And each time I'm also transported back to my 22-year-old body. (I was fortunate enough to stay on Necker Island a few years ago, and it's a fantasy even without the hot tub time machine. If you drink enough of Necker's private label Champagne, I'm pretty sure the hot tub can transport you.)
So I'm in my hot tub time machine with my buddy Red Auerbach (hey, this is my fantasy -- and I'm a hopeless basketball fanatic). Naturally, we are smoking cigars. And schmoozing.
"Where to, Red?" I ask.
"Let's make a fast break for Eastern Turkey," says Red. "Mount Ararat."
"Ah, Noah's Ark, good choice."
"Yeah, I want to see if I can get me two Larry Birds," says Red, idly flicking an ash.
"I don't think…" I began, when suddenly we're surrounded by the most amazing menagerie. "Wow," I say, eyeing the elegant elephants, "This is better than a Botswana safari, although the San Diego Wildlife Park is certainly cheaper for travelers." Even in my fantasy, I can't help being an airfare analyst. I turn to Red. "Which do you like best?"
"Slam dunk," he says. "The giraffes." Suddenly, some aromatic pigs edge over to the tub. "That's a flagrant foul," exclaims Red.
"Look, there's Noah," I say. "I should tell him about that huge Airbus A380; I think he could use the extra room."
"Remind him once they invent flight," says Red.