Publishers Weekly Review of Imaginary Jesus

Publishers Weekly just reviewed Imaginary Jesus.

Here's their review:

Imaginary Jesus Matt Mikalatos. Tyndale/BarnaBooks, $14.99 paper (224p) ISBN 978-1-4143-3563-6
The Apostle Peter punches Jesus in the face, then chases him out of a coffee shop. And that’s just chapter 0. In this quirky tale the publisher describes as “not-quite-true,” former missionary and comic book store clerk Mikalatos disguises his critique of Christian life in an action-based quest to find the real Jesus. It’s A Christmas Carol meets Oz, but instead of ghosts and tin men, it’s a talking donkey, a motorcycle rider, and Mikalatos himself. The cast of characters drags the reader through the streets of Seattle and ancient Judea to introduce a host of fake Jesuses: Magic 8 Ball Jesus, Harley Jesus, even Liberal Social Services Jesus. They’re constructs of the human mind. “People invent a Jesus for one specific reason and then discard him when they don’t need him anymore,” says one of the Jesuses (the one with an expensive suit). Peter teaches Mikalatos that he must quiet falsehoods and mold a deeper relationship with the living, historical Jesus. Mixing questions of suffering and free will with “a nexus of weirdness,” Mikalatos throws Christian fiction into the world of Comic-Con and Star Wars. His silly quest is startling, contemporary, meaningful, and occasionally exhausting when the reader is puzzled. It begs for a comic book counterpart. (Apr.)

Anytime a book is compared to the Oz books and Charles Dickens and Star Wars, it has to be good, right? And it is begging for a comic book counterpart.  Did you hear that, Mike Richardson of Dark Horse Comics?  Well, did you?


Okay.  Now that you know it is great from an impartial source, you can go pre-order a copy.  Go on.  I dare you.  You can also order it from Powell's bookstore, which appears in the book.  That would be a nice little piece of meta-fiction for your day.

The Random Number Generator Has Spoken: Imaginary Jesus Audio Book Winners!

Aaaand, the numbers (that's right, I said numbers, I decided to give TWO copies away) were the numbers 3 and 64.  So if you were the third or sixty-fourth person to sign up at ImaginaryJesus.com, you win!

And, in case you don't know what number you were, the names of the winners are Jen Sablan and Julie Lee.

As always, I used the Random Number Generator to create completely random choice of winners (lucky that it didn't pick the same number twice!).

If you lost, that doesn't mean you are a loser.  You can still purchase your own copy at Powells, or Amazon or download it at Christian Audio.  It's just that it won't be shipping right away, unlike the copies winging off to our talented and lovely winners.

Stay tuned for more contests in the weeks to come.  I like to give things away, and I have big plans coming for the unveiling of the spectacular new ImaginaryJesus.com!

A Sign that You are just Speaking into the Telephone by force of habit

Someone called our house this week and asked for Colin.

Me: I'm sorry, you have the wrong number.

Lady: There's no one at this number named Colin Smith?

Me: Nope.  Wrong number.  Can I take a message?


Now there's some lady out there wondering if there really IS a Colin Smith at my house and if I am part of a cover up.  But it's not true.  There's no Colin here. 

Life isn't fair when you're a kid

You know, there are times when I watch my kids and think, "Oh, it would be great to be a kid, when all I had to worry about was whether I would like the vegetables with my dinner and keeping my room clean."  But the fact is, life can be tough on kids sometimes, and although my kids point it out a little too often and with perhaps some exaggeration, life isn't always fair when you're a kid, either.

A case in point: Last Monday I sent Z off to school with an envelope containing twenty bucks, so she could turn it in at the cafeteria for her lunch money fund.  That day when she got to the cafeteria, the lunch lady told her that she didn't have any money in her account and she couldn't get lunch.  She eventually caved and let Z get lunch, at least, but told her that she had never turned in her money.

So Z tells us about it, and just to make sure we check her backpack and she cleaned out her desk at school.  No envelope full of cash.  Now the thing is, my kids loses stuff sometimes.  She does.  But she was really committed to the fact that she had turned that money in.  She told me all about it.  When she did it.  Who took it.  Her confusion about it not being in her account.  And this kid is pretty sharp.  There are plenty of adults I would put in second place to her on sheer mental acuity.  So I believe her. 

This week I went in to ask the lunch lady about it.  And you know what's weird?  She has pink hair.  Not that this bothers me, but I wanted to point it out just in case you had the stereotypical picture of a lunch lady with blue hair.  Anyway, I tell her who I am and tell her I want to see my daughter's lunch account balance.  She says this is no problem.  It's at negative one dollar.

"I sent in twenty bucks on Monday," I said. 

"I know your daughter and she never came in here with twenty dollars.  Maybe she gave it to the teacher."

"But she didn't give it to the teacher.  She brought it in here."

"I would have a record of that.  Look, here in the computer it says that she last brought money in November.  And I write down all the kids who bring it in by hand also."

"Maybe we could look at last Monday's handwritten list."

"Okay."  She goes off to find it, brings it back and sits down and we look over the list.  "See?" she said.  "She's not on the list."

Except that she is.  Right in the middle.  I point her out.  And now instead of the slightly defensive person having an internal monologue about how kids always lose stuff and parents complain, there's a conversation about not-knowing-how-this-could-happen and where is the money and whose account did it end up in.  I told her I was sure she would figure it out, she assured me she would, and I left.  Notice the lack of apology.  Nobody is going to pull Z aside next time she goes through the lunch line and say, "Hey, kid, you were right and all the adults were wrong.  Good job.  You deserve to be trusted."  Because she's eight years old, and she loses stuff sometimes. 

Sometimes it's good to be an adult.

Eavesdropping with Matt (Episode Forty-One: In Which I Am Not Eavesdropping)

Dedicated to my lovely wife and to her Dad, Terry.

Terry: Are you claustrophobic?

Krista: No, it's just that I don't like small, enclosed spaces.

New Title: Get an Advanced copy of the Imaginary Jesus audio book BEFORE IT COMES OUT!!!!

One of the greatest disadvantages for Tyndale (the excellent publishers of Imaginary Jesus) is the constant demands of the ravenous fans that this book be released early.  It really is a hardship, but they are sticking to their guns.  APRIL FIRST they have said, over and over, as people call their offices, send angry e-mails and - in one unfortunate incident -threw a brick into their office with a note on it that said "You will get REAL BRICKS once a week until I get Imaginary Jesus." 

To help alleviate the tension a bit, Tyndale has allowed Christian Audio, the geniuses who put together the audio book version, to release the audio book before the print book!  In fact, you can buy it on CD RIGHT NOW!  Or you can download it at Christian Audio and be listening to it in a few minutes.  

Despite the ignorant paragraph above, penned by ridiculous authors who think they are in the know (cough cough Mikalatos) this audio book remains unavailable.  UNLESS YOU HAPPEN TO BE ME AND HAVE A COUPLE OF COPIES RIGHT NOW ON YOUR NIGHTSTAND.  And it just so happens that I do happen to be me, and thus have copies on my nightstand.  And therefore please read the sentence in red below:

I am going to GIVE ONE AWAY THIS WEEK!

To keep things simple, I'm going to use a random number generator to pick one person at random from the Imaginary Jesus e-mail list.  So sign up here for your chance to win!  I'll announce the winner a week from today.
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That's right! Be the first to listen to the audio book!  Amaze your friends!  Shame your enemies!   Obfuscate your pursuers!  Verb your nouns!  Do it today!

Ninja Monkeys

I mentioned a story about Ninja Monkeys last week, and it was wisely pointed out that I had put the wrong link in the story.  I tried to fix it but was having trouble because the internet of New Zealand hates monkeys.  It's true.  If you are in New Zealand and search for monkeys, nothing will come up on your search.

ANYWAY, here is the real article, in which a man in China is attacked by the very monkeys which he has trained.  It is tragic.

Also... racist?  Notice that the Chinese monkeys who have learned a Korean martial art (taekwondo is their martial art of choice according to the article) are referred to as ninjas... the famous Japanese assassins.  Hmmm.  Now the veracity of the article has been thrown into doubt.  Please ellucidate in the comments section.

When we lived in Asia my wife disliked the Monkey Beggars.  They would come with their monkeys on a rope and make the monkeys do flips and tricks.  I always thought they were cool.  And I thought it was funny when a man would jump into a taxi with his monkey.  I always suspected they were zoo workers who made a little extra on the weekends after hours.  Krista was always worried the monkeys would bite the children or do some other primate thing which would be upsetting.  So one day when I saw the monkey beggers all gathered behind a restaurant taking a smoke break with their monkeys I went over and asked them if I gave them twenty bucks, would they stay away from my wife from now on... and after that any time they saw her coming, they walked to the other side of the street.  Which I thought was pretty nice of them.  Of course, I did give them twenty bucks, too.

In conclusion, despite the fact that they use their mixed martial arts to attack their own masters, monkeys are awesome.

Lessons I Learned at the Roller Rink with My Daughters

This week was roller rink madness for the children, and I went along to observe and learn. Here are some of my lessons:

1. It's got to be about the roller skating.


All the way to the rink  the kids kept begging me to skate with them.  But as they talked more and more about how many of their friends would be there, and how much better they are at skating than me, I started to have a sinking suspicion about something.

Me: Are you guys going to ditch me as soon as we get there?

Kids: Yes!

Me: So, if I rent roller skates and go out there, you guys are going to leave me to skate by myself?

A: It's just that you aren't that good, Dad.

Z: And all our friends are going to be there.

Me: In other words, you're planning to ditch me.

Kids: Right!


2. The race is not won by the swift, but by the medium swift with good listening skills.

During a classic game of "Red Light, Green Light" the seventeen year old announcer (we'll call him Billy) cleverly removed all the best skaters from the game by saying things like, "If you rented your skates today take three steps forward" and then sending them back to the beginning because he didn't say "Green Light."  All three of the winning kids were in the medium range of skaters and followed directions precisely.  They had learned to skate in such a way as to not be disqualified.

3. Dig Dug is still fun.

The arcade game Dig Dug, in which a burrowing burrower destroys monsters which can turn into ghosts by dropping rocks on them or pumping them up with a bicycle pump.  It's ridiculous, and would never stand up to the complex games of today, but the fact is that if I had ten bucks worth of quarters I could have emptied my pockets into that arcade game while my kids were skating.  Ah, vanished youth!  Return to us with your crazy video games! 

4. Soundtrack, Lighting and Timing matter more than stern lectures.

About halfway through the evening, the owner of the roller rink got into the Deejay's box, took hold of the mike, cut the music and announced that SOMEONE IS CALLING 911 FROM THE PAYPHONES!  She informed the children that the police had called the roller rink, and that if anyone was caught calling 911 they would be PROSECUTED!  Also, the school principal would be informed. 

About half a second after she turned the microphone back to our seventeen year old Deejay, Billy, he turned off the lights, turned on the strobe lights and disco ball and turned on Michael Jackson's THRILLER.  An enormous cheer came up from the crowd, must too quickly after what had been a chastened silence and we suddenly all realized that Billy was saying that whoever had called 911 was a hero*, because there was an emergency, because if you weren't here in the flickering light of the disco ball and celebrating 1980's pop music then you were missing out, you were somehow lesser than us, and that was cause for concern, and for now we just wanted to say, while skating in circles over and over, "Because it's Thriller, Thriller night..."**

* Billy was wrong of course.  Calling 911 frivilously is stupid and can cause a lot of damange in addition to getting you jail time.  Don't do it!

** No, I have no idea how a bunch of grade schoolers knew this song.  But they did.

More pictures from New Zealand

If all goes as planned, this post should appear while I am zipping over the ocean on my way home. Enjoy.

These gentlemen may actually be Tongan.  There was a conference celebrating YWAM's anniversary immediately before ours, and I snuck in and took a few pictures.

Kiwi fruit actually grows on a vine, like grapes.  They grow various shrubs as windscreens, because the wind will knock them off the vine.  When it's time to harvest they walk under the vine with a big bag attached to their chests, and they pick the fruit and place it in the bag.  I had no idea.

In addition to kiwi fruit, I ate plenty of fish and chips while in Tauranga. Near my hotel was a little shack where fishermen sold their fish, and then the people at the shack would sell customers the fish... raw or like the picture above.  I chose fried.

After the conference was over I walked up to Mount Maunganui. As you can see from the yellow sign in the foreground, you have to be careful if you try to drive over the hill, and a strict speed limit is enforced.

 

Unless you're in my immediate family I won't subject you to all the pictures I took, but it really was a beautiful walk.

Here's a picture of a fellow hiker on the trail.

Here's the view from the top.

And here's the view from the trail that goes around the base.

Imaginary Jesus cover in depth...

Some of the things I really love about the cover to Imaginary Jesus are -- hey, wait a second -- where did that squirrel come from?  Shoo!  Get out of here!

Sigh.

Never mind.  Stupid squirrel.

Eavesdropping With Matt (Episode Forty: Eat, Work and Be Merry)

Dedicated to the kind, friendly lady at my local grocery store.

Lady: Why you buy so much food?  You make me hungry!

Me: My friend just moved to a new town to set up his business, he doesn't have a car and he misses his family.  I thought I'd send him a package.

Lady: So nice!  You tell him, work hard and he no miss his family!  Tell him, eat first, then work hard, he no miss them.  It all be okay.

Me: Okay, I will.

So... eat first, work hard and you'll be fine.  Also, I didn't send your package before my trip.  I'll send it when I get back.  Um.  Sorry.

Call2All

No doubt you're wondering what exactly I'm doing in New Zealand... I'm speaking at a conference called Call2All.

I'll be speaking about unreached, unengaged people groups, which, for those of you who don't speak missionary-talk, means people in the world who have less than a 2% population of Christians ("unreached") and/or have no full time Christian workers who have "adopted" them as a people group to take the story of Christ to them ("unengaged').

There are six basic premises of the Call2All organization, and they are:

#1  Global Prayer – The basic idea here being that telling people about God mustn't be a human endeavor only, but that God is the central reason, cause and power behind it, and we are his co-workers in it.

#2  Mapping the Great Commission -- Trying to get reliable, accurate information about where the Church exists and where there continues to be a need.

#3  Unengaged, Unreached People Groups – There are still about 3,000 groups that don’t have access to church or missionaries or any (human) interaction that would tell them about Christ.

#4  Orality & The Oral Bible – There are still roughly 2,251 language groups that don't have even one verse of the Bible translated in their own language.  So part of Call2All is a strategy to use story and oral translations of 50-60 stories in each of these languages that will sort of "fill in the gap" until a written Bible can be translated and produced.

#5  Church-Planting --  Not in the sense of building denominations or anything like that, but in the sense of building up the national believers into their own coherent reflection of Christ-followers in community.

#6  Evangelism – I know this is going to infuriate some of my not-Christian friends out there, and embarrass some of my Christian friends, but the fact is that telling other people about Jesus boldly is a necessary and (in fact) loving expression of a healthy relationship with Jesus.  And we won't get to those other 3,000 groups without evangelism.  So there it is.

There you go... that's what I'm up to this week, instead of passing along links to Ninja Monkeys from Ken Cheung.   Aha!  And yet, there is the link to ninja monkeys.  Could it be that I have now had my cake and am also eating it?

Even though I don't typically like cake.

Eavesdropping With Matt (Episode Thirty-Nine: In Which They Bury His Ashes)

Dedicated to the fine gentlemen who frequent the comic book shop near my neighborhood, which is run purely because the owner has a lot of money and wanted a hobby, which is the same business.  I walked in to see if I could find a good comic to take on my business trip (I didn't find one on my limited schedule... maybe because I was busy eavesdropping).

Owner: I picked up his ashes today.

Customer: You had him CREMATED?

Owner: Yeah.  He wanted to bury him in the yard, but I just couldn't do that.

Customer: I have, like, four buried in my yard.

Owner: Yeah, but we have dogs.  They would dig it up.

Customer: So sad. 

Owner: Yeah. He was a good cat.

(long pause)

Customer: One of my co-workers died of a brain tumor yesterday.

Owner: Well, you totally trumped me.

Customer: I wasn't trying to trump you.

Owner: Well, you did.  That's a lot sadder than my cat.

First Look at New Zealand

My plane from Auckland to Tauranga was the smallest plane I've been on since I was about 14. We all wedged in with our carry ons for footrests, put our knees comfortably around our ears and watched the pilot work his magic.

And why, I wonder, do we use the word YIELD in the USA when clearly no one knows what it means?

Not sure what these are, but they were tied up in several of the trees.  Some sort of ornamentation? Preventative?  I have no idea.  Someone want to fill me in?

A short walk from my hotel is a sort of monument to the original settlers of New Zealand, who were explorers from Hawaii, apparently.  There were a few different strands or tribes who ended up here.  The rock in the back is meant to signify, I think, the giant stones they brought from their home to bring the "life force" with them. They also had a plaque naming the leaders of each group, who they represented, and who the spirit guide was for each of them.

 

In the harbor between my hotel and where I are my fish and chips for dinner.

 

Nothing quite as creepy as a tooth with teeth.

First Book of the Trip...

One of the most difficult preparations for a long journey is choosing the correct books to take along.  It has to be something amazing that will hold my attention for a long time, and hopefully this amazing-ness will be balanced out by the book not being too heavy.  But it has to be heavy enough not to be a half hour read, it needs to have a few hours of life in it, at least.

The first choice for this particular trip is performing very well indeed.  I'm 200 pages in and loving it.  It's Nick Hornby's Juliet, Naked .  Hornby has an amazing skill to juggle humor, deft characterization, deep insights into music and art and also a real understanding of how people act and why.  It's been a really entertaining read so far.

Also, the cover is awesome.  I was staring at it for quite a while before it suddenly hit me that it was more than just a set of ear buds. 

The Traditional Aiport Post: NAZIS!

At the airport this morning I had to wait in line.  I am not accustomed to this because of how much I travel.  I am usually whisked to the front, politely acknowledged, frisked, and then sent off to never be spoken to again.  It's not unlike a blind date in that sense.  However, today, I had to stand in line.

Directly in front of me were two polite and soft spoken African American gentlemen.  And directly behind me was a loud, brash, outspoken man with a big swastika tattooed on his forearm.  Of course, in an attempt by the author to make the Nazi seem worthy of our compassion, the Nazi was trying to help his mother get her ticket changed for her flight.  On the other hand, there was a lot of unpleasant tones of voice passing between mom and son.  On a third hand, if I can be allowed a third hand, he had almost certainly parked his Harley in the garage and carried his mom and her luggage from the bike into the airport.  And no, I am not making fun of Harleys, he just happened to have one and I could tell that because he said so.

NOW TO THE ACTION... I know you are waiting for that sudden fistfight that will break out, where the Nazis and the understandably upset African American gentlemen will start fighting one another, and I will stand between them yelling about racial reconciliation and how we're genetically nearly identical and how race is a construct created for ease of generalities in the scientific community.  But instead, everyone stood in line, civil as mice, willing the airline employees to work harder, faster, and better so they could solve all our problems and take away our baggage and wish us a bon voyage.

There wasn't a fight or anything.  C'mon, people, it's not a t.v. show, this is real life.

THE END

In which a child is wearing a faux coonskin cap, to my pleasure and his chagrin

Dropping my girls off at school, I noticed a young man wearing a faux coonskin cap, set at a jaunty angle upon his head. It reminded me of my own youth, of a strange little (actually functioning) horn made to look like it came off an animal, and of Disneyland which is, I think, where I got my own coonskin cap (faux save for the tail which was REAL and no, it never occurred to me at the time that there was a maimed raccoon out there, sitting on someone's back fence and lamenting his lack of a striped tail). Strangely, I had been singing the "Davy Crockett" theme song to myself only the day before (or, that is to say, I had been singing the phrases I remembered so that it sounded like this: "something something something something, killed him a 'bar' when he was only three...").

In any case, as I passed the young lad with the mammal-inspired cap I casually said, "Great hat.  It's really cool." 

And the boy's face fell.  I could tell I had ruined his whole day.  It was one of those moments where you can see a phone book length missive written in the disappointed eyes of a child, and I knew that several topics he was dealing with included: why a lame old man thought his hat was cool; I thought I was going to be a rebel wearing fur this close to Portland and now I am being encouraged by an authority figure for my act of daring; and, not least by any stretch, oh no have I made a terrible wardrobe choice and will my friends mock me instead of giving me an amazing nickname like Coonskin Cody.

I wanted to grab the kid and tell him it was going to be alright and that he could always take the hat off, but you and I both know that once you wear the coonskin hat into class you have to wear it all the way home.  There's no backing out.

So, kid, if you're out there, I hope you had a great day and were universally praised by your peers for your coonskin hat.  And if they mocked you and made fun of the hat, don't be ashamed.  Don't give them that power over you!  Wear your hat proudly, and, if you can, take it a step farther.  Get a pet raccoon and take it to school.  They won't be making fun of you then.  It's not too late, you can still turn this into a reservoir of cool the likes of which will cause them to the remember you from the fourth grade to the retirement home. I was proud to see your genesis, Coonskin Cody. 

Link It Up

You have been breathlessly waiting, I know, for the February issue of Writer's Digest, which features a brief interview with yours truly. Well, here it is. Also included is a lengthy interview with Sue Grafton.  You can see a longer, different version of my interview here, on Chuck Sambuchino's blog.

Other recent mentions of Imaginary Jesus include this post about Imaginary Jesus versus vampires and a paragraph long review of the book here (spoiler: he likes it!).  Two other reviews from my friends, Andy and Coach. That's right, Coach.  And in case you missed it, check out the short story by Adam Sabados, "Imaginary Road Trip". Part One.  Part Two.

And, yes, I know, many of you are still behind on your Christmas gifts and you would like two things: a link to where you can buy Imaginary Jesus, and instructions on how to wrap a cat.  Well, there you go!

A Difference between Us as Experienced Parents and Us as New Parents

I've noticed as an experienced parent with a new baby that there are subtle changes in the way we parent.

For instance, yesterday I took charge of the baby for a short time and while I was with her she had a spectacular "blow out."  For those who are experienced parents, you will know what this means.  For those who have not spent sufficient time with infants to know what I am referring to, suffice it to say that it makes the noise of a blown out tire, but is significantly messier. After the typical struggle at the diaper changing station, which is public restrooms invariably is adorned with paintings of cartoon koalas for some inexplicable reason, she and I emerged, cleaned up, wearing new clothing, and ready for a bath.

And when Krista walked up to us she said something significantly different than what I remembered from our less experienced days.  In the old days she would have said, "Why does the baby have poop on her face?"  Which was, indeed, the case.  This sort of question is a deep longing to understand the underlying reason that something from so far away from one's forehead can make the journey across that vast emptiness to arrive on a child's sweet face.  It is the sort of question which assumes that, perhaps, it is the father's fault... the child was left in his care, after all, and during the Great Handoff the child was clear of excrement on her face and, actually, in any external location.  And now, possibly due to the inept caretaking of the beleaguered father, that has all changed.

But that is not what my wife said to me at that moment, yesterday. No.  She said, "There is poop on the baby's face."  A statement, not a question.  Which is to say, I am sure that the baby was covered in an explosion of digested milk, and that she, no doubt, stuck her feet in it, then grabbed her feet, then touched her face. This happens.  It is to be expected.  And I imagine that while you were trying to keep the baby on the koala changing station, and frantically juggling baby wipes and clean diapers and a dirty diaper and changing clothes, that the baby did this without your notice.

And that is the difference, I suppose.  The question "Why is there poop?" versus the simple statement, "There is poop, and in abundance."

Ahhh, yes. We grow up so fast.

That is all for tonight.

More Dreams

Psychology students, please refrain from using this on your thesis papers.

Last night I had another weird dream. I don't know why I'm having more dreams recently, but I'm guessing it's because Baby M has been waking up a little more often.

But the dream went like this:

I was walking down a very long, straight stairway when I heard the tap, tap, tapping of feet behind me.  And not just feet, but feet wearing tap shoes.  I turned around to look and at my eye level were two women's shoes.  "Are those tap shoes?" I asked and the woman said yes and that I could look at one.  So I took one shoe off her foot and was surprised at how heavy it was.  I turned it over in my hand and looked at the metal plates on it.  Then I looked up at the woman and saw that she was wearing a Nazi uniform.  I wasn't scared or upset, I just wondered if she was wearing it because she was a Nazi or because she was in a show or something.  One way, of course, would be frightening and the other would be hilarious.  And I wasn't sure which way to react.

Then I woke up.

News From My Neighborhood: New Year Edition

Ding Dong Ditch the Sweater.  The doorbell rang late the other night, and I walked over to the front door, flung it open (I like to fling things) and discovered... a pile of clothes.  Having been raised on Star Wars, my first thought was that someone had been stabbed with a light saber and then become one with the Force.  But since more recent continuity has made it clear how rare this actually is, I decided to inspect more closely.  I discovered that it was not a pile of clothes, but rather one aqua-colored sweater, with little flecks of other colors spread about in a 1980's style.  All around the sweater were little notes written in a childish hand that said things like, "It's the new year, do what you want" and "here is a sweater, you are welcome."  And I thought about how innovative kids are these days, and so caring, that instead of ringing your doorbell and running away, that they would ring your doorbell, leave you some sort of inexplicable junk and run away.  And I also thought about my Ukranian neighbor, who is very nice, who will reach into his closet later this month and hesitate and wonder, where is my sweater from the 1980's?  And then he will walk outside to get in his car, and look over and see me, and notice how I have a sweater like his missing one, but it looks like it might be too tight, like I have one that is maybe too small for me.  And he will think, I always liked that sweater and the last time I saw it my six-year-old had it, and by then I will be in my car driving away and he will look at my retreating vehicle and think, it is a mystery how clothes just disappear in this country.  A mystery.


The Race Card. When I walk the kids to school it's impossible to say who will join us.  It all depends on how various families are doing at getting the kids ready to leave, and a little thing like eating pop tarts instead of oatmeal can mean that they are walking at a different time than us.  This week a six year old girl and her nine year old brother have been joining us.  The girl told me that she was a much faster runner than her brother.

Boy: I could beat you in a race right now.

Me: Uh-oh, a race.

Boy: C'mon, sis, right now.

 (He sets himself up at a crack in the sidewalk. He is determined.  The girl looks at him and a serious look settles in on her face.  She tightens the straps on her back pack.  And then... BOOOOOM she races past him.  He leaps into action but can't quite catch up.  She completely destroys him by making it to the end of the block a full two seconds ahead of him).

Boy: I was just jogging.  Also my knee hurts.  I twisted my ankle.  You started before me.  I am a faster runner than you.  I could beat you in a race right now.  I'm tired.

Pulled Over By the Cops!

Monday night I was driving the kids home from swim practice when I saw the blue and red lights in my rearview mirror that mean that you have done something wrong.  The kids, of course, were thrilled and worried.

The officer informed me that my tags were two months overdue to be renewed, which I didn't realize... must have somehow missed the letter from the DOL. I tried to get out my license and registration and insurance and only managed to produce the license.  Of course the registration was expired.  And for some reason I could only find the old insurance card, too.  I did, however, have the car's proof of ownership which, of course, you should not keep in the glove box.  The officer sighed multiple times to see what an idiot I am.  Meanwhile, his dog was barking like he just wanted an excuse to get out of that car and maul someone.  So when the officer said he was going back to his car to check on something and DON'T GET OUT OF YOUR CAR I gladly stayed put.

When he came back, he told me that there was no excuse for not having my registration updated and I agreed with him.  He told me to get my insurance in the car, and I told him I would.  He told me that next time there wouldn't be a warning, and I believed him.

Then the kids and I went inside the pizza place and picked up some pizza.  This one guy kept going to the window and looking out where the officer had been, which I think might be his way of letting me know that he was in the mafia.

In any case, I was glad that I got off with only a warning and I immediately went and registered the car as soon as the DOL opened.  AND once we got home that night, the kids decided to play "train the police dog" which was cute.  My favorite is when the police dog ("Caroline") was taught how to correctly employ her "loving bite."  Just in case a criminal just needs some affection.

So, anyway, thanks for the heads up, Vancouver Police Department, and thanks for not giving me a ticket.  I am glad to say that my car and I are both law abiding once more!

Imaginary Updates...

My first interview... Chuck Sambuchino at Writer's Digest talked with me about how I got a literary agent and the journey of writing IJ and getting it published. You can read the excellent article here.  There's a shorter version in the February print issue of Writer's Digest, which also includes a cover article about Sue Grafton.


You've seen Imaginary Jesus... now you can hear him.  The fine folks at Christianaudio.com wrote me today to say that the editing process for the audio book is done and it will be available Very Soon.  In the meantime, it's available for pre-order and they've put it up on the front page of their site:

Sign up for the IJ e-mail list. If you want updates about the book's release, you can sign up here (the future home of ImaginaryJesus.com and the Imaginary Blog).  I promise not to deluge you with emails.  In fact, as of this date we've sent precisely zero updates, waiting for something HUGE to report.  Like free downloads of the first couple chapters.  Yup, it could happen.  Steel yourselves, me hearties.  You can also follow me on twitter.


One Last Item.  In the print version of the Writer's Digest article the name of my new book is revealed.  No, not Imaginary Jesus, you smart alecks. The one that comes after that.  I will reveal it to you when the time is right.  Moowhahahahahaaa!

The rest of my talks from Venture 2010

All of my talks from last week's conference are online now.

Here's my second talk... it was preparation for our "day of outreach" when the students served the people of Portland by taking food out into the neighborhoods and also doing community surveys on behalf of local churches. I talked about why we do this every year, coming out of Luke 15. This talk was probably the most fun for me to put together, and the first 18 minutes or so got more comments from the crowd than any of the other talks...


Matt Mikalatos Session 4 Venture 2010 Winter Conference from Venture on Vimeo.

My next talk was done that same day, in the evening, after everyone returned from their outreach. We looked at what it means to be "fishers of men" and ambassadors of Christ.


Matt Mikalatos Session 5 Venture 2010 Winter Conference from Venture on Vimeo.

And, here's the final talk, where we talked about what it means to "leave everything" and follow Christ. This was the commitment night, so a lot of the content was oriented around helping the students connect with God and follow whatever he might say to them:


Matt Mikalatos Session 6 Venture 2010 Winter Conference from Venture on Vimeo.

Overall, it was a great conference and I enjoyed being a part of it. I had a lot of great conversations with students and staff and it was, as always, an honor and a great deal of fun to teach.  Enjoy!

I had a dream this morning

I had a weird dream this morning.

It started with a young man who had decided to ask his girlfriend to marry him.  He had bought this amazing engagement ring that was made out of twenty engagement rings and formed a sort of orb.  He showed it to her but she didn't really care for it, so they took it apart and started looking at each of the different rings, trying to find one she would like.

When they took a break from this they went to the Carnival of the Frog Queen.  This is not a place anyone wanted to go to, but children were somehow drawn to the place, where they would have to kiss the Frog Queen on the cheek (she was about four feet tall and dressed in a heavy velvet robe, with a crown on her head).  Once they had kissed the Frog Queen they would be allowed to enter the carnival. The carnival was full of games that you could never win, and the Frog Queen somehow got some joy or satisfaction or power from the children constantly losing at games.  One game involved a representation of a human torso, which was full of multi-colored styrofoam balls, and the person playing the game would direct brightly colored ferrets to race around inside the torso and eat up as many of the balls as they could.  But of course the children were losing the game.

Then I woke up.

First talk from Campus Crusade for Christ's Venture2010 conference!

Happy New Year!

Krista and I just came home from a giant ballroom full of crazy, dancing, laughing college students... they're still partying but we snuck home.  We've been here with them since the 28th, and tomorrow is the last day of our conference.  Ooops.  Today, I mean.

Anyway, here's the first talk I gave the first night of the conference.  Enjoy! 


Matt Mikalatos Session 1 Venture 2010 Winter Conference from Venture on Vimeo.

Homer

Somehow during our rambling discussions after story time on Christmas night, the girls and I got on the topic of births.  I started telling them how some of our friends have chosen to have their babies at home using a midwife.  My six-year-old (she turns seven tomorrow!) said, "Oh, one of my friends' moms did that.  She had a homer."

A Baby Jesus Emergency

Tonight the kids got out the Christmas Little People.  They don't really play with Little People anymore except on rare, special occasions.  But that is why tonight I could hear them playing increasingly raucous games which eventually led 6-year-old A to burst into the kitchen and shout, "Z KIDNAPPED THE BABY JESUS!"

What followed was a chaos of sudden kidnappings of beloved Christmas characters.  It started with the baby Jesus, but it wasn't long until Magi, elves and jolly St. Nick found themselves incarcerated in a plot more diabolical than anything the Grinch ever came up with.  Daring rescues were staged (with the most dramatic and successful one freeing two wise men) until I finally stepped in an put an end to it all, finding that my holiday cheer was being sapped out like Jack Bauer on Christmas Eve discovering that he has 24 hours to stop a plot involving a fat man with nuclear waste that he intends to drop down chimneys.  But in the end, I thought it was the price you pay when you buy your children toys of Bible characters.  You have to expect that the story will be tampered with at some point (Z, for instance, when A pointed out that kidnapping the baby Jesus was Pure Wrong Badness said, "That's not the baby Jesus, that's baby Jessica!").  But that's how the end of the game came to be, and now all the children are in bed and we are enjoying the Christmas tree and feeling guilty about the Christmas cards sitting on our coffee table, unsent. 

And, in a last, unrelated note, you'll see that the Fisher Price baby Jesus has blond hair.  Who knew? 

Mr. President, this one is for you

Z: I wish school started at 11 a.m. instead of 8:30 a.m.

Me: You would have to go to school really long every day, or not have summer break.

Z: Maybe the next president of the United States will take care of that.

Note to those with political aspirations: Z will vote for you for President if you can get her an extra two and a half hours of no-school.

The Traditional Airport Post: PARROTS CAN FLY!

Wake up service.  I had a 6:30 am flight yesterday, so I was planning to leave the house around 5 and had set my alarm accordingly, never suspecting that I had set the alarm to go off in the p.m.  Fortunately, my dad was giving me a ride and he called the house when he arrived and saw that there were no lights on.  Close one!

Parrots can fly.  The woman ahead of me at the airport had an animal carrier that kept making jungle calls of alarm, which turned out to be a great big parrot who was concerned that he was being transported in a cage.  Security gathered to stare into the cage and decided that the bird needed to come out of the carrier so they could scan it.  Unfortunately, being a bird, the parrot was able to fly, which meant taking the bird to a private screening room.  The lady taking him on the plane said that he liked to fly in style and was upset to be in the carrier.  This makes perfect sense to me, as I also would dislike being in a cage while flying.

CONTROVERSY! And Educational Folly...

My kids wanted to talk all about why Pluto is no longer a planet tonight.  I am not sure why this came up, though there was some vague indication that perhaps this was addressed in this morning's Saturday morning cartoons.  Or the new and improved Electric Company.  Z tells me that the name of the show was Zula Patrol.  "It talks about science."

As we talked about this for a while (seriously, it must have been ten minutes) I suddenly realized that the only reason I knew the order of the planets was because of a mnemonic device from my childhood in which a phrase had words the first letter of which corresponded in order to the first letters of the planets: My Very Educated Mother Just Served Us Nine Pizza Pies.

Several strange things:

1) By the time you memorize that saying, you might as well just memorize the order of the planets.  It's ridiculously long and saying "Mercury Venus Earth Mars Jupiter Saturn Uranus Neptune Pluto" is pretty much the same length. 

2) Since the phrase was taught to us by way of a song on a video, it would have been fiendishly simple to take the same catchy tune and simply sing the names of the planets.

3) It bothered me, even as a child, that the outermost planets change order sometimes and yet we are taught this very specific order without so much as a throwaway "Sometimes Pluto is closer to the Sun than Neptune."  I mean we say that the letter Y is sometimes a vowel, why not admit that sometimes our very educated mother just served us pie nicely?

4) It's weird that the mnemonic device I was taught has two "P" words on the end.  Why not just nine pizzas?  Why nine pizza pies?  And who even said "pizza pie" in California in the eighties?  No one.  It's just strange.  Is there a tenth planet named Parnassus? 

5) Why not order the planets some other way?  Why not by size or density?  Why is proximity to the sun the most important thing?  If we did it by density we could have other cool sayings, like, "Every Man's Velvet Moth Privately Needs Juniper Umbrellas, Sadly."


6) I know that Pluto got demoted because someone found Eris, which is bigger than Pluto and the "tenth planet" and that scientists were concerned that if children had to add Eris, Ceres, Haumea and Makemake to the list of planets they had to memorize that their tiny little brains would probably explode.  But I think, man, just make the song a little longer.  "My very educated Mother just served us nine pizza eyes, cyclops has'm MMMMMM!"  Of course that might be the wrong order but we simply didn't have so many trans-Neptunian objects when I was a child.

7) Did you know that there are entire documents laying out the proper naming procedures for planets?  It's true!  Not just planets, but pretty much any astronomical object.  People get paid to make rules for how we name these things.  And that's why you can find awesome paragraphs like these on the IAU website:

The Jovian satellites have previously been named for Zeus/Jupiter's lovers and favorites but now Zeus' descendants are also included as an allowable source of names.  The satellites of Saturn have so far been named for the Greco-Roman Titans, descendants of the Titans, Giants and the Roman god of the beginning.  In order to internationalize the names, we now also allow names of giants and monsters in other mythologies (so far Gallic, Inuit and Norse).

Depending on the type of rock you discover in space there might be a lot of rules for you to follow.   You might have to choose from heroes of the Trojan war, or the most popular names for centaurs.  You might be forced to use Roman numerals.  You might have to choose a character name from Stephen King's "The Stand."

8) My kids think it is really wonderful that adults can't figure out whether Pluto should be a planet or not.  They were really giddy at the thought that so much time and effort has been put into the definition of planets.  This is because it is their first glimpse into the fact that adults are weak, and that perhaps their generation has a chance to overpower and devour our own.  My next post should be about how the names for generations of people are chosen.  As a member of Generation X (or is it Y?), I find the practice of being named by a previous generation unsettling to say the least.  And so I am planning to rename my generation... GENERATION AWESOME!

And that is all for tonight.

Wonderful Wednesday: Bored Shepherds

 And there were, in that same country, shepherds abiding in the fields...

Smart as a Whip

I told my almost-seven-year old that she is "smart as a whip."

She said: "Whips aren't very smart, Dad.  Are you trying to say that I am not very smart?"

I assured her that was not the case.  She then told me that I could have at least said that she was "smart as a dolphin" which, although not as smart as human beings, are at least well known for their intelligence (unlike whips). 

I Ski, You Ski, We All Ski for Ice Ski

The day after Thanksgiving was officially pronounced to be family ski day.

So I went through the ritual.

I got up early in the morning.  I checked the ski conditions.  I loaded up our car with too much winter gear.  We went up to the mountain.  I bought us lift tickets and rented skis.  I told them that I thought the skis that they had given me did not match my black winter parka with the bright white skull pattern, nor the helmet and boots with the silver and gold flames.  I showed them my gloves which look like bones.  They gave me better skis.  I zipped out to the lift for the bunny slope.  I took the lift to the top.  I dismounted the lift chair and fell.  I could not get up.  I managed to move out of the way of the many novice skiers coming off the lift.  I tried to get up.  But I couldn't.  I used my poles.  I moved around.  I put my skis perpendicular to the hill.  I shouted, "I'VE FALLEN AND I CAN'T GET UP!"  I clapped my hands and wished for fairies to come help me get up.  I waved off the rescue crew.  I let the St. Bernard give me some whiskey from the little barrel around his neck.  I took off my skis.  I stood up and put the skis back on.  I listened to my children tell me all day how they are better skiers than me.

And a good time was had by all.

THE END

Imaginary Jesus and the ARC

As you can see by the picture on the left, I just received a generous heap of Imaginary Jesus ARCs. Okay, I guess you can't see the heap but you can see a representative sample.

In "the Biz" we try to use jargon and slang to confuse you and make sure you know we are experts.  But I'll let you in on the secret.  An ARC is an Advanced Reading Copy, and it's generally used to send out to reviewers a few months before the book comes out.  A lot of magazines, for instance, have a lead time of several months, and if you want a review of the book to come out sometime near the time of your book, people need to see it ahead of time.  NOTE: No one calls the publishing business "the Biz" except for newby authors trying to impress people on their blogs. 

Anyway, this is a really fun day because for the first time I can hold something that looks suspiciously like a book in my hand and say, "Oh.  That's my book.  My name is on the spine.  My book has a spine!"  Up until this time my book had been completely spineless.  It's true!

This isn't the final product.  The design will be a little different when it comes out in April, the cover copy on the back will change a bit (right now it has my publicist's contact information on the back... I don't think she'll allow that to go on the actual cover).  We've made some changes internally as well, but overall this is pretty close to what the "real" book will look like!  Neat!

As always, you can buy your own copy, and one day it will arrive in YOUR mailbox.

Everything We Ever Needed

Our family spent Thanksgiving together out in Sunriver, Oregon.  We rented a house and everyone packed in, and a great time was had by all.  At one point, Z and I were playing SUPER SMASH BROTHERS! in one of the rooms, and it was starting to get dark.  My mom came in and said, "Do you guys need a light on?"  Without missing a beat, Z said, "No, the light coming from the television is enough."  Ah, television!  It even gives us light!

You are what you eat

I like to use this "leftover" picture from time to time.  You can't see my feet in this picture, but it is likely that they are made out of white chocolate chip cookies.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

News From My Neighborhood: Weekend Edition

Yard Work in the Northwest.  I hear ridiculous things sometimes, about how people in the Northwest don't use umbrellas, that instead they just stay inside.  Which -- although it makes for excellent travelogue talk for Marco Polo when he returns from the far reaches of the northwest -- is ignorant foolishness.  NWers rarely use umbrellas because the precipitation is comparatively mild and a hood on a sweatshirt or jacket is typically sufficient to keep one warm and dry. And more than once I've caught myself standing in the middle of the rain talking to a friend, neither of us wearing a hood until the rain eventually fogs up his glasses and douses our hair.  For those of us with sufficient hair, anyway.  All that to say, when I set out to do yardwork yesterday I wore a baseball cap and a hooded sweatshirt so I could keep working through the rain.  Because we do go out in the rain. Otherwise we would need to build an impressive city of hamster tunnels.

A Traveling Meat Market. Yesterday, what appeared to be an ice cream truck came by, but instead of ice cream they were selling frozen steaks.  The driver slowed down as he passed me and shouted, "Hey! You look like a man who appreciates a good steak, right?"  I'm not sure what such a man looks like, but I guess like me.  I told him that I like steak fine, but we had plenty.  I'm not sure how much steak we have, but enough that I don't need to buy any from traveling meat salesmen.  He told me that they have "stupid prices" because of something or other.  I assured him that I still did not want a meatsicle. 


Man vs Nature or, the Tarps of Clark County. The big task of yesterday's yardwork had to do with winter-proofing our yard... so things like draining out the sprinkler system,  moving the glass birdbath into the garage so it won't freeze while full of water, and covering up the summer furniture with a tarp.  I spent a long time on the tarps, eventually getting everything all battened down and held in place with bricks.  Only to discover that during last night's wind storm my tarps were blown all over creation.  So, Mother Nature wants to fight me?  Fine.  Get ready, Mother Nature! It's go time.



Squirrel!  We had a squirrel in our backyard yesterday!  Which is the first time since they built our house!  Our trees are finally getting big enough to interest the little clowns.  Pretty exciting.

Free (Good) Christmas Music

I don't know about your family, but in my family Christmas music is allowed to be played starting on Thanksgiving day and going through all the way until about December 31st.  Which means now is the time to start gearing up for Thanksgiving.

Friends of the Revolution, Page CXVI sent out a note a bit ago that there is a free download of a Christmas EP from Oh, Starling... I just downloaded it and I like it a lot.  Take a listen and then buy it, start a fire, put up your Christmas tree and bring me some figgy pudding.

Wonderful Wednesday: The Weezer Snuggie

A couple of months ago I learned just how much Montel Williams loves blankets with sleeves.  Today for Wonderful Wednesday we ratchet up the rad by showing you that even Weezer loves them some blankets with sleeves.  It is hip.  It is new.  It is hilarious.

And now, here is a commercial:

The I Love Bunnies Club

My six-year-old came downstairs tonight while I was doing the dishes and asked if I wanted to join the "I Love Bunnies" club.  I told her yes, so she brought me a contract that she had written up.  Here's the text of the document I had to sign:

I Love Bunnies Club

I ________ will be a very loyal person to the I Love Bunnies Club.  To be a member do this... follow the rules.

RULES

You don't have to love bunnies.

Follow the directions.

Have fun.


I _____________ will follow the rules.

My daughter says that I have a very nice signature.  And now I am one of the founding members of the I Love Bunnies Club.  She also gave me a little assignment, but I can't tell you about that because that's only for members of the I Love Bunnies Club.

MUST NOT USE IT!

 Having lived in Asia for several years, I became pretty used to seeing hysterically funny signs in English.

But it's not often you see one in the United States with equally impenetrable English.  Note the sign to the left, which was at the hotel that Krista and I stayed in this weekend.

"GUEST UNDER PREGNANCY MUST NOT USE SAUNA"!  I'm not sure what that means, but my best guess is that when Krista is pregnant and tired and wants to rest her baby belly on me, that at this time I MUST NOT use the sauna because I am "under pregnancy."  But that's just a guess.

Teaching my children vulgarities while watching the Princess Bride

Yesterday morning, since the kids had the day off school, I told them that they could pick a movie to watch.  They chose the Princess Bride (which, to my way of thinking, was the correct choice.  And if you think I chose wrong, that's what so funny... while you weren't looking I switched the glasses!).

Anyway, (spoiler alert if you haven't seen this movie or read the book and let me add that you are causing me great sadness please go see this movie) as our master swordsman friend finally encounters Count Rogan in the bowels of the castle and confronts him at last, after all these years, you may recall that he eventually badgers the six-fingered man into promising him anything he wants and more and then he kills the Bad Man while also saying something unkind to him.  Take that!

Krista immediately gave me that look that said, "Your children have just heard some unsavory language and I better not find them upstairs pretending to stab each other with swords and slinging vulgarities at each other." 

So I said: Hey kids, that one word is a bad word.  You shouldn't use it.

A's little eyes lit up.  A: Which word?

Me: So you know when he said, "I want my father back you son-of-a....".  The word after that is a word you don't need to use.

A: Birch?

Me (laughing): Close.

A: Beach?

Me: Never mind.

Poor kid is probably lying in bed wondering, "What is so bad about calling someone a son-of-a-birch?  Do they hate trees or something?"

And that is all I have for you today.

Wonderful Wednesday: Slovenian Acapella Jazz Choir singing Toto's "Africa"

If the title of this post alone isn't enough to tell you why this video falls into the category of Wonderful Wednesday, then I pity you. I truly do.



I remember going to a conference once where they had us make the sounds of a thunderstorm in the audience. Minus the thunder, though, which makes it a little less impressive.  The name of this choir, by the way, if you want to hear some more of their wonderfulness is Perpetuum Jazzile. 

Also. I would like to point out that today's video is via MY MOM. Yup. Thanks, Mom!

If you live near Port Orchard, WA...

I'm doing a two hour training on evangelism this Saturday morning at Harper Church.  Details are here.

We'll be talking about the biblical basis for and defintion of evangelism as well as various way to talk with people about Christ, including story-telling, disarming people who are hostile to Christ by asking questions, using art to share spiritual truths, short films as discussion starters, and resources for spiritual conversations.

Anyway, if you're in town please come on by and say hello!

BOOK BERZERKER PRESENTS: Win a Free Copy of Don Miller's A Million Miles in a Thousand Years

Last week I read Don Miller's new book, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. I can tell you honestly that this is the best book that Don Miller has written.  Or, well, the best one that has been published, what do I know, maybe he has another spectacular one hidden away somewhere in a drawer or something.

The basic premise is that Don discovers, while working on a feature film adaptation of his previous memoir, Blue Like Jazz, that he actually lives a pretty boring life.  And as he studies the structure of Story to figure out how to write a better (fictional) life for himself, he starts to apply those same concepts to his real life so that he lives a life that has some meaning, a purpose, and goals.  Overall, I found it inspiring, though I did find myself wishing at certain points that it was a novel so that it would follow story structure even more, and also so that the ending would WRAP IT ALL UP instead of being like, well, real life.

ANYWAY, Amazon.com will tell you that people who bought my book, Imaginary Jesus, have also bought A Million Miles in a Thousand Years.  In honor of that dubious achievement on Mr. Miller's behalf, I am giving away a copy of A Million Miles in a Thousand Years (hereafter referred to as AMMIATY) this very week.

HOW TO WIN: Leave a comment on this post telling me two things... ONE, what would the plot of a movie based on your life be about (feel free to make things up) and TWO, who would you want to portray you in the film (feel free to choose any actor, living or dead... computer generated actors are all the rage).  I will choose the winner later this week and will announce the CHAMPION next Monday.  Yes, that's right, I am the sole judge, jury and executioner (meaning that I will execute the action of placing the book in the mail).

Legal Mumbo Jumbo: Yeah, if this is illegal where you live then it doesn't apply.  By entering this contest you agree that I am awesome and that you would never sue me or even say mean things about me.  And if you had your way you would like to buy me one of those back scratchers that this one guy sells on the street in Portland.  Or at least you agree that it doesn't apply where you live if it's illegal.

Guest Speaker Gordon MacDonald at Village tonight and tomorrow

Gordon MacDonald, speaker and author of Ordering Your Private World and Who Stole My Church? is speaking tonight and tomorrow at our church, Village.  That's tonight at 5:30 or tomorrow morning at 8:30 and 10:30. 

I'm sure I'll run into some of you there.  But mostly because I know some of my fellow Villagers are probably reading this.  :)

Wonderful Wednesday: Breakdancing Cat

This is wonderful on many, many levels. Please enjoy.

The Traditional Airport Post: MAYHEM!!!!!

Monday morning we were scheduled to fly out of Portland at 6:30 a.m. This would get us to Spokane by 7:30 for our team leader's conference, giving me a comfortable cushion before I gave a devotional at 9.

Our first sign of trouble, however, came as we entered the line on the "other terminal"... we usually fly United and today we were entering on the other side to fly Alaska. As Krista and I wheeled up with the baby, ready to jump into the rapidly moving line, a TSA guy waved us to the side and told us to join the "family line." We were to discover that this line should be called the "slow line." The few people in front of us took seven times longer than regular people to get through the line. A group of three hadn't brought any identification... none of them. A family of five followed them... a family of five who had never flown on a plane before, apparently. The mother kept stopping the TSA people to say things like, "Am I allowed to take my deodarant on the plane? Does that count as a liquid?" The TSA guy would say, "Deodarant is a solid."

After the slow water torture that was our experience in Family Line, we ran to our gate, because now, of course, we were late. Our gate was in the basement of the airport in the farthest reaches of the B Terminal. When we got there we were told that the flight was not yet boarding because the plane "hadn't landed yet" so I went to change the baby's diaper (if it hadn't been for the delay the poor child would have had to suffer). (SIDENOTE: Who designed the bathroom so that the "koala care baby changing station" is right next to the disposal unit for hypodermic needles? Do they hate babies or something?)

As I walked back to the gate an announcement came over the loudspeaker that our flight was now CANCELLED! Everyone leapt up and scurried to the various representatives to try to get rescheduled. By the time we got to the front of the line we were told that we could get on the 2 o'clock flight, which would have us arriving at 3. Since it was 6:30 in the morning and I was supposed to be giving a devotional at 9 AM, this was not a pleasing situation. Later I heard a guy who had been in line behind us who had been told that he couldn't get on a flight to Spokane until the following day.

After grilling the poor representative on our options, we decided to cancel our Alaska ticket and I jumped online and bought tickets on Southwest at 8 am. We now had just over an hour for me to run down and get our baggage from baggage claim, check in again with Southwest, get through security and board the plane.

And that is what I did. The baggage representative had to call the handlers, though, because they only sent three of our bags out (we are travelling with an infant, don't judge our many bags... it includes car seat and baby bed). Finally all four bags came out. I got them checked back in but then they said that I needed proof of the baby's age. I assured them that my 3 month old was not two years old. I ran for security, and since I had left Krista and the baby behind security I was able to skip the dreaded Family Line. I ran down to the C gate and arrived out of breath, sweating and victorious. I felt like I had won the Amazing Race, except that instead of a million dollars I just got to board an airplane.

And then our friend Steve Ellisen was on the plane and he rented a car, so we didn't have to take the shuttle to our hotel.

And that is the end.

Bat infestation in Europe reaching ridiculous levels

I totally stole this from Andy McCullough, because it made me laugh out loud. Stupid bats: