Marvel’s Christmas Spectacular featuring ….

Ever since Marvel Studios acquired the rights to all of 20th Century Fox’s properties, MCU fans have been speculating how the X-Men will be introduced. Are they new? Have they always been here? Are they from an alternate universe?

Sure, Namor and Kamala Khan are both officially mutants which supports the ‘always been here’ theory. Scenes from Multiverse of Madness and The Marvels both feature mutants in other universes supporting the theory of alternate realities. Finally, there’s always a possibility of them being something new, created through experiments with the super soldier serum or gamma radiation. Rumors also suggest mutants will be brought into the MCU’s sacred timeline in next year’s Deadpool 3. But I have a suggestion.

Looking at the history of MCU, there have been historical war stories (Captain America: The First Avenger), psychological thrillers (Iron Man 3), political spy action (Captain America: The Winter Soldier), heist movies (Ant-Man), psychedelic trips (Doctor Strange), Kung-fu tales (Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings), space opera (Guardians of the Galaxy), and a melodrama (The Eternals). You know what’s missing? A Christmas movie. While there was the Guardian’s Christmas special, and Hawkeye was set during the holiday season, there isn’t a legit theatrically released Yuletide film.

There is a way for Marvel Studios to introduce mutants and the X-Men in a Christmas movie and it all hinges on this guy.

Image courtesy Marvel Comics

Yes, Santa Claus. In the comics, Santa is an omega level mutant - quite possibly the most powerful of all mutantkind.

Images courtesy Marvel Comics

Just imagine the money to be made with a Santa centric movie becoming an official part of MCU cannon. What if it could tie in previous properties while setting up the future of Marvel’s cinematic universe? Here is what I propose.

Begin in 1840’s London with an older man named Kristof entering a cathedral on Christmas Eve. After confession, he picks up a large red sack and walks to the orphanage to donate gifts to the kids. There he plays with kids of Norwegian, Egyptian, and Greek origins. The kids ask why he does what he does. He says “it’s to honor the memory of Saint Nikolas.” The Norwegian kid says Kris has the wisdom of Odin. The Egyptian kid says he has the determination of Khonshu. And the Greek kid says he has the compassion of Sersi. Kris asks if those are their gods When the kids confirm, Kris says “If you believe in them, then I believe in them too.”

When he leaves the orphanage, he’s attacked by a dark elf, while other dark elves (from Thor 2) assault the orphanage in search of the portal to the hidden realm seeking the aether. Kris fights back but there are too many elves to take on alone. Inside the kids pray to their gods. Outside Odin (from Thor), and Sersi (from The Eternals), arrive along with Khonshu's current avatar (from Moon Knight). Together the four are able to defeat the elves.

Unfortunately, Kris is wounded and dying. The gods thank Kris for his efforts. He explains it was done to honor St Nikolas. Sersi says “I knew Nikolas” and wishes to transform Kris into an icon worthy of Nikolas’s deeds. She gives him her empathy for humanity and her skill to manipulate matter through touch. Odin gives him his wisdom and regenerative powers. Khonshu gives him his strength and the ability to control time and space.

Immediately his wounds heal and Kris feels younger. Sersi tells him he now has the power to bring joy to the whole world, not just the kids of one orphanage. Sersi says she can be found at the Tower Museum if Kris ever has questions. Odin leaves with his chariot pulled by the flying goats. Khonshu releases his avatar who has no clue how he got there. After they’re gone, Kris laughs about the goats and says “That gives me an idea.”

To start his new life, Kris transports himself to Norway to find some reindeer. With a touch, he gives them power to fly. He then transforms a tree into an ornate sleigh. This begins a montage of Kris delivering presents around the world.

One hundred years later, Kris goes by the name Santa. He lands with his reindeer in a Canadian logging camp and is caught by a man named Logan (the future Wolverine). When Logan shakes hands with Santa, Logan’s DNA is altered. Logan is unaware of the changes but Santa knows, it is the first time he’s used this power on another person. Santa tells Logan he might be needed some day.

In Harvard dorm room during the 1980’s, Santa is discovered by a wheelchair bound college kid named Charles Xavier whose DNA is rewritten. Santa gives Charles the same message delivered to Logan. On the same trip he also meets a high school kid named Hank McCoy in Dundee Illinois, and elementary kids named Scott Summers in Anchorage Alaska and Jean Grey in New York. He does the same thing to them as Charles.

