I laughed, I cried

As you may recall, a few days ago I pointed out my new favorite church sign.

The minister at St. Paul's Episcopal wrote me promptly to say hello and I found him to be a nice and congenial fellow.

And then Makeesha left a note. Her church, Revolution (another Ft. Collins church making me smile) meets at St. Paul's a couple times a month. You'll love their website: The Naked Church.

Digging around on Makeesha's site I came across her links to a site where there are some satirical posters up about the emergent movement. As you know, I am not against satire. In fact, a couple of them were quite funny. But several were just mean-spirited and, I think, have moved beyond the realms of what I would consider to be Christian charity for other believers. One of the things I appreciate about the Door is that their satire is designed as a mirror for the church, not a baseball bat.

One of Makeesha's friends, Grace, made a series of response posters to the satirical ones that are so well-meant and sincere that it made me wince after reading the satire. Like this one on the right, for instance. And for some reason they created a big controversial series of comments. I agree there are issues of concerns in sectors of the emergent movement, but give me a break! No reason to misrepresent and twist it into something on the same level as Chick tracts. Please.

I think this poster at left most clearly shows the conflict, and was my favorite of the satirical pieces purely for the irony.

Here we see the Critic telling us that the Emergent philosophy of authenticity is basically, "I believe in authenticity, which means I can stop pretending that I am crazy... I can actually be myself (I am insane)."

Which of course shows the modernist proclivity toward creating a facade of perfection and a desire not to share the reality of what is going on behind the mask, not to share the fact that they, too, are coming apart at the seams sometimes.

All of which causes us to collapse into useless generalizations. Modernists are This and Emergents are That. And the generalizations have long since ceased to be useful. Things have become far too diverse and complicated for that. Somebody explain to me, for instance, why the Emergent generation (which supposedly doesn't believe in absolute truth) is becoming increasingly Reformed (which doesn't leave room for anything but).

I'm not sure why we can't have friendly conversations about these things. I think Grace has been very generous in her responses. Our Satirist has made more satires. I think everyone should go read this book and then we can all be friends again. D.A. Carson treats the emergent movement fairly, leveling critiques and pointing out the innovations and changes they bring that will breathe life into the greater movement of the Church.

Seven Legs of Lamb

The Sydney Morning Herald reports the birth of a lamb with seven legs.

This is the sort of thing that would make Julius Caesar very nervous. If he wasn't already dead.

Poor little thing was also born with only partial bowels, so it has probably already been put down.

Bourne for Action

I've seen at least seventy-three reviews of the Bourne Ultimatum that are titled "Bourne Again." I thought I would shake it up (barely) with a different title. Boy am I ever clever.

Just so you know, I really liked the first Bourne movie. A lot. It dealt with complex moral and emotional issues and had great pace and action. The second film I liked not-so-much. And this, the third, I liked somewhere in the middle. It's great so far as being full of action, but completely lacking in any emotional attachment. In other words, you don't really care about Bourne, his quest, his friends, or anything other than when things will slow down enough for you to unclench your fingers from the handrests. But there are some really great action scenes.

So. Decent movie. A little shaky with the whole hand-held camera thing. I couldn't even tell what was happening sometimes in various action scenes. I realize that this is to make it seem as if we were there. You know, "In real life, a camera would bounce around if a camera man were chasing Bourne up a flight of stairs and then jumping out a window." Sure, I know. In real life the camera man would have stopped about ten minutes into the movie to lay down on the sidewalk and catch his breath. But I don't want to see two hours of that now, do I?

Some strange things to notice about the Bourne Universe if you go see the movie:

1) No airbags in any of the cars. I don't care if it rams into a wall going 120 MPH, you won't see any airbags deployed. Why? Because, as near as I can tell, Jason Bourne has gone around to all of the cars that he thinks he will drive or will be chasing him and disconnected them.

2) The agents of the CIA all use flip phones able to send and receive IMs with pictures. But they never, never use PDAs or anything like that.

3) On the other hand, many of them have pistols fitted with movie cameras. That's nice.

4) If you mean business in the Bourne Universe, you better put your jacket on. "Bourne, someone is coming into the apartment to kill you!" "Hold on, let me get my jacket on." Any time an assassin gets a text message to go kill someone he will put down his cel phone and put his jacket on. Do me a favor if you go to the movie and count how many times someone puts on their jacket. I started late and I think there were seven scenes of jacket-donning. Note the picture above: Jason Bourne is walking through a crowd, a gun in his hand and -- GOOD GRIEF! IS THAT A JACKET HE'S WEARING? Someone is in trouble.

Matt Damon says this is the last Bourne movie (for now) and this is probably because (SPOILER) Bourne loses his jacket somehow along the way.

I would like to end this post by thanking the Bourne movies and Matt Damon for kicking the James Bond and Batman franchises in their collective patooties and forcing them to make some good movies again (or finally, depending on your taste). Gracias!

Welcome to the Revolution

As long time members of the BHR community know, I like to take an occasional time out to say hello to those who have stumbled upon our humble revolution via search engine.

So, let me start by welcoming everyone who has been searching for Ladies Revolution Pants. Yes, there is a reason that our site comes up first on google when ladies seek revolutionary slacks. We have a long tradition of stylish yet comfortable pants which allow freedom of movement whether you are overthrowing a corrupt government or just chanting "power to the people" in a city square. Lady Godiva, this one is for you!

And, secondly, allow me to extend warm greetings to those who searched for the phrase do not sign a "burning hearts" contract. I personally don't see any harm in signing such a contract, unless what you meant to type was, "Don't sign a burning 'hearts contract.'" I've spoken with several firefighters and they all agree with Frank Jones of Portland who says, "Never sign any document that is aflame."

Now for a shocking announcement sure to baffle and amaze you all... I think it's time for a name change around here. In November this blog will have been up and running for two whole years. And during that time people have accidentally wandered here because they were looking for Ladies Revolution Pants or Burning Heart Contracts or What To Do When You Are Torn Between Two Hearts or "monkey he got drunk". In the interest of bringing in more readers to the website formerly known as BHR, we will soon be changing the name of this blog to Paris Hilton Loves Harry Potter. It's cool because its initials are a palindrome: PHLHP. Sew it on your sweater, baby.

Today at the Portland Zoo

One of the great things about the Portland Zoo is how close you can get to the leopards. They make you rub the kids in broccoli and turnips so that the Big Cats think they are vegetables. Perfectly safe.



My kids may like this sign better than almost anything at the zoo. You can compare your wingspan with that of several large birds. Or stand in front of it and make faces and vague wing-like gestures.



In addition to my own kids (Z and A) we took cousin J along. J asked if he could take some pictures during the bird show. So we got about eight pictures that J took of his own face, plus a couple of the ground, the sky, an advertisement, and so on.



He also got this shot of the girls, which I think captures their inner selves pretty well. You can tell that A (on the left) is weighing J in her mind and has made a firm opinion and Z is demanding that he give her the camera.

And, in what was perhaps the creepiest moment of the day, the zoo handed out free meerkat masks. They didn't have holes for the eyes at all, which meant that I had three essentially blind meerkats to guide back to the car. Plus, they kept creeping me out every time I looked at them.

TAKE THAT, SAINT PAUL!

I have never attended St. Paul's Episcopal Church in Ft. Collins, Colorado, but if their sign is any indication I think we would get along just fine.

"What should we put on our sign?"

"How about Paul getting thrown off his donkey?"

"YEAH!"

The Undiscovered Country

I am trying to buy an airline ticket on a certain airline. I've been working on it for two days now. I recently spoke with a very nice representative of the airline about why my credit card was not working:


Rep: Could you please tell me the billing address of your card?


Me: Yes, it's (street and house number), Vancouver, Washington, 98686.


Rep: Oh! There's the problem, sir. We can only process cards which have a billing address in the United States--


Me: But it is in the --


Rep: -- we're not able to process cards with international addresses.


Me: Yes. I understand. But I live in Vancouver, Washington, not in Vancouver, Canada. It is in the United States.


Rep (after a brief pause): I will have to send this to the billing department so that they can confirm that.


So, as soon as they figure out I live in the United States I guess I can do business with them. In the meantime I am going to go find a hockey game.

Only a decade left to go

Tomorrow I'm taking the kids to the zoo, along with their cousin J. It prompted a rather lengthy discussion between the girls over who would get to sit by him and where car seats should be arranged. I came up with what I thought was an elegant solution:

Me: Why don't I sit next to J and Z can drive and A can sit in the front by Z.

A: I don't think that would work.

Me: Why not?

Z: I can't drive yet.

Me: Why not?

Z: I don't have a license.

Me: Could you go get one tonight?

Z: No, not for ten more years.

Me: Ten more years? That is very inconvenient. I think you should get to work on that a little faster.

Z: Dad, I can't even see through the window when I sit in the front seat.

A: We would just have to sit in the driveway.

Switchfoot unplugged

During our conference in Colorado, there was an unexpected "unplugged" concert from Switchfoot!

Basically, that means drums, guitar and cello. The concert was excellent. I decided to pretend that it was my birthday on the night of the concert. I get to do whatever I want on my birthday, see, and what I always want is to go to a Switchfoot concert.

They played a lot of my favorite songs, and several new ones. At the end of the concert they did an actual encore. You know how usually there's a "planned encore" where concert etiquette demands that you clap and cheer until the band comes back and plays the last few songs they had already planned on playing. Well, the guys actually meant for the concert to be over, but the crowd demanded more and they obliged.

They actually did a cover of Bad Religion's "Sorrow". I found a video of Jon Foreman singing the song on YouTube. Here it is:



It's even better with cello, and you can here that on Jon's myspace if you like.

Krista took some pictures, which I'll upload later. I actually have a lot of thoughts about the concert, so I may add some thoughts later.

Anyway, as if you need me to tell you: Switchfoot = Good Music.

Pictures Galore

Krista has been busy putting up pictures from our last few weeks on her blog. There are great pictures of our time in Colorado, including pictures of Krista and friends as rock stars, some horses before they ran out of control, kids riding dinosaurs and so on. Enjoy!

Parenting With Matt 101: Pop Quiz

Imagine for a moment that you have taken your children to the Ogden Eccles Dinosar Park. You are taking a break on the drive from Colorado to Washington.

As you come around a dark corner you find that you have entered a dark side room where an animatronic tyrannosaurus rex is attacking a triceratops and her two babies. There are loud roaring sounds, the dinosaurs are moving around and baring their various pointy parts at one another in a threatening way.

Your children (let's just imagine they are little girls, aged 4 and 6) are frightened. You point out to them that the dinosaurs are not real, but that doesn't help. You point out that the enclosure has what appears to be an electrical fence separating you and the children from the dinosaurs. You point out that the pterodactyls "flying" in the background are not moving, which proves that they are fake.

None of this works.

So you finally say, "They are not real dinosaurs. They are robots and they won't hurt you."

This seems to calm them. In fact, a little while later they ask to go back to see the robots.

Multiple Choice Question: You have just made a horrible mistake as a parent. What is it?

A) Maybe they really were dinosaurs. How close did you actually get to the fence?

B) Dinosaurs, now extinct, should not be feared. Robots, however, still exist and could stage a revolt in which they destroy humankind. You've taught your children to fear dinosaurs and love robots. You are a traitor to the human race.

C) Now your kids will want a robot of their own.

D) You will now be forced to constantly refer to anything frightening as "a harmless robot." For instance, "Daddy, I think that mean dog is going to bite me." "Honey, that dog is a robot. It would never bite you."

E) The baby triceratops probably heard you and now has low self esteem, thinking that it is not a scary dinosaur. This is precisely the sort of weakness that makes for an excellent T-rex snack.

F) Everyone knows that the T-rex and the triceratops were in different paleolithic eras.

G) Good grief, man! What if your children mistake an enormous crocodile for a "robot" and try to saddle and ride it?

BONUS: True or False. When you find the "fossilized poop" section of the museum you should run to find your wife and kids so that they can see million-year-old excrement.

Many hours in a car will do this to you

We're on our way home from Colorado... more on that to come once we've recovered our wits.

But here's a conversation I had with Z today, who was pretending that her toe had become a world-famous chef.

Z: This is my toe chef.

Me: What does she cook?

Z: Toe-fu.

A must-read article

This weekend's Wall Street Journal has an article called "In Europe, God Is (Not) Dead."

It's a great article about the resurgence of genuine Christian faith in Europe, with particular emphasis on Sweden. There's an interesting (and I would argue faulty) argument about how religion functions like supply-side economics. But the article is chock-full with interesting asides, fascinating stories and a strange but flattering view of what it means to be influenced by "American evangelicals."

Curses!

I've been thinking a lot about foul language lately.

I've never been one to use a lot of coarse language, probably because I actually care about language. But a lot of my friends do, or did, and often for the same reason that they say "soda" instead of "cola"... it's just what they've learned in their region or their family or from their television.

What interests me the most is that "bad words" seem to be arranged into the wrong order of offensiveness. What I mean is, the words which should be most offensive seem to be the least offensive, and vice versa. Well, not across the board, but nearly.

I find that there is general misunderstanding of the various kinds of "bad words" so I shall now teach a lesson in Profanity 101:

There are three basic types of "bad words": vulgarity, profanity and cursing.

Vulgarity is a fascinating concept, and these are the words which should, I think, be least offensive to us. Our word for it comes from Latin (vulgaritas) and means, roughly, "the multitude." It was originally a term used to delineate the language used by different classes of people. Most of the words that describe body parts, bodily functions or sexual acts are words that are vulgar, or common. A refined person would not use them.

Of course in the United States this has ceased to be true, since we work so hard (so we say) to eliminate class distinctions.

Nevertheless, the "queen mother of swear words" (the "F word") is often nothing mroe than a vulgarity. In some sense we as a culture have agreed to these words. There is no reason, for instance, that I should feel free to type "crap" right now but not another excratory word that starts with "s". There is no real difference in the words, other than history. And that one is offensive to many people, and one is offensive to a few people. I'm sure someone out there can explain this to me.

Profanity, on the other hand, is the taking of something that should be holy and using it in a way that makes it unholy. It is an attempt to make the holy something common. Thus, the using of the Lord's name in vain, or to speak of any holy thing in an inappropriate way. Perhaps the "f word" does this, since it takes the holy act of sex and gives it a sense of meaningless physical action.

Cursing, of course, is the wishing of harm to someone. The most evil curse is to wish damnation upon someone (or something). This has become common language that is widely acceptable for some reason unknown to me.

Perhaps what has caused me to think about this lately is that a lot of Christians in my generation have felt a newfound freedom to use vulgarity and cursing in their common speech. In fact, it's hip right now to feel free to use both, even in church services. The concept behind this freedom is, actually, a concept that I think is noble (though slightly misguided). Most people I've talked to about this say that the reason that we must allow language like this up front at church is that it allows us to be more authentic with our lives. In other words, "I use vulgar words when I am at home. I should not project a false impression of perfection to the church. So I will use vulgar words at church so that people will see the real me."

And, in some ways, I heartily applaud this. I think it is wise to be forthcoming with our flaws and issues, and even to proclaim them publicly.

At the same time, I think the solution to the problem is wrong-headed. It seems to me that the solution should not be only to admit one's faults, but to strive to overcome them. In other words, rather than speaking vulgarity from the pulpit, one should try to stop speaking it at home. Oh, I suppose I should take this moment to mention that this is not anything that my pastor(s) have an issue with... more of an observation of my own generation.

Anyway, I won't go into all the Biblical reasons to watch how we speak. I have plenty of personal examples (some here on this blog!) of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time and in the wrong way. And I have, yes, I have used language at some time that falls into one of the categories above. And done far worse things than that.

So. It doesn't offend me to hear vulgarities. I don't use "hard" vulgarities myself, though I'm sure I have a couple of words in my vocabulary that certain portions of the U.S. would find offensive. I don't use profanity if I can help it, and I try to steer away from curses (as I actually think they can be effectual and thus are dangerous).

I was just interested to hear so many Christians defending it lately. And as my good buddy Shakespeare would say, methinks they do protest too much.

Good night, and good luck.

QUOTE OF THE DAY

From our daughter A:

"Is cheese wild or does someone just make it?"

As with so many things in life, the correct answer is, "It depends on the cheese."

Greetings from Idaho, the state that is "too great to litter"

The Mikalatos family is on the move. We rolled out of the driveway at six a.m. this morning and drove until we came to Roaring Waters amusement park. No, it's not like Wally World. We are driving to Colorado and this seemed like a fun reward to the kids for spending seven hours in the car. Tomorrow they get ten hours and the reward is that they will arrive in Colorado.

Roaring Waters was fun.

But I saw many strange things there:

1) I watched with disgust as junior highers practiced human courtship rituals in "The Eternal River." And I mean it when I say "practiced." And they're going to need more practice. Oi.

2) I was amazed to discover that a high school boy will threaten to murder another boy for the unthinkable crime of... getting him wet. On the Eternal River.

3) I watched in horror as the wave pool was shut down so that the workers could clean out someone's barf. I was glad they cleaned it out, though.

The kids learned to swim while we were in Korea. Which means that they didn't want to wear life jackets. Which means that instead of drifting along on the lazy river, I was striding beside A, who was convinced that she was in no danger even when she couldn't keep her head above water.

We had a good time. Okay, need to get to bed so that we can push our way to Fort Collins tomorrow!

A conversation with myself concerning bikinis

Today we took the kids to a water park as part of our journey to Colorado (see above). I found myself having a long conversation with myself about bikinis because of the scantily clad young women. Here is how it went:

Matt A: God forbid that my daughters will ever dress like these women.

Matt B: Oh, lighten up.

Matt A: I mean it, my kids will not be wearing these skimpy bikinis. They can wear nice one piece swimsuits.

Matt B: You know that these kids are mindless lemmings that just wear what the stores carry and the corporate shills tell them to wear. The only other option is to wear unattractive, out of style bathing suits. Do you want your kids to be the lame kids who dress funny because their Daddy makes them?

Matt A: Yes. I think I would like that.

Matt B: Your kids will hate you.

Matt A: So long as they are fully clothed they can hate me all they want.

Matt B: There are some positive things if your kids wear bikinis.

Matt A: Such as?

Matt B: You would almost certainly know if one of them gets a tatoo.

Matt A: Okay, I will grant you that point. But my declaration of the will still stands: NO BIKINIS FOR MY CHILDREN!

Matt B: I will fight you on this. You will scar your children emotionally . I will take over our personage and allow our sweet daughters to dress as they please.

Matt A: Oh, shut up. You haven't got the guts. Listen to you. "You will scar the children." You're soft and weak. You could never take me out. I rule with an iron fist... an iron fist of JUSTICE! Ha ha ha haaaaaaaaaaa!

Matt B: I am afraid of you.

Matt A: Good. Now go get me a drink of water.

What I Will Say if One of My Kids Ever Comes Home with A Tattoo

I thought of this today (because of the conversation above) and thought I should write it down so that if I need to remember this one day, it will be frozen on the internet forvever. Since this is my "journal" (ha) and is rapidly becoming some sort of annex for my brain, it seems only fitting that I store this piece of information here.

If one of my kids ever comes home and says, "Dad, I got a tattoo."

I will reply: "You know those things are permanent, right?"

Ha ha ha!

An American Washerman in Korea

My luggage and I parted ways on the Road to Korea. Perhaps because my luggage had never seen the foggy streets of San Francisco, or perhaps it had heard us lovingly describe our favorite restaurants in the most beautiful city in the world.

In any case, I left my bag in San Francisco.

Which meant that my wardrobe for the first four days of my stay in Korea consisted of: two pairs of socks and underclothes, two shirts and one pair of pants.

However, the (admittedly posh) dorm room that ten friends and I shared had a washing machine. It was in Korean, yes, but an intrepid adventurer never lets the lack of language persuade him from his determined course.

So, I decided one night to experiment by washing a pair of socks, a pair of boxers (or "box tops" as my daughter A calls them) and a shirt. Having lived in Asia I strongly suspected that the washer was also a dryer, but worst case scenario I would have one dry but dirty set of clothes and one wet but clean set. And either way I would still have dry and dirty pants, if that can be considered a plus.

The washer accepted the proferred clothing, locked its door, and immediately began to wash my clothes. The timer set itself to two and a half hours, which caused a great deal of speculation among my roommates. What could it possibly be doing for two and a half hours? Why did it need possession of my clothing from midnight to mid-morning?

We found out at two-thirty in the morning when the washer let loose with a melodious, doorbell-like chime to announce my clothing not only clean, but warm and dry. Hooray! There was much rejoicing!

Okay, it was only me rejoicing. But I think my roommates were suitably impressed by my potential as an Asian launderer.

The next night I decided it was time to take it to the next level. I would wash both shirts, both pair of socks, one pair of boxers and my pants. If all worked well I would be clean and my clothing would be clean as well. If things went poorly, I would still have... a pair of boxers. And a sweatshirt. Oh, and my sneakers.

The first sign of disaster looming was when I offered my clothing, the washer accepted it and locked its door and set its timer for one and a half hours. Adam Rapelje, our Room Captain, pointed this out to me. He mentioned that this did not appear to be a good omen. I concurred. However, I figured that if this meant--as I suspected--that the washer was not interested in pulling double duty as a dryer tonight, then I could still hang the clothes up at one thirty and they would be dry by morning.

So I hung them up at one-thirty when the doorbell-like-chime woke me (I was sleeping in the kitchen/laundry room). I woke again at five and felt for the clothes. Water could still be wrung from them. They were absolutely soaked. I needed them by seven, when Krista and I were due to meet. I got out of bed (or "off of floor" if you are a stickler for accuracy) and pushed all my clothes into the washer, hoping to make it a dryer.

After a lot of button-pressing and knob turning and Korean-deciphering, I managed to get the dryer turned on. The door lock snapped into place and the drum began to turn. My clothes were drying!

And they kept drying. When I tried to get them out at six fifty-five, I couldn't. The LED on the dryer kept saying "HOT" whenever I tried to open it. Which I could only assume meant that it was too hot to open. Which meant that my worst case scenario of wearing clean but sopping wet clothing had now become wearing a dirty pair of boxers and a sweatshirt. Which didn't seem like much of an option.

Krista arrived and wondered if I had just woken up. "No, this is what I'm wearing," I announced. One of the guys ran down to the housing office to see if someone could read Korean.

And yes, someone could. But not much English. He pressed a cunning sequence of buttons and the door lock snapped open. He looked into the window and could see the clothes in there, and figured that I wanted to wash them. He started to press the code in to lock my clothes into the washer for another two and a half hours, but I zipped up behind him, snatched the clothes out and thanked him profusely.

My baggage came later that day, now that I had learned that I didn't need it, now that I was proficient and self-sufficient.

Next time you're in Korea, let me know if you need help with the washer.

Tips for postmoderns

It seems that many of my Post-Modern friends have forgotten our Secret Pact to Frustrate the Modernists, and they are embracing the generalizations and guidelines to postmodernsim suggested by the media.

Don't forget point one of our Credo:

1) Deny every generalization of our generation.

Here's an example.

MODERNIST: The postmoderns are fiercely individualistic and hate to be pigeon-holed or put into a box.

POSTMODERNIST: That is simply untrue. I, for one, like to be put into a box. You just don't understand us.

Play "Rollover"... a new social experiment game

I invented a game today at the airport. It's called ROLLOVER. In addition to being fun, entertaining and immensely satisfying, it provides a valuable service to our society.

Here's how to play:

1) Find an annoying cell phone talker in a public place. This should be someone who speaks loudly and inconsiderately, doesn't watch where he is going, and most likely has a Bluetooth or some other device which implants his cell phone into his head.

2) Subtly sidle up alongside the person (at least into clear hearing distance).

3) Act as if you are on your own cell phone, but tailor your conversation to match that of your opponent.
a) Here is an example:
OPPONENT: Hey, how's it going?
YOU: Oh fine, just fine. I just arrived at the airport.
OPPONENT: Is Mr. James there by any chance?
YOU: I'm afraid he just stepped out, can I take a message?
OPPONENT: Hi, Mr. James, this is Arthur, I was calling to talk about the Jones
account.
YOU: That's not a high priority for me but I guess I could take a message.

4) If your opponent catches on to what you are doing, try to throw them off by talking without pause for a short time. Or turn your head and point to your Bluetooth (or the fake Bluetooth you got in your cereal box).

5) Try to use the word ROLLOVER before your opponent ditches you.

6) SCORING:
a) For every minute you can keep "in the conversation": 500 points
b) Being the first to say "ROLLOVER" in the last minute of the game: 1,000 points
c) Annoying your opponent enough to cause him to leave the room/area without him realizing that you are playing ROLLOVER: 2,500 points.
d) Continuing the game over multiple of the opponent's phone calls: 1,000 points per call (starting with call #2) regardless of length.
e) Posting the conversation online via youtube, facebook, a blog (whatever): 500 points.

Okay, get to work kids. You could be a winner!

You really don't want to eat that

While in Korea this week at CM2007, the conference provided 20,000 Big Macs for lunch one day. The following day we tried to buy another 50 burgers only to discover that McD's had run out of key ingredient. I related the story to Krista's parents and our daughters (Z and A) in the van on the way home from the airport today.

Me: -- so I said we'll have to have our Big Macs on rice because they don't have any buns.

A: Ha ha ha! No buns? You can't cut off your bottom!

Me: I am talking about hamburger buns.

A (still snickering): Oh.

Home soon

Korea was amazing... we'll be home soon and I will tell all.

See you guys soon!

And now a word from our sponsors

Matt will be out of the country for a while in Korea at CM07. Don't worry, a bleary-eyed, jet-lagged report is sure to follow.

In the meantime, I give you some topics to discuss in the comments section. Please entertain one another. I will join you when I return:

1) Paris Hilton. This is your one chance, people. This will not come up at BHR again.

2) The Hilton in Paris. For those who have been to the city of love.

3) Should people be allowed not to stand trial for murder because they are insane? No, really. What do you think?

4) Why can't Oregon strawberries be in season all year long?

5) If you got to name a national park, what would you name it?

6) If you had the choice between going to a frog party or a weasel party, which would you go to?

7) Best sitcom "of all time". Including the future.

8) Open thread.

Spectacular

My daughters learned to ride their bikes this week. I have some video that I will upload someday so you can bask in their cuteness. This means, of course, that I have heard that melon-hitting-concrete sound of a helmeted head bouncing off blacktop at least once this week. Overall it's been amazing. They went from training wheels to riding up and down the street unassisted in only a couple hours.

Today "A" came riding up on her bike, jumped the curb and slammed on the brakes so her bike went sideways and came to a stop right in front of me.

A: How was that, Dad?

Me: Great!

A (disappointed): Oh. I thought you would say, "fantastic."

They Are Space Babies!

A teacher in Illinois was surprised to discover that her video baby monitor was picking up live footage from inside the space shuttle Atlantis. She reports that a manuevering system pod was crying until John "Danny" Olivas repositioned its thermal blanket.

God's gonna cut you down

Our friend Shasta sometimes asks if I listen to any music other than Switchfoot. And of course I do. She happens to like country "music" which is anathema to me. However. I do happen to like Johnny Cash. I prefer not to think of his music as country.

I really like this song "When the Man Comes Around". It's quite possibly my favorite Christian song. I like to walk around the house saying things like, "The Virgins are all trimming their wicks." Ha ha ha! Now that's good Bible lyrics.

As a result of my Deep Love for the aforementioned song, I downloaded the song God's Gonna Cut You Down with iTunes cash (ha ha) that my mother-in-law gave me for Father's Day (thanks, Janet).

I like this song a lot. It's an old folk song, of course. I went and found the video online so you could listen to it. And you can see all the movie stars and musicians that volunteered to be in the video as a tribute to Cash (deceased by the time the song was released). I wish there was a way for you to listen to the song without watching the video first, though. Just close your eyes!



I like how Cash could embrace a song that is so uncompromisingly focused on God's judgement. "Man Comes Around" is the same way. We get really caught up in talking about God's grace (which I am all for, by the way) but the justice side of things gets ignored or perverted by judgemental idiots. The point is, you can get away with evil for a while. But eventually you will be punished. And that's not something that scares someone who is trying to live a righteous life. It is, in fact, immensely comforting to know that God's justice and judgment will come on those who plan evil against their fellow men.

The one thing that makes me nervous, though: What's a rambler? I have a guess, at least, on what a midnight rider and a backbiter is, but I just am not sure what a rambler is. Am I rambling now? Hold on, I didn't mean to be a rambl--

choices

We talked in church today about the choices that God brings to us sometimes, and how confusing it can be when he seems to close a direction that is a good one. For our church it is our building program. The leaders of the church realized that to continue to move forward with that vision in light of the escalating costs would be to enslave the next generation of the church to a debt that wasn't justifiable.

Toward the end of the service we sang a familiar old hymn, one which I've always loved. But I was particularly struck today by the profundity of this song as a prayer during times of decision, especially difficult decisions where every option on the table seems to be a good one...

Be thou my vision, O Lord of my heart;

Naught be all else to me, save that thou art.

thou my best thought, by day or by night,

Waking or sleeping, thy presence my light.

Be thou my wisdom, And thou my true Word;

I ever with thee, and thou with me, Lord;

thou my great Father, I thy true son;

thou in me dwelling, and I with thee one.

Riches I heed not, nor man's empty praise,

thou mine inheritance, now and always:

thou and thou only, first in my heart,

High King of heaven, my Treasure thou art.

High King of heaven, my victory won,

May I reach heaven's joys, O bright heaven's Son!

Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,

Still be my vision, O ruler of all.

We all end up in these moments of decision. And trying to unravel our emotions and desires and passions and fears to think and feel clearly for even a moment can seem overwhelming, and frightening, and impossible. But for me, at the end of the day, what matters most is that my family and I are following him wherever he leads, whether that's through storms or fire or merely into the uncertain future that comes when he says, "Arise and follow me." I think the line that meant most to me today was, "naught be all else to me save that thou art." He exists, and that is the most important thing in these decisions. I can trust him, and follow him, wherever it is he's leading.

Pre-Sales for Coach's Midnight Diner

Hey kids, it's time for your update on Coach's Midnight Diner.

Pre-sales have just opened, meaning that you can get your copy cheaper than the full cover price, just by being early. Sort of like Happy Hour or something.

You can read a description of the stories included here. As you can see they are going to be weird, funny and interesting. I've been chatting with some of the authors online and they are an interesting crew, well worth spending a few hours with.

My story "The Deluge" is also included. It's not funny or weird (at least I don't think it is). But it's a story I put a lot of work into... and some of you did, too.

I think I promised at some point to give the history of that story. And I will, I will. In the meantime, go grab a copy of CMD.

No baby sitar

Last night we went to a concert at church by the band Aradhna. The band was started by a couple of missionary kids, one of whom grew up in Nepal ("eight hours walk from the nearest road") and the other in India.

They perform traditional Indian bhajan devotional music, but with a couple twists: one, every song is about Jesus. And two, in addition to the sitar and traditional drums (not sure what those are called) they also use guitar and electric bass. It's a sort of fusion sound.

It was pretty cool. They've performed all over the world, and have even been asked to perform praise songs to Christ in Hindu temples.

And of course there was free Indian food, which just can't be beat.

mi papa y yo

We had a great Father's Day last weekend.

"Z" made me this lovely picture at left. That's her and me together, surrounded by hearts. I asked her why I appeared to be shorter than her and she said without hesitation, "Because you're standing farther away." If you look at the post below you can see more of her Father's Day offerings.

"A" picked out some jelly beans for me that came in a #1 Dad container and a bag that said I was the "big cheese."


And Krista made this amazing hardback photo book full of pictures of the kids and stories and funny things they've said taken off the blog. It's a great book, really funny and sweet. She made one for me, one for my dad and one for her dad.

I think it's fair to say that I have the sweetest two little girls in the entire universe. And the greatest wife. Not only fair, but necessary to say. Say it. SAY IT!

I know I already said it. I want you to say it, too.

The Nose Knows

Z made me this Father's Day mask. It's a portrait of me, and it invited a great deal of discussion.

For instance, she was asked why I had such dark skin.

The answer: she didn't have a crayon that was the right color.

Then little sis, A, asked, "Why doesn't he have a nose?" (I actually hadn't noticed)

Z: I don't draw noses.

A: Why not?

Z: I just don't.

Krista and I have subsequently dug up and studied her drawings, and do you know what? She doesn't draw noses. Look at the picture above. She's an artiste. I won't be surprised though, if suddenly in high school art class she starts just drawing noses all the time. A nose on a plate. A nose driving a car. A nose drawing a nose.

Her teacher will say, "What's up with all these noses? Don't you draw the rest of a person?"

Z: No, I only draw noses.

Father's Day Happenin's

We woke up Father's Day and sat around and talked about me being a Dad. That was nice.

Then Krista made strawberry waffles (yum!) and my own exceptional father and mother joined us for that. Then we went off to church, where Pastor John's message was called "Passive Fathers, Wild Sons." Since I don't have any sons I was able to escape without feeling convicted at all... whew! And they gave me free beef jerky.

Then we went to the farmer's market and had Mexican food at this great little stand... this family doesn't have a restaurant, just a stand at the market every weekend. And it's great. Mom and Dad met us for that, too. Hmmm. I've been talking a lot about food lately. Well, tonight I had the perfect dinner: authentic tacos followed by mango sticky rice for dessert. Oh YEAH!

Then the kids waded around in the fountain, some church people came up and tried to share the gospel with us but gave up when I was able to recall eight or nine of the ten commandments (they just immediately assumed I was Christian... maybe I'm Jewish or just well-educated). The ones I forgot, in retrospect, are the ones I have the hardest time with... Keep the Sabbath Holy and Thou Shall Not Kill.

Happy (belated) Father's Day

Happy Father's Day!

I was so busy celebrating myself that I didn't really get a chance to write a little note on my blog about father's day.

Dad... you are a great father. You've taught me to be a man of integrity, to do the things I say I will do, and you've always been great to go to for a listening ear, to get advice or a really terribly bad pun. Or shadow puppets. And of course you taught me how to make the Incredible Hulk go away and let me stay up late to watch "Dr. Who" (thus providing me with my lifelong phobia of giant blood-sucking rocks). And I love watching you with my kids. Thanks for everything you do for me and for my family.

And, for Terry... I've learned a lot from you in a short time about chickens, carpentry, art, car maintenance... the list goes on. Thanks for raising your daughter to be a woman of God, and thanks for being such an involved part of our family. I appreciate you a lot and am glad to be part of your family.

I think the irony might kill me before Global Warming gets around to it

I saw an SUV today that had been professionally painted across the back to say something to the effect of, "Global Warming is TRUE! Watch the documentary: An inconvenient truth."

I hope that ain't lead paint, pal.

Burn Baby Burn

I worked quite a bit in the yard and garage today, and since the kids were out with their Grandparents and Krista was off exercising, it was time for every Matt to do what was right in his own eyes. Which means, "It's never too early for a Tina's Burrito." So at about ten a.m. I slapped a red hot beef burrito in the microwave, punched in 2:00 and went out to get a bit of work done for a few minutes to return to a perfectly cooked Tina's Burrito, the Friend of the Common Man.

I got caught up in my puttering, though, so I was gone a bit longer than two minutes. And when I came back in from the garage I was met by noxious yellow smoke billowing out of the microwave. The microwave was counting down still from 3:27, which I assume means that I had pressed 20:00 instead of 2:00 and had been cooking my burrito for nearly seventeen minutes.

I quickly turned off the microwave, opened the door, gagged on the putrid smoke, opened all the windows downstairs and set up fans to blow all the smoke outside. I had to go outside because I was choking on the nasty yellow cloud that had once been a tasty burrito. The house looked like it was exhaling after a nice, long drag on a cigarette.

My next thought, of course, was to get pictures for the blog, because you guys are my only friends. So, submitted for your approval, the still-smoking husk of my morning snack:



I picked up the burrito to do away with it and discovered it weighed about half an ounce (apparently I had inhaled the rest of the burrito). So I cut it open and got a look at the inside. It was basically a charcoal briquette.



Which reminds me of a strange movie from my youth, and my favorite quote from said movie, "MOM! DAD! It's evil! Don't touch it!" That was a weird movie. It alters the way you look at severly burnt food. It was a fantasy, a dark comedy (I guess... I was like ten last time I saw it) with a tragic ending.

Unlike the Great Burrito fiasco of '07 which ended happily. Krista came home and laughed about the smoke which she could smell from the driveway. I hacked and coughed for a while but seem to have escaped any sort of poisoning.

And there was one more Tina's burrito in the freezer, which I ate as soon as I had cleaned out the microwave.

Git me mah squirrel killin' crutch!

No editorial remarks are necessary: Squirrel's rampage of terror halted by a man with a crutch.

A Parade of Human Nature

The news from Portland, OR this week harps continually on the sticky issue of reserving spots for parades using duct tape (or chalk, or chained up lawn chairs).

Tonight the police commissioner shared that his officers had been called in to help smooth out various altercations. There was violence. Yelling. Children crying. So that people could see a parade of pretty floats made from rose petals.

quarantined!

Today our church had a "teddy bear picnic" where the kids were able to go and take a stuffed animal for a morning of crafts and snacks.

(WARNING: I am about to tell stories about throwing up. If such things offend or sicken you, either don't keep reading or at least turn your head away from the keyboard.)

Except that poor little A started the morning by puking all over herself, so she didn't get to go. It was, as puke stories go, a pretty good one. She was lying on the couch and I could hear her retching and I said, "SIT UP!" but she didn't and she puked on her own face. I felt simultaneously sorry for her and, I must admit, I thought it was sort of funny when she shouted "I got some in my own eye!" as I carried her off to the bathroom.

One of the things you quickly learn as a parent is that vomit is not as bad as you always thought it was. God has created the parenting experience to slowly teach you this. It starts with "spit up" which is another way of saying that the baby is puking up milk. But as puke goes it's pretty inoffensive.

Then one day you are across the room from your kid and you see that she's about to puke. And this bizarre urge takes hold of you to run toward her into firing range, to scoop her up and carry her to a place within the house that will be easier to clean. In fact, if you know it's too late to get her to a toilet, a sink, or some other surface made of porcelain, you cup your hands and try to get as much of the puke as possible onto yourself. The reasoning in the parental brain says, "I could spend hours cleaning vomit from that couch, or ten minutes cleaning it off myself." And this, so near as I can tell, is right thinking.

Anyway, when that magic moment finally happens, when you leap toward your child and let them slather their undigested giblets all over you, something wonderful happens. The Barf Fairy appears and says, "Now you are a True Parent." It's a nice feeling, and in the moment all you really think about is how bad your kid feels. You're sticky, and you stink, and that's okay if for one minute you could make your poor little girl's stomach ache go away.

Of course this is all followed with a great deal of showering in water too hot for a human being to touch on a normal day, and a lot of laundry. This is also followed with the dim certainty that you, yourself are now fated to be sick.

And you are right. One cannot entertain the Barf Fairy without receiving her kind attentions. She has hovered beside my bedside all this long day. Only this evening has she finally flittered away.

Fare thee well, dear Barf Fairy. I hope your journey to the next home is a safe and prosperous one.

Coming Attractions

You might be sick of hearing about it, but my story "The Deluge" is going to be in Coach's Midnight Diner this summer.

Relief Issue 3 is out right now, and my story is in the back as a preview for the Diner. My copy hasn't shown up yet, but I think that my mailman holds all magazines that come for a couple of days so that he can park his little white van-thing in abandoned cul-de-sacs and read before his nap.

That's just a theory, mind you.

Ooops

You may have seen a post up here for just a few short moments telling you something I wasn't supposed to tell you.

It's one of those "We're in a survey" sort of posts. The kind where I got very excited about what it is we are doing. And then I found out that we're supposed to stay anonymous. So I'm not allowed to simultaneously share with you about this thing and still participate.

So. Maybe after it's done I can put up the post that I just took down. Sorry about that.

In the meantime, feel free to guess. Ha ha ha ha!

Unless you know what it really is, then don't, or I'll get kicked out.

Ooooh, the mystery. This should hold us all over until LOST starts again.

In the meantime, here's something I CAN share with you about that spectacular novel, the Burning Hearts Casino:

36,607 / 100,000 (36.6%)

Baby steps, as they would say in one of my wife's favorite movies.

In the latest chapter, our hero hides a gun in his hotel room. Ooooh, the excitement! Remember, if you are ever in a thriller or mystery novel or crime novel, DON'T hide guns in your room. It will not end well for you.

What I had for Dinner Last Night

The traditional first post for most bloggers is one in which they say, "I never wanted to be a blogger because people just write about what they had for breakfast."

Then some posts follow in which they describe their breakfasts for several weeks.

And then the traditional last post, which says, "Sorry I haven't posted for a while, but I will be more disciplined about it now."

So I thought I would share what I had for dinner last night.

A bowl of vanilla ice cream topped with whipped cream and fresh Oregon strawberries.

Because I am an adult and can have whatever I want for dinner, that's why.

Ditch the Waitress

Here's a tip: don't go see the Waitress.

Marketed as a feel-good romance-ish independent film, I guess it might play that way for some people. The woman next to us in the theater said it was "the sweetest movie she had seen in a long time." But then again, maybe she's never been to a movie before.

Kerri Russel plays the titular Waitress. She's pregnant because her hated husband got her drunk and she accidentally had sex with him. Meanwhile, she falls deeply in lust with her new doctor, who she's seeing because, well, she's pregnant. He's married, too. I kept waiting for some moment of redemption where everyone would find happiness or at least stop destroying themselves. It sort of happens by the end, but not in a way that I found remotely satisfying.

The film itself is well done, well acted, well directed. But the story is unpleasant. It's hard to make a comedy about unlikeable people whining about how bad their lives are, and trying to make it better by having sex. Which, as it turns out, doesn't work. The only character I found engaging and likeable was the crotchety old man played by Andy Griffith, who keeps reading imaginary horoscopes to people that says things like, "Even though you have a snake of a husband, you shouldn't be cheating on him." It was good for a couple of laughs. Okay, I liked the guy who did spontaneous poetry, too.



Hey Lost fans... notice anything creepy about the doctor/lust interest? That's right! It's Ethan! Creepy, isn't it? He loves pregnant women, doesn't he? I suppose the sequel to the Waitress will take place on a mysterious island, where Ethan has whisked the Waitress away to bake pies for the Others. And she will keep having flashbacks to her life in the pie shop.

After the movie, Krista said, "Maybe we should have gone to Ocean's 13." Which is saying something, folks. Ocean's 13 is not on our movies-to-see list. My comment was simply, "That was unpleasant."

So I guess you all owe us a thank you. We took a bullet for you. We watched that thing so you don't have to. If you've been thinking about this movie, my suggestion would be that you go to some restaurant and watch the waitresses there for a couple of hours. Chances are good that it will be more entertaining than this movie.

Rated PG-13 for sexual content, language, thematic elements and because the rating people were hoping that children under 13 might be spared from being taken along to this movie and could perhaps live a happier life as a result.

The Village

Hey all. This is the church we go to here in the great Northwest. It's called Village. My children call it "The Village" but that's a movie, not a church.

The other thing you should know is that the members of the church are referred to as "Villagers" not "Village People".

I noticed that quite a few people are dropping by from Dean's blog, so I thought I'd say hello. Dean's our worship pastor. I was kidding him about writing something about the musical influence of Elton John in his life and he took me all serious and did.

Anyway, for all you Villagers out there, Krista and I attend the 11:30 service. Drop by and say hello, we'd love to meet you.

--Matt

p.s. Here's our pastor's blog.

Poets Laureate: Revisited

Long-time readers of the Burning Hearts Revolution will recall last fall's epic contest to name poets laureate for every state of the Union which lacked them.

An anonymous poet left a message today on a completely unrelated post reminding me that I had not done right by our beleagured poets in that I had not provided several things promised to them: 1) I had not sent the winning poets the official certificate of Poet-Laureateness, 2) It appeared that certain poets had not had their work posted and 3) they suspected I had not sent letters of commendation to the governors of their states.

And all these things were true.

I have, as they rightly pointed out, done them a great service in many ways by my gross negligence. One, I have given them a treasure trove of bitterness and hatred to nurse into wonderful poems. Perhaps they will go on to achieve fame because of this. Also, I have taught them the valuable lesson that poets should expect to live in cold doorways between buildings during freezing winters, hands trembling as they write their celestial lines upon crumpled bits of newspaper. Such is the glorious life of the poet.

In any case, spurred to action by the no-doubt unmedicated rage of my poets, I have finished all of the awards tonight, and have posted the last of the poems I received permission to post (some winners never got back to me).

The awards need only to be placed in the mail now, which I would say will happen tomorrow but such a dire task could take as long as a week. I have even signed the documents in question and a dear friend of the Poets Laureate movement agreed to sign as a witness. I think you will be pleased to see this special friend's signature!

In any case, my obligation to you as poets will be done at that point and I can move on to a more thankless task than this noble undertaking. I understand your ill will, dear poets, and can only ask that you leave your vicious ventings in the comments section, preferably in verse and without cursing or anonymity.

In the meantime, please enjoy all our poets laureate. Long may they reign in verbose glory.

For those of you who missed all the fun earlier, here are the winners, their bios and poems:

Arizona: Michelle Lawrence Down Reflection
Massachusetts: Eva Ting Open Casket
Missouri: Rob E You Must Be Misstaken
New Jersey: Jill James Puberty
New Mexico: Kasey Martin Spun
Ohio: T.M. Baird The Flock
Pennsylvania: Adam Struble What Crazed Eyes Have Already Seen
Washington: Alexis Youngs I Used to Love My State of Origin But Now I Have My Doubts

Kasey Martin, Poet Laureate of New Mexico

Kasey Martin was born and raised in southern California. He currently resides in Kentucky while attending Seminary at Asbury. Mr. Martin has never lived in New Mexico, but believes it to be a lovely state to drive through whether on one's way to Oklahoma to visit family, or Kentucky to go to seminary. He says, "To be fair, it's lovely at sunrise but it's actually kind of annoying driving through downtown Albuquerque in the middle of the night because I-40 is eternally under construction."

The picture on left is from Mr. Martin's wedding day. He wanted to have a crown since his wife was allowed a tiara. She allowed him this one picture with his crown.

For more of Mr. Martin's work, visit the poetry blog of his seminary, or his personal blog.

Spun by Kasey Martin, Poet Laureate of New Mexico

Spin whiskey to me in the cold, deep hills of
Kentucky. Smokey minds lie hidden and beyond my eyes.
I still can't see, can't hold, can't breathe, can't
be. Spin memories in this broken hull of life. This
fodder of hope and wonder of anything now called free.
It's too dim to dance, I'm too thread-bare to carry,
but I'm free and so indeed. Indeed, but too dumb to
care it seems, or notice truth before me, some hope
right beside my not yet healthy mind. Forgotten in
the deepness I am, weary from the travels and falls;
from all hope, from any dream of me and my mind
half-baked and drying in the sun. Bring back this
common interest, this quick blinding sun in moonlight.
Fast shadows fall double-quick in time. I'm here,
I'm out, I'm dreaming in the cold Kentucky hills, in
the fast, still-born washes of the deepest back wood.
This is just the flow, the in-breaking rush of
water-light, like a watershed memory in time. A
matchstick memory smooth and quick and flicked to
burst forth light in all and less of me.

Adam Struble, Poet Laureate of Pennsylvania

Adam Struble is a musician, songwriter, poet, stonemason, and a thinker. He is very interested in Neitzche and Aleister Crowley, as well as Bob Dylan and the Beats. Mr. Struble has lived in D.C., New York City, Maryland, the forests of Pennsylvania,and Portland, Oregon. He travels habitually, never staying in one place for very long. He is always trying to make his mark on his environment and the people around him.

For another look inside Adam's head, check out his MySpace.

what crazed eyes have already seen by Adam Struble, Poet Laureate of Pennsylvania

what crazed eyes have already seen
the end of things
wet green eyed forest,
the blood of birth and death
and the ever present possibility of dying alone
and in these last hours
the rite of passage
dancing on the edge of oblivion
kiss the rain and taste continuity
feeling flooding over us like dying

Movie Review: Music and Lyrics

Krista and I rented Music and Lyrics last night. Or rather, I rented, we watched.

Do you remember the good old days, when British rock, synthesizers and pop ruled? Have you ever owned a "Wham!" album (or wished that you did)? Do you like jokes about Debbie Gibson and Tiffany? Then you will think this film is radical. :P

Krista and I both enjoyed this movie. Drew Barrymore was her usual self. And Hugh Grant was somehow, inexplicably, likeable and charming. How did that happen?

Hugh Grant plays the washed out former member of an eighties band. He can't write songs worth listening to anymore. He gets a chance to submit a song to a famous performer, but he has to write it within a week. He discovers that Drew Barrymore has a gift for lyrics, and soon they are chained to his piano, trying to put together a song that will reignite his career. Of course they will fall in love. Oops, spoiler. Sorry about that.

Krista compared this movie to eating candy. In other words, fun but with no nutrition. She meant it in a good way, though. We all like candy, right? It was a fun, goofy movie. It's not "Footloose" but hey, what movie is able to take on a comparison like that?

RATED PG-13 for sexual content. SPOILER: They have sex. Under the piano. That's right. Under the piano. But it's tamer than some television, folks. ANOTHER SPOILER AND A COMPLAINT: You know, I think that someone should get married at the end of a comedy. This is how we know it's a comedy. In fact, any single person in the movie should get married at the end. So we know everyone's happy. And if it's a tragedy, let's see some dead people. In fact, kill 'em all. Unless it would be more tragic to have someone left alive and feeling sad about all the dead people. That would be acceptable. All that to say, no one dead, no one married at the end of this thing. Is it a tragedy? A comedy? We are left to guess for ourselves.

Family Ties

My daughter A likes to give everyone little nicknames. Z is "sissy" and Krista is "Mimi" and I'm, uh, well, "Doodoo." Z has started calling me doodoo also. It's a name that sticks.

Thank you, Walt Disney

Me: True or False? The word dinosaur means "friendly people."

Z: False. Some of the dinosaurs were friendly and some of them weren't.

RAPTOR CAM!

Check out the raptor cam.

Some red-tailed hawks built a nest on a fire escape in Portland, and the local news has set up a camera. You can't, obviously, see anything at night.

The chicks should be ready to fly in the next couple of days, so check it out while you can!

Chipping Away

Krista went off to play BUNKO at the church tonight. I told Z that Krista was going to a woman's night at church and she said, "Is it because it's almost Father's Day?" I like the idea that the women of the church are secretly plotting something for Father's Day. I wonder what it is they're up to?

Since Krista was out for the night, I spent a little time working on the novel. After the kids were settled, of course.

34,580 / 100,000 (34.6%)

Go, go, go!

At this rate I'll be done one day.

Miracles

Sometimes listening to the right song is a mini-devotional for me. It sets my heart in the right place, and shifts my focus to the Person it should be on. Here's a snip from the song that's doing it for me today:

I want to see miracles
To see the world changed
To wrestle the angel
For more than a name
For more than a feeling
More than a cause
I’m singing, Spirit, take me up in arms with you
And you’re raising the dead in me…

Toughen Up... Summer is Here

Today marks the official "First Day" of summer for me. I can tell when this day arrives based on two things: One, I wore shorts all day. Two, I didn't wear shoes.

Which means that it's time to start the Patented Mikalatos Toughen Up curriculuum for feet.

I hate it when I have soft, pampered feet. "Winter feet." Blech.

So it's time. Time to take those feet and walk across hot cement. Weed the yard! Step on thorns! Kick rocks!

If you do it right your feet won't feel anything within a couple of weeks. Hooray!