure board. I sighed, checked the app for the tenth time, looked hopefully toward the gate agent and realized I had a decision to make; chance going to Chicago once the ground order was lifted and potentially miss my connecting flight late that night or wait until the next morning and have a significant layover.

After discussing my options with the gate agent, it was clear that if I missed my connecting flight there wouldn’t be another flight until nearly 1 pm the next day and if I went out the next morning on the first flight out I would still be stuck in the airport for hours until 1 pm. I opted for the second option rather than chance a 15 hour layover in an airport. I wasn’t going to chance falling asleep and then missing my flight.

Regardless, I found myself red eyed in the wee hours of the morning in Chicago sighing in frustration wondering if I shouldn’t have chanced it the night before.

Then I realized something.

How often does one actually have the opportunity to explore one of the busiest airports in the world?

Normally airports are places we hurry through with singular determination. We race from terminal to terminal, clutching boarding passes, eyes darting from gate numbers to departure screens, scarcely noticing where we are. This time, however, there was nowhere I needed to be except exactly where I already was.

Freed from the tyranny of the boarding clock, I began to wander.

Sunlight poured through towering vaulted windows high above the concourse, washing the polished floors in warm afternoon light. Massive American flags hung proudly from the ceiling while a giant globe floated overhead, quietly reminding travelers just how many corners of the world intersected beneath this roof. Off to one side, almost hidden from the hurried crowds, I discovered displays detailing the airport’s history, small exhibits that most people likely rushed past without ever noticing. Another terminal displayed banners from all over the world proudly declaring all the destinations one might jet off to if only one could secure a boarding pass.

The airport itself felt less like a transportation hub and more like a bustling indoor city.

The aroma changed every few dozen steps. Fresh coffee drifted from cafés just opening another pot. Warm pretzels perfumed the air outside bakeries while cinnamon, butter, and freshly baked pastries tempted even those who had no intention of eating again. Somewhere nearby onions sizzled on a grill while deep-dish pizza disappeared into ovens. Every restaurant seemed to compete with the next, each trying to lure weary travelers in with one more irresistible smell. I found the juxtaposition of a restaurant pretending luxury next to a kiosk of questionable food to be quite curious. Where else can one find the appearance of luxury sitting so comfortably beside convenience?

The shops were equally fascinating. Tiny storefronts overflowed with merchandise, every square foot carefully maximized. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling. Jewelry glittered beneath bright display lights while colorful clothing spilled from crowded racks. Stacks of books, souvenirs, snacks, electronics, and travel gadgets filled every available corner, transforming even the smallest kiosk into something resembling a magician’s cabinet of curiosities. Of course, basic necessities were priced for desperation, but we’ll leave the commentary on exploitive practices for a different author.

Then there were the people.

Thousands upon thousands of them.

Business travelers marched purposefully toward their gates while families attempted the impossible task of shepherding overtired children through the crowds. Couples wandered hand in hand. Flight crews glided confidently through the chaos as though they possessed some secret map unavailable to the rest of us. I caught snippets of conversations in languages I couldn’t identify. Some travelers wore tailored suits destined for important meetings while others looked as though they had rolled directly out of bed and into the security line. Matching family vacation shirts mingled with backpacks, hiking boots, designer luggage, and neck pillows.

The people watching alone was worth the delay.

My favorite moments, however, were the unintentionally comedic ones. Travelers had surrendered completely to exhaustion, sleeping wherever they could find an empty patch of floor. Some curled up beneath windows. Others stretched across rows of chairs. One industrious soul had somehow wedged themselves into a quiet corner between two pillars, blissfully oblivious to the constant parade of rolling suitcases. Nearby, passengers jockeyed for position as boarding announcements echoed through the terminal, each convinced that standing in line fifteen minutes early would somehow get them onto the airplane faster. Even if they did manage to get on sooner, it’s not like the plane was going to leave until everyone in the line was on. Such a curious practice, I never did quite understand.

Naturally, I couldn’t leave Chicago without adding one more item to my bucket list: eating Chicago-style pizza in Chicago. Was it the greatest deep-dish pizza ever created? Probably not. But considering I have little intention of making a dedicated trip into the city itself, I decided this was my one and only opportunity, and it seemed a shame to let it pass me by.

Another traveler might have grumbled about their bad luck. Instead, I found myself unexpectedly grateful.

Normally, I write a paragraph about how you can experience this for yourself. However, this is one instance in which the only advice I offer is this:

Sometimes the greatest adventures arrive disguised as inconveniences. They invite us to slow down, pay attention, and discover that even an airport, a place designed simply to move us somewhere else, can become a destination if we are willing to wander.

Perhaps the next time your carefully crafted itinerary falls apart, don’t immediately look for the nearest customer service desk. Look around instead.

You may discover your next bucket list adventure waiting exactly where you never intended to stop.

Why Volunteering Belongs on Every Bucket List

Published on June 21, 2026June 21, 2026 by BudgetBlissLeave a comment

Dear reader, we often look to our bucket lists to enrich our own lives. We book the trip, enjoy the experience, collect the memory, and savor moments of joy. There is certainly nothing wrong with that. However, a life that is truly enriched is not one that focuses only on ourselves. It also includes generosity toward others.

Some of the most meaningful experiences on my own bucket list have not involved airplanes, tickets, or distant destinations. Instead, they have involved people.

As a social worker, giving back to the community has become part of my everyday life. Currently, I work with children experiencing serious emotional disturbances and adults with ADHD. Before that, I spent several years working directly with individuals and families experiencing homelessness, helping to run a winter shelter as well as a year-round housing program.

The mission of the shelter was simple: provide a warm, safe place to spend the night. We also offered case management services designed to help people navigate their path from homelessness to housing. Yet despite all the paperwork, referrals, and housing applications, I eventually came to believe that the most important thing we offered was something far less complicated.

Connection.

Many people experiencing homelessness report feeling invisible. They describe being judged, avoided, or treated as though they are somehow less worthy than everyone else. The shelter sought to counteract that experience by creating a place where dignity came first.

When guests arrived, they were welcomed by friendly volunteers and staff. They were offered a warm meal, a hot shower, a safe place to sleep, and perhaps most importantly, a sense that they belonged.

The shelter itself reflected that philosophy. It was bright, clean, and carefully organized. We tried to create an environment that felt welcoming rather than institutional. Volunteers dressed professionally because we believed our guests deserved the same level of respect one would show anyone else. Rules were kept to a minimum whenever possible. Choices were offered whenever safety allowed. Trauma often strips people of control over their lives; restoring even small opportunities for choice can help rebuild a sense of dignity.

Round tables were placed throughout the shelter rather than rows of isolated chairs. Guests gathered to talk, share meals, play cards, and simply spend time together. Staff and volunteers joined them whenever possible. We listened without judgment and encouraged people to become the authors of their own next chapter rather than telling them what that chapter should be.

We also worked to connect people with resources beyond the shelter itself. Workers from the county crisis system visited regularly so guests could meet certified peer supports, individuals trained to provide assistance who also brought the wisdom of lived experience. If someone arrived without clothing, local community partners made it possible to ensure they left with what they needed. Every piece of support communicated the same message: you matter.

One might wonder how something as simple as connection could make such a difference.

Research consistently shows that people experience better outcomes when they feel connected to their communities. Trust, belonging, and social support influence everything from physical health to mental well-being. Before someone can trust a service, a program, or a housing plan, they often need to trust the people offering it.

Many individuals experiencing homelessness have experienced profound losses of trust. Sometimes systems have failed them. Sometimes people have failed them. Sometimes both. When your experience has taught you that help often comes with judgment, conditions, or disappointment, accepting assistance can become incredibly difficult.

That is why volunteers were such a vital part of the shelter’s mission.

While I was often occupied coordinating services, addressing crises, and making sure the shelter operated smoothly, volunteers had the opportunity to do something equally important. They sat down. They listened. They played cards. They shared meals. They learned names and remembered stories.

Often volunteers were the first to notice when someone seemed unusually withdrawn or discouraged. They noticed the quiet guest sitting alone in the corner. They noticed when something wasn’t working. They became advocates, encouragers, and companions.

And the benefits were not limited to the people we served.

Photo by RDNE Stock project on Pexels.com

Many volunteers arrived hoping to help others and left with a broader understanding of their community. Homelessness stopped being an abstract social issue and became a collection of human stories. Assumptions were challenged. Empathy grew. Many volunteers told me they felt more connected to their neighbors and more grateful for the relationships in their own lives.

I wish I could say that everyone who walked through our doors found permanent housing. Unfortunately, that is not how these stories always end.

What I can say is that people found warmth. They found safety. They found kindness. They found a place where they were treated with dignity.

Over the years, I frequently heard guests describe us as the best shelter in the county. Other organizations occasionally visited to learn what we were doing differently. The answer was never a secret. We simply tried very hard to remember that people are people first.

If there is anything you should add to your bucket list, it is volunteering.

Photo by Kampus Production on Pexels.com

It does not have to be at a shelter. It could be a nursing home, an animal rescue, a food bank, a literacy program, a soup kitchen, a community garden, or an environmental cleanup. The specific cause matters far less than the willingness to show up.

We often think of bucket lists as collections of experiences. Perhaps they are better understood as collections of connections.

If you are not sure where to begin, many communities maintain volunteer opportunities through their local United Way, community foundations, or 211 information services. A quick visit to their websites will often reveal dozens of organizations looking for helping hands.

You may discover that the most meaningful adventure on your bucket list is not the place you travel to, but the person you take the time to see.

Cost: Free

Miles from home: 0

Completed: Helping the homeless 2019

The Alchemy of Sand

Published on June 7, 2026June 7, 2026 by BudgetBlissLeave a comment

Have you ever really looked at a piece of glass?

Not through it. Not as a window or a drinking glass or the screen you are likely reading this on. I mean truly looked at it.

Hold it up to the light and watch it catch the sun. Run your fingers across its perfectly smooth surface. Notice how something so rigid can seem almost fluid, bending and reflecting the world around it. It is such a common part of our daily lives that we rarely stop to consider what a marvel it truly is.

After all, who looks at sand and imagines it becoming something so beautiful? Pick up a handful and let it run through your fingers. Feel the grit against your skin. It seems impossible that the same material could one day become a crystal-clear vase, a stained-glass window, or the screen of a smartphone. Yet mix it with soda ash—not the kind you drink—and limestone, heat it to thousands of degrees, and transformation occurs.

Perhaps that is why glass has always seemed a little magical to me.

I grew up attending the Renaissance Faire and was familiar with the art of glassmaking from the many demonstrations. It was fascinating watching artisans transform solid minerals into a glowing liquid and then cool them back into entirely different forms. One could only conclude that magic, at least in a sense, was indeed real as dragons, unicorns, flowers, and delicate ornaments emerged from what had once been little more than sand.

Glassmaking is a tradition thousands of years old, originating somewhere in the ancient world, perhaps Syria, perhaps Egypt. However it began, one cannot help but marvel at the discovery. Imagine being the first person to witness the transformation. One day you are standing before a furnace filled with sand and stone. The next, a strange translucent substance emerges from the flames. It is easy to understand why ancient peoples often blurred the line between craftsmanship and magic.

It was this appreciation for its rich history and fascination with magic that seemed just out of reach that piqued my curiosity to seek out a glassblowing class during the midst of COVID restrictions. Yes, flights may have been canceled, cruise ships docked, some states open, others shuttered. Travel seemed impossible, and any chance at adventure seemed out of reach. However, for someone who knows that adventure can be just outside the door, it seemed like the perfect time to explore opportunities closer to home.

Besides, what better activity could there be in a pandemic than one that involves blowing into glass that’s thousands of degrees while the vents continually suck out the air, ensuring one is only breathing fresh air? Any germs you may have will certainly perish in the flames of oblivion. Forgive the dramatic flair, but this is my blog, and I can be dramatic if I desire.

I set out in the beginning of July, just when the first COVID restrictions were being lifted in my home state of Pennsylvania. We reached out to a local craftsman who offered classes and booked a session for two to make glass ornaments. We met with a very friendly teacher, Michael, who first assured us of the safety of the activity before launching into some of the science and history of glassmaking.

Even though it was mostly review for the two of us, we still listened with rapt attention, barely containing our excitement. He explained how we were going to add color to our glass and gave us an overview of the technique: how to blow and turn to keep the glass even, and how quickly the glass cooled despite the heat, making it a little tricky to manipulate. Then we were able to start.

The workshop itself sat open to the warm Pennsylvania summer. One entire wall functioned as a garage door and had been rolled up to welcome the evening air. Beyond it stretched fields and trees glowing beneath the golden light of late afternoon. It was a surprisingly peaceful setting for an activity centered around furnaces hot enough to soften stone.

Inside, the studio pulsed with heat and orange light. Glass gathered from the furnace emerged glowing yellow-white before fading through shades of orange, amber, and red as it cooled. Every few moments Michael would send us back to the furnace to reheat our work before the glass stiffened once again.

It was both easier and harder than I anticipated. The glass came to temperature and cooled more rapidly than I thought it would despite his warnings. I had fun experimenting with twisting it and manipulating it into various shapes, not much minding whether it turned out to be a piece of art or not. After all, the idea was simply to experience the process, not necessarily to create something worthy of display.

Although, I must say, for a first attempt, I did quite well.

As the lesson progressed, I became so focused on the task that I barely noticed the passage of time. My attention narrowed to the rhythm of turning the blowpipe, reheating the glass, and carefully shaping it before it cooled. Only occasionally would I glance up and realize the world outside had changed.

The bright summer afternoon had softened into twilight. Long shadows stretched across the fields beyond the open doorway, and the golden light that had greeted us slowly gave way to the blues and purples of evening. Somewhere between the furnace and the workbench, hours had slipped away unnoticed.

How can you create your own magic?

If reading this has awakened a bit of curiosity, you may be surprised to learn that glassblowing classes are more accessible than you might think. A quick search for “glassblowing classes near me,” “glass art studios,” or “glass workshops” will often reveal local artisans offering beginner-friendly lessons. Community art centers, craft schools, and independent studios frequently host one-time classes where no prior experience is required.

Perhaps you will make an ornament, a paperweight, or a vase. Perhaps your creation will emerge a little lopsided, much like mine. That hardly matters. The real magic lies in stepping through the studio door, feeling the heat of the furnace, and experiencing an ancient craft with your own hands. You never know what wonders may be hiding just around the corner of your hometown, waiting to transform an ordinary afternoon into an adventure.

Completed: 2020

Cost: $95

Miles from home: 30 miles

Want to discover more adventures? Check out my whole Bucket List and Reverse Bucket List

The Lost Art of Becoming a Regular

Published on May 31, 2026May 31, 2026 by BudgetBliss

The Arcade Lost Between Decades

Published on May 9, 2026June 7, 2026 by BudgetBlissLeave a comment

There are some places that aren’t readily accessible by taking a train or plane. Because it isn’t a place that one can easily get to through travel, at least not through any normal means. Places that require a little sideways step and a wink at quantum physics, because the place one is trying to get to is lost in time. I speak, of course, of managing through some quirk of the universe to go back to a time before, to re-experience what has now been forgotten or perhaps experience for the first time things we never had the chance to do.

One must slip in between in order to step back and Decades is exactly one of those sorts of places where time doesn’t quite behave the way it should. Tucked in the far northern corner of Lancaster this 95 year old gymnasium has been transformed into a full-service restaurant, bar, six-lane bowling alley, and retro arcade. From the moment you step foot inside you know you’ve left the 2020s behind for some strange pocket of the universe where the late decades of the 20th century have collided together.

High above the vaulted ceiling, bright lights spell out the name “Decades.” Friendly faces greet you at the front desk like agents of time itself directing you through the confusing maze of games and tables. After all, with all these time warps one must be careful not to get too sucked in. To the right, a bowling alley straight out of the 1980s harkens back to the days of your father’s and grandfather’s bowling league. Perhaps you may glimpse a phantom in the timestream sending a ball down for a strike.

To the left is the arcade and restaurant. The old wooden floors creak softly beneath your feet with the sort of comforting wear that only decades of use can produce. The lighting shifts strangely as you walk, never quite settling into a single mood. One moment you stand beneath the icy blue glow of a racing game, the next beneath the feverish reds and yellows of a fighting cabinet. Neon flashes ripple across the floorboards and tables so that the whole arcade feels alive, constantly changing depending on which machines are calling out nearby. Along the far left wall stretches a long polished bar lined with gleaming glasses and rows upon rows of illuminated bottles, half hidden behind the dense forest of arcade cabinets like some secret oasis for weary travelers lost in time. Beside nearly every machine sits a small table thoughtfully placed for drinks and baskets of fries, allowing patrons to linger between rounds as though there is nowhere else in the world they need to be.

Games from the late 1970s sit proudly beside their more modern cousins from the early 2000s. The evolution of technology can be a bit jarring when one is able to compare them side by side.

I felt this contrast the most with the two Terminator games that I played. The first one was fully immersive, a gun with real-time feedback requiring a frantic reload through a cartridge at the bottom of the weapon. The second was a janky stationary gun mounted behind glass and pointed at what looked like an aging television screen. Oddly enough, both had their charm. The newer one was undeniably smoother and more exciting, but there was something endearing about the older machine’s clunky stubbornness. Still, I spent a good hour gleefully blasting killer androids into scrap metal.

But I digress, the arcade was not my first impression. My first impression was the restaurant. In the back is a set of booths which provide a bit of respite from the constant chorus of arcade jingles, pinball clatters, and bowling pins crashing in the distance. The menu consists mostly of standard American fare: burgers, sandwiches, wings, and fries. They certainly have salads and your typical appetizers as well, pretzel bits, tacos, pierogies, and onion rings. Now most of these have a different twist than one might expect. For example, the Irish Breakfast Burger consists of a beef patty, portobello mushroom, bacon, sausage, smoked gouda, fried egg, tomato jam, and mayo. Meanwhile the Fire & Ash Burger is stacked with smoked blue cheese, scorched earth sauce, charred leeks, and lemon aioli.

Be warned dear reader, this particular burger is not for the faint of heart. It is quite spicy and left my lips tingling for hours. It was delicious and I highly recommend it for the thrill seekers among you. As one can see, the chefs here are as peculiar as the setting itself. For those concerned by the oddities I’ve just described, worry not. The chef has not taken complete leave of their senses and has mercifully left several menu items unchanged from expectation.

The drink menu is equally surprising in the twists it offers the usual fare. Of course there are sodas and beers, but there is also a delightful collection of specialty cocktails and mocktails for those who do not wish to imbibe. Watching the bartenders work beneath the dim amber glow of the shelves behind them almost feels theatrical, as if one has wandered into some hidden establishment where arcade champions and bowlers have gathered for decades.

After dinner, it really is recommended that you purchase a cup of tokens to enjoy the full bounty of games available across the spectrum of time. There are plenty of games for a whole group to enjoy or for the lone wolves among you.

I had met a few friends there from the sci-fi podcast that I run. Scott was visiting from Europe and we jumped at the chance to spend quality time with him. We updated each other on our lives and made plans for the upcoming summer, the local sci-fi convention, and movies that will be coming out shortly.

Naturally, we engaged in the games, some cooperative and others competitive. I already spoke on my fondness for the Terminator game. Dave was particularly good at it as he placed fifth on the machine. I did manage to beat him in kill count during one of the rounds, so naturally I was quite proud of myself. Scott managed first place in a racing game while Miles took his turn conquering Space Invaders.

True to its nature, Decades managed to warp the passage of time as well, for it seemed that I had only blinked and hours had passed in the outside world. Perhaps that is the true magic of places such as these. Not merely nostalgia, nor novelty, but the rare ability to make adults forget the clock entirely.

How might you find such a place?

And should you wish to find an antique arcade of your very own, I encourage you to seek out the strange little corners of old cities and forgotten downtowns. Often these places hide inside repurposed factories, aging theaters, old gymnasiums, or warehouses whose glory days seem long behind them. Look for neon signs glowing faintly against brick walls, listen for the distant chorus of pinball bells and synthesized music, and do not be afraid to wander through an unassuming doorway. Every now and then, if the universe is feeling particularly generous, you may just stumble into a pocket of lost time yourself.

Cost: $50 (that covered two drinks, my Fire & Ash Burger and my arcade experience)

Completed: 2026

Miles from home: 18 miles

Want to discover more adventures? Check out my whole Bucket List and Reverse Bucket List

How can you create your own magic?

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