Keep it...

Like a large bright star held above the clouds on a long lonely desert night during the final moments of the month known as December there stood a highway billboard that sang out to those who passed it by, “Feel the force Luke…if you follow me, you can let go of everything taking you down. Trust in me and I shall give you cha-ching.”



3:23 this morning, the only sign lit like yesterday’s noon time temp was the Power Ball sign that boldly read $260 million.



I can barely tell you what it’s like to have a twenty dollar bill in my pocket. What in Sam Hill is $260 million? If Dad caught me anywhere near that trash he’d latch his mighty grip onto the back of my shirt and pull back this 225 pound frame, expressing a stern Montana cowboy warning, “There’s trouble in those numbers son…you go anywhere near that junk in the trunk and you’ll be paying a price much larger than the tallest skyscraper.”



$260 million seems like a lot of fun until you find yourself snuggling up to Travis McCoy’s latest release Billionaire. $260 million is only a quarter of the way to what he calls the pentacle of life. Travis does a great job capturing the sing-a-bility of all who dream—like a late night info-mercial you too can be seriously rich and famous like Oprah Winfrey.



Warner Brother’s is set to release a new movie called Lottery Ticket—a man whose numbers match can’t cash in his winning tickets because it’s the July 4th holiday. Once the neighborhood, city and world catch onto his identity…all that seemed surreal quickly evolves into a series of choices and nightmares.



I’ve always wondered how those who win American Idol truly feel. It’s fun to shout, “I’m going to Disney World!” But how many times can you do it before your dreams no longer seem important? A big night on stage is no different than selling a used car to a family who can barely afford a ten speed bicycle.



Radio great Major Dan Miller once told me, “The average person thinks the broadcast industry is the greatest, coolest, most brilliant job on earth until they pop that microphone open during a weekend afternoon show or on a holiday they once had off. That’s when the weak begin to fall from the ranks of the business—it’s no longer fun to hear Lady GaGa for a 200th time.”



Winning Power Ball’s $260 million makes me numb. I couldn’t share it. I’d be so afraid of losing every cent that it would sit in a bank and collect rust, dust and mites. I grew up eating boiled eggs and hamburger, fried bologna washed down with powered milk from a box combined with pieces parts from rabbits we use to name until it finally became clear what their destiny would be.



I can’t figure out where the magicians behind the lottery locate their dollars—poof! Look Mom! They print this junk like the United States government. I gotta be honest, if it came down to me purchasing a ticket that could lead me to $260 million and latching onto a Snickers bar…I have to go with the chocolate. There’s a guaranteed pleasure cruise in every bite.



Let’s say good luck picked your name and you won—would you want it in a suitcase with only hundred dollar bills, a Visa gift card, monthly installments or send it to the lawyers hired to keep your mother in law and the twenty five cousins you’ve never met off the front steps? How long would it take for you to start buying ugly furniture or pasting hand crafted molding to the living room wall like the way the rich and famous do? What if your neighbor suddenly realized the chainsaw is no longer the tool that will better their weekend and he or she wants the next best thing…a loan?



Memorial Day weekend BBQ gatherings are officially over? Nobody likes to invite a rich person to the party. The scent of perfectly folded clothing with socks that match is worse than road kill. The moment you leave, the rest of us will be forced to talk about the days when you’d bend over and your underwear would show. When you have $260 million you don’t have to sport a pair…you hire people to use the bathroom for you.



I’m not the right person to win the Power Ball Lottery. I can’t balance my checkbook now…I can’t imagine how many of those little books with a bunch of lines I’m going to need for just stopping in to get a half a tank of gas. $2 service charges at the ATM turn me into a Mixed Martial Arts crazy monkey. With $260 million the bank would raise those charges to $300 per use because you can afford it. You know, like a giant 15 bedroom house…I always wonder who vacuums the floors? It doesn’t matter, you can afford to hire people to do it for you.



I can’t win the money! I wouldn’t get past those secret cameras the Power Ball people have at gas stations and other places where you get tickets. Like The Price is Right and every other game show on the tube, the company executives want someone who’s marketable and can sell the big sell so they can make more money off people dreaming about making money.



Besides…I still enjoy using a Bic pen. I can’t imagine not experiencing the annual extremely hot summer’s day when one of those things explodes in a new pair of pants. Something about wearing an ink stain on your upper thigh like a cheap tattoo makes you look cool when diving into a public swimming pool.



I can’t do it! I can’t win the lottery! Cheap American toilet paper is still softer than what most countries offer. I want to visit the big fancy buildings downtown not own them. I want to walk through a mall without fingers being pointed at a past I can never get back. I love pulling into the Dairy Queen and body searching the car for every ounce of change that’s fallen between the seats. There’s no better feeling than locating a quarter under the mat.



What if I won and the image in the mirror demanded a monthly paycheck? Where’s the fun in searching when the soul comes with a price? What if you suddenly became rich...would you feel poor standing next to Bill Gates?



arroecollins@clearchannel.com