In the 90s he finds a young Monica Rambeau (from Captain Marvel), a German child in Witzeldorf named Kurt Wagner, an African kid in Nairobi named Ororo, and a Russian kid in Siberia named Piotr Rasputin. In 2012, after the battle of Manhattan, he encounters teens across the USA: Kitty Pryde, Anna Marie, Alison Blaire, Remy LeBeau, and Jubilation Lee. Just before the blip, Santa travels to Tokyo Japan, the Scottish Highlands, Montreal Canada, and all over America where he meets Hisako Ichiki, Rahne Sinclair, Jean-Paul Beaubier, Emma Frost, siblings Paige and Sam Guthrie, Tyrone Johnson, Tandy Bowen, and Everett Thomas. Everyone who interacts with Santa gets their DNA changed and told they might be needed some day.

Then the blip happens and Santa is dusted. Five years later Santa returns with Ironman’s snap and finds a world devastated without Santa Claus. Instead an inter-dimensional creature named Krampus has taken his place. Rather than bringing gifts to children, Krampus terrifies them, even kidnapping and enslaving kids during Santa’s absence. Santa challenges Krampus but Krampus kicks Santa’s ass. Santa spends the next year finding his team of reindeer and building up his strength.

Santa also searches for the people he’s recruited over the last hundred years and discovers the multiple snaps from Infinity War and End Game activated latent powers given to them when he changed their DNA. He begs for their help. Most of them decline but others agree to fight Krampus and his army of Schnukies.

The final battle begins on Christmas Eve. Charles Xavier uses his psychic powers to influence Krampus. Scott Summers fires optic blasts from his eyes and takes out several Schnukies. Jean Grey fights with telekinesis. Hank McCoy is blue and hairy and attacks the Schnukies with brutality. Logan is feral and rips his enemies apart with claws protruding from his fists. Hisako projects armor, Jubilation creates fireworks with her hands, and Rahne turns into a wolf.

At the end of the fight, a victorious Santa manipulates time so he can begin his journey around the world to deliver presents before Christmas morning.

Realizing they are not alone in possessing mutant powers Charles (now a professor), Hank, Scott, and Jean agree to establish a school for mutants to learn how to control their powers. They invited Logan to work with them but he says he’s rather be alone. Christmas morning, Santa uses the power Sersi gave him to transform a plot of land into a mansion which would become Professor Xavier’s school for gifted children. Xavier offers the younger mutants a place to live and they all accept. Santa and the newly formed X-Men share a holiday meal together where they promise to seek and assist all other mutants.

The post credit scene returns to the 1840s. Kris is at a friend’s house for tea. He recounts his interactions with Odin, Sersi, and Khonshu. At the end he says “They were like three ghosts of Christmas.” His friend replies “A ghost of Christmas past, a ghost of Christmas present, and a ghost of Christmas future.” He adds “You gave me an idea for a wonderful story.” As Kris leaves, his friend calls him Kristof Kringle and Kris thanks Charles Dickens for his hospitality.

Dear Disney, I’m available to join your writing team. Please hire me.

On Special Interests

One common symptom of autism is having an oddly specific area of interest. It’s not just the “I like football” or “my favorite class at school is history” kind of thing that everyone experiences. Nor is it the general list of hobbies possessed by both neurotypical and neurodivergent people. The autistic special interest takes the normal curiosities and pleasures of fascination and entertainment then ferociously consumes every trivial aspect of that thing.

Everything in their world relates back to their special interest. Every conversation inevitably loops back to this thing because they know all there is to know about it. You might like that thing, but it is the most important thing to them. It borders obsession. Or as the National Autistic Society in the UK describes it: “intense and highly-focused interests.”

Let’s say you (a typically functional human) enjoys hiking. If you’re invited to go on a hike, you’ll probably say yes. You might even research a couple different trails to see which one is more popular or is easier to access. Then pretend we have a neurospicy individual who enjoys hiking because it is their special interest. They know how long it takes to drive to every trailhead. They know the length and elevation gain of each trail, how many times you’ll have to cross a stream and the sturdiness of the bridges at each crossing, and the varied vistas to see along the way. The normalized interest in hiking and the interest in hiking with autism are not the same thing.

As a late realized autistic, I’ve been reexamining my childhood through new lenses. Seeing myself as a kid with autism explains so many of my eccentricities and peculiar behavior. I was scripting before I even knew what scripting was. I had texture issues with clothes and food. I was sensory avoidant in almost everything except loud music and turbulent weather.

As for the special interests, I was sure I had them but couldn’t remember what they were. Perhaps my parents could tell you. At least I didn’t remember until recently.

Walking around with a colleague, we discussed how we remember the street names and business locations around downtown. I talked about the mental 3D map I’ve created like a holographic projection inside my cranium. This 3D map charts possible routes and detours between my current location in the space-time continuum and my destination. This is when it hit me. Maps were my special interest.

Image courtesy of Travel Safe

During my earliest memories, my dad sold windows and insulation from a small office in the Riverside neighborhood of Everett. His employer sent him to potential clients’ homes to measure the size of existing windows so he could provide accurate prices for replacements or sketch out the wall dimensions for quoting the cost of insulation.

He frequently had me ride shotgun with him. He believed dragging me to work with him a better option than leaving me home alone. We both benefitted. I helped him hold the tape measure in place and he taught me to navigate maps.

Not Apple Maps or Mapquest. Ever-present internet maps didn’t exist in 1983. He carried a spiral bound book showing the streets of Snohomish County, the kind that directed you to a different page when the road you travelled reached the edge of the current page. Eventually, he changed jobs and his sales territory grew. Soon the paper map collection grew to include Pierce, King, Skagit, and Island Counties. I continued to accompany him throughout my youth. Rand McNally books were sacred texts in the days before GPS navigation and I became a master navigator before I graduated elementary school.

I never grew out of this phase. When I started hiking and climbing in the 90s, I became obsessed with the 100 Hikes books published by The Mountaineers. In addition to text description of the trails and photos of Washington’s alpine wilds, there were trail maps detailing every switchback through wooded, meadow, and rocky terrain. As a student, geography was the first class I passed with an A. As a reader, maps at the beginning of books elevate the story for me. From Tolkien’s Middle Earth to Stephen King’s Under the Dome, to Justin Cronin’s The Passage: maps bring me into these fictional worlds.

Image courtesy of Stephen King and Scribner

As an adult, I’ll zoom in and out of various locations in Google Maps, virtually exploring locales I’ll probably never get to visit. My maps fascination helped me discover a swing in the middle of the jungle while we were in Waikiki. It’s my favorite tool when planning vacations, whether we’re doing a road trip to see family in Cheyenne, returning to my hometown of Marysville, or going to a place we’ve never been before. I used it to search for tattoo parlors in Norway, Costa Rica, and The Bahamas - the next big adventures we want to partake. I’ve used it to familiarize myself with the town of Paisley Scotland so I don’t get lost when I check visiting Paisley Abbey off my bucket list.

During those early 80s days of carefree kidhood, there were two other special interests that tied into my love of maps. My younger self was obsessed with drawing mazes. This predated my fondness for maps though. To keep me quiet during church services, my parents supplied me with a pad of graph paper and a writing stick; by the time the sermon was over, the whole page was filled with geometrical doodles, branching pathways, and only one true route from start to finish. When I began reading maps, it was like seeking a path through the maze, only through the real world. Mazes were maps of mystery and puzzles. Road maps also contained mysteries, but fewer dead ends.

Image courtesy of Outside Magazine

My other autistic special interest also stemmed from my dad’s time selling windows and insulation: architecture. I helped him measure so many homes I became enamored with the way they were designed. Floor plans are basically maps of buildings. I began creating house designs in grade school on the same graph paper I once used for mazes. A decade later I was taking architectural drafting classes at MPHS. Up through my senior year, I had ambitions of a career as an architect. Even now I’ll occasionally have the urge to sketch out a rough blueprint of my dream home - a dream that is constantly evolving.

Maps. Mazes. Masonry. Well, not masonry but the alliteration makes me happy. So my special interests are maps: geographical maps, fantasy maps, maps that are mazes, maps of buildings, maps like floor plans, and the mental maps existing only inside my head to help me navigate the world around me. It’s my autistic superpower.

Our Region In Flames

I thought about fire burning in your eyes. I thought about fire. - Blindside

Image Courtesy Thoma Casey

How can we dance when the world is turning? How do we sleep while our beds are burning? - Midnight Oil

Image courtesy Myk Crawford

We didn't start the fire. It was always burning, since the world's been turning. We didn't start the fire. No, we didn't light it but we tried to fight it. - Billy Joel

Image courtesy WADOT

Now I see fire inside the mountain, I see fire burning the trees, and I see fire howling souls. I see fire, blood in the trees, and I hope that you’ll remember me. - Ed Sheeran

Image courtesy Greg Halling

I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain. I’ve seen sunny days that I thought would never end. I’ve seen lonely times when I could not find a friend. - James Taylor

Image courtesy Tom Burgess

Death is on the top of her tongue and danger’s on the tip of her fingers. Streets are on fire tonight. - Lupe Fiasco

Image courtesy WADOT

Things we lost to the flames, things we’ll never see again. All that we’ve amassed sit before us shattered into ash. - Bastille

Image courtesy Zack Zappone

Liar, liar, the world's on fire. What you gonna do when it all burns down? - Dolly Parton

Image courtesy Erik Smith

We’ve built our confidence on wasteland. We’ve seen how the walls come down. Life burns. - Apocalyptica

Image courtesy Brian Jacob

Sleep now in the fire. - Rage Against the Machine

Image courtesy Colin Mulvany @ SR

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There are three major fires burning around us. To our east, Ridge Creek above Hayden Lake has burned 4100 acres. North of us, Oregon Road in Elk has burned 10,000 acres. Finally, the Gray fire west of us in Medical Lake has also burned 10,000 acres. There are two known deaths and hundreds of homes and businesses destroyed. The Spokane region is devistated and funds are being raised by the American Red Cross, Salvation Army, Giving Back Spokane, and No-Li Brewhouse. We also have family direclty impacted who had to evacuate including the grandparents in Medical Lake who host all of our holiday gatherings. If you think of us, please pray for rain.

Happiness is a Warm Idol

My evangelical upbringing might have overemphasized the value of being happy. By might be, I mean they definitely did overemphasize it. The simple message was reiterated from childhood Sunday School classes through Wednesday night youth group, summer camps and weekend retreats, college ministries and revival services. It rarely changed: just give your heart to Jesus and you’ll be happy.

Even as a kid, I knew this claim was bull shit. The idea that Christian conversion was the key to happiness ignores how bad things can happen to anyone regardless of their religious beliefs. My non-Christian friends found ways to be happy without Jesus. The Venn diagram of things my church taught me and things God never said is a near perfect circle with the tenet of happiness being the ultimate goal being dead center. It is not one of the Ten Commandments but they treated it as if it was law.

As an individual with a melancholic disposition, on the autism spectrum, battling lifelong struggles with depression and anxiety, I have never had a comfortable relationship with the evangelical elevation of happiness. I was taught (and frequently reminded) any expression of sadness or anger was a display of sin. This only exacerbated my mental health issues and threadbare self-esteem.

Biblical study revealed nothing to support this twisted gospel. It has no historical practice in Christian tradition prior to modern evangelicalism and it has zero scriptural support. Variations of the word happy only appear 10 times in the ESV Bible, but joyful and its variants show up more than 400 times. Joy is a concept I appreciate because joy and sorrow can coexist. Even in my darkest days, I can find ways to dance with joy. Happiness though, it takes effort.

Don’t get me wrong, I am able to be happy if I try hard enough. I can even fake being happy at times. However, happiness is not a natural state of being. To be happy requires an emotionally draining level of concentration. If I lose my focus, I might not look or sound happy, even if I am. It’s exhausting. Your legs will feel tired after spending three hours running on a treadmill. An intense basketball game will leave players wheezing and drenched with sweat. Even the most well trained athletes experience fatigue after completing an Ironman triathlon. In a similar way, I feel happiness fatigue after making the effort to appear happy for sustained periods of time.

Does that mean I’m a grumpy asshole? No. Well, sometimes. Does it mean I want to be a grumpy asshole? Absolutely not. At the same time, I don’t want to worship at the altar of happiness. I have no desire to drown in a sea of empty platitudes. I want the church to be honest with the reality that happiness is fleeting, that Christians do not have exclusive rights to happiness, that loving God does not shield anyone from broken hearts and wounded spirits.

Happiness is nice but it’s not a virtue. Happiness is not godliness. Happiness is not God. I’m not always happy, yet I can still find joy in my unhappiness.

With all this in consideration something different happened today. This morning, while walking into work, I felt genuinely happy without purpose or intention. No mental or emotional strain, no faking it or intense focus required. Just natural endorphins firing through the proper synapses the way it should in a neurotypical brain. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this sort of bliss. So I smiled and accepted it for what it was: I am happy.

At least for now. I will savor my unprovoked happy until it fades, but I won’t cling to it. It was never meant to last. While some have bestowed happiness with demigod status, I refuse to bow to false idols.

Uneducated Genius

My wife overheard our 14 year old’s half of a phone conversation with one of his friends. JJ was attempting to explain my level of nerdiness by saying “he writes school papers for fun.” While I’ve never thought of things from that perspective, it’s a fairly accurate depiction of my blogging. Each individual post could be an essay, some sort of self-imposed homework, as if I’ve been composing term papers over and over for nearly two decades.

The irony of my son’s description of me is how I was a terrible student. I was that kid who avoided homework but still managed to get high test scores. I was flunking daily work but an honor roll student in exams. My four attempts at post-secondary education were all hindered by a lack of money or a lack of time. If you complied all my credits together, I’d still be considered a college freshman.

Looking through my professional career it’s amazing how much I’ve accomplished without a bachelor’s degree, but it’s also easy to see how many opportunities I’ve missed for the same reason. I’ve had promotions given to less qualified people because they had college degrees. I’ve also been given responsibilities and job titles typically reserved for people who graduated with some sort of tech school or trade certification.

When I was in second grade, I scored high enough on IQ testing administered by my school to be considered one of the smartest kids in the district and entered an enhanced class for the future MENSA members of Marysville once a week. In fifth grade, I was falling behind in math, so they sent me into special education for an hour every day. Teachers didn’t know how to handle me. I was the first student in the history of the Marysville School District to be simultaneously enrolled in accelerated and remedial classes. At 18, I got my diploma with a GPA that placed me close to halfway between the worst and best students in my graduating class. As for college, it was the illogical logic of economics that broke me and ended my educational career.

I didn’t stop learning though. Even with no grades or deadlines compelling me, I still indulged in research. I educated myself as acts of entertainment and self preservation. I completed classes in Ancient Greek translation and comic book composition. I studied psychology, philosophy, religion, government, history, mythology, cryptozoology, geography, and a wide range of sciences from astronomy, to biochemistry, to quantum mechanics - all because I wanted to. I’ve read peer reviewed academic papers for fun. I’ve helped friends pass their college English and communication classes. My google history includes searches for the most flammable alcohols available in medieval times, the effects of sensory deprivation, string theory, a list of bodies found in peat bogs, and various other inquiries dooming me to an inevitable invitation to an NSA watchlist. I excel at both trivia and improv comedy. I’m a DJ, a farmer, and a licensed minister. I’ve even written a novel.

Sadly, the accumulation of my accomplishments mean absolutely nothing to corporate recruiters, hiring managers, and prospective employers. As for as they’re concerned, I’m the smartest idiot you’ll ever meet.

If you ever wondered what happened to gifted youngsters when they grew up, it’s me. I’m what happened to all of those brilliant young minds with unlimited potential. We grew up to be unremarkable middle aged burnouts with acute anxiety, undiagnosed ADHD, and prescriptions for depression and hypertension. We’ve forgotten our childhood dreams while encouraging our kids to aim for the stars. We never became better than this because we were constantly told we’re better than this. With countless possibilities in front of us, we ended up with none of the above. We’ve pondered the existence of an infinite number of universes where we became something incredible in all of them except this one. We’re not unhappy with the life we live, but it often seems the life we live is unhappy with us.

Autism has been a double edge sword for me. It is the reason I was a gifted child. It made me smarter than most, but it also made it difficult to keep up with my peers. It made me a bright young man who needed to apply myself more. It made me sociable while failing to understand social rules. It made me a polymath with such varied interests I could relate to almost anyone but also made me awkward with difficulties maintaining a conversation. It helped me know a little about everything but not everything about anything. I’ve learned enough about such a wide variety of different topics, I could easily complete a senior thesis in several fields of study. I am a jack of all majors but a masters degree of none.

This is who I am: a person who writes school stuff for fun. I am an uneducated genius. At least my teenaged son thinks I’m smart but in a nerdy way.


More to read:
My experience as a student
I was a peculiar kid
Dreams of another gifted child

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Writing a Novel

Hero was in love with the girl next door. Unfortunately, she was courtesan pledged to be married to a famous soldier who was on his way home from war to claim his new bride. Not all is hopeless for romance; Hero’s family has a slave named Pseudolus who will do anything to earn his freedom and he’s willing to lie or cheat to get it. Pseudolus sees this star-crossed lust as his chance to escape slavery.

The two boys hatch a plan. Pseudolus will help Hero get the girl of his dreams. In exchange, Hero will grant Pseudolus the freedom for which he yearns. The scheme is complicated and does not turn out the way they hoped. High jinks, and supposedly comedy ensue.

This is the gist of the 1966 movie, “A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum.” I was a kid the first time I watched it: junior high aged, perhaps younger. At the time, it was the weirdest film I had ever seen. My undeveloped brain struggled to follow the quick dialog and musical numbers. I failed to see the humor or purpose of the elements of slapstick and farce. I was unable to understand the satirical social commentary. I was soured by the 60s sounding score and the dated Romanesque costumes. “A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum” is not a kids movie and I was far too young to enjoy it.

courtesy of UA/MGM

Now older and more appreciative of movie history I’ve grown into a connoisseur of a wider variety of film styles. I’m no longer appalled by the shenanigans of Pseudolus and Hero in their quests for freedom and love. Upon review, I’ve found myself relating to the slave Pseudolus. I’m not the liar and cheater like the movie character but I understand his motives. Playing matchmaker for Hero and Philia was his one opportunity to seize everything he ever wanted. He saw this as his one shot and was not going to miss his chance to blow because this opportunity comes once in a lifetime.

That makes sense to me.

Pseudolus was a slave to Hero’s parents and he wanted a new and better life. I’m also a slave to our modern world: a nine to five job, child support payments, a mortgage, grocery coupons, rebellious teenagers, and a limited budget. For nearly a dozen years I’ve felt like writing was the only available ticket to my new and better life. If my outlook was dismal, I would write my way out. I don’t have any star-crossed friends who want to be lovers in need of my help, but I did write a book. Sometimes it feels like my one shot, one opportunity. If I can’t turn my authorship into a career, there is no plan B. Like Eminem said, Success is my only mother(expletive) option.

courtesy of Universal Pictures

Like Pseudolus and his ill advised trip to the forum, a funny thing happened to me on the way to writing a novel. Several years ago, when blogging was still the next big thing, a friend of mine got a two book publishing contract with one of the big five. I was excited for her, along with our little blogging network. After the debut of her first novel, she started blogging less and eventually stopped updating her blog. It’s been over a decade since she’s posted anything on her blog. I understand why she did what she did so I’m not holding any grudges. At the same time, I swore I would not fall to the same fate when I wrote my first book. But here we are. Ever since I started working on “Kingdom of Odd,” my blogging output has dwindled.

Now is my time to hustle, edit and refine, and dive headfirst into the world of shameless self promotion. Keyboard fail me not this may be the only opportunity that I got.


More to read:

Me and that Eminem song
Why I write
My novel in process

Be Weird

Do you remember the first time you realized you were weird? I do.

It happened during the 1983/84 school year and I was four years old. My best friend in preschool was a kid named Marcus. While I thought I was friends with all of the kids in our class, Marcus was the only one who really treated me like I was his friend.

Show and tell was always a highlight - being able to see all the cool stuff other students brought. Their swag was always so much cooler than anything I had to share. Marcus proved it one week when he brought in the Millennium Falcon play-set. It was the big one that opened up and had space to stand action figures inside. It was so large he had to carry it with two hands.

photo courtesy Kenner

My mom and aunts took me to the theater for a Return of the Jedi showing the previous summer and I thought it was the best movie ever. I was obsessed with Wookiees, Ewoks, Sarlaccs, and Kowakian monkey-lizards (Salacious B. Crumb was my favorite character).

The most exciting Star Wars toy I owned was a speeder bike that exploded into four pieces when you pushed a button behind the seat. Then my best friend walked into our classroom with the most epic toy my young brain could have imagined. I was legitimately jealous. When it was his turn for show and tell that day, I spoke the word that Keanu popularized a decade and a half later. “Whoa.”

Was it really that awesome though? I thought so. And Marcus was proud of it. Unfortunatly, we were the only two students who had positive feelings about the Millennium Falcon. The other kids in our class were unimpressed. When our teachers asked if anyone had questions for Marcus, I was the only student to raise a hand. No one else cared. I watched Marcus deflate, his pride slowly evaporated.

These days, the same toy now sells for anywhere between $300 and $400. In hindsight, Marcus and I knew something about the magic of a galaxy from a long time ago and far far away. We were ahead of our time. Or rather, we were geeks out of place. Return of the Jedi might have been the most popular movie of 1983, but in our conservative evangelical ran preschool in our corner of suburbia, being a Star Wars fan made you a weirdo.

Marcus’ anticlimactic moment in the show and tell spotlight was the first time I realized I was weird. All our peers disapproved of his special interest except me. If he was weird for what he liked, then I was weird too.

Countless interactions with my church peers throughout my childhood and adolescence reconfirmed my oddities. I was the short kid, uncoordinated, and the last one picked in all of our competitive games. I was the theater geek, the quirky and socially awkward kid, the only one in church who read comic books. I was the lone fan of science fiction, fantasy, and horror. I was never elected into the leadership team even though I was one of the few kids who showed up to every event, entered every talent show, played every puding-through-the-nose game, attended every camp and retreat, and participated in every work and witness trip. By the time I graduated high school my role of the outcast was clear, I would never be a part of that inner circle.

Marcus was still around, as weird as always. But he was at peace with his weirdness. He found a way to lean into it and embrace it. He knew the cool kids in our youth group would never accept him, and he didn’t care. He and I walked away with his preschool show and tell defeat with different lessons. He was determined to never let the opinions of our church peers bother him again, while I desperately and fruitlessly sought their approval. It would take me another two decades to find the happiness in weirdness Marcus developed as a teenager.

Grandpa Budd’s funeral was last week. I watched online as Grandpa’s friends and my family entered with a pizazz rarely observed at such somber events. Many wore red clown noses, track suits were abundant, a few people walked into the sanctuary on stilts, and nearly everyone wore bright colors. After the funeral, they held a party with calisthenics and dancing. In the atmosphere of grief and loss, the room was filled with joy and energy. That’s the way Grandpa desired it. He wanted his family to be as loud and as fun as he was.

This is the side of my family who treated me to my first movie theater experience to see Return of the Jedi. This is the side of the family who taught me to enjoy Batman, Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, and The Matrix - but also "normal" things like travel and volleyball. Grandpa was an athlete and educator with an irrepressible thirst for knowledge and a goofy sense of humor. He gave me my passion for continuous learning and my insatiable wanderlust. He also gifted our whole family the freedom to be weird. Or as my cousin Wendy said, “Thanks Grandpa for being a total weirdo and ensuring that your family followed suit.”

photo courtesy my cousin Wendy

My life has been so much better since I learned the skills my friend Marcus and my Grandpa Budd had already mastered. Weirdness is an asset. My family has always been weird and it took me far too long to appreciate it. I’ve always been weird and I wish I gave myself permission to enjoy it sooner.

Be weird. It’s a beautiful thing to embrace your weirdness. If I have one mission in life, it’s to live out my God-given weirdo personality to help others find joy and peace in their own weirdish ways. To help you live weird.


More to read:

Marcus and Black Hole Sun
Marcus and cold weather
Remebering Grandma Budd

Can’t Take You Seriously

When I was growing up, I was taught by parents, teachers, and pastors how honesty was one of the most worthy virtues a person can possess. You’re only as good as your word. Politically speaking, I was raised to believe Democrats were all liars but Republicans were honest. Then as a teenager, watching the news of Clinton’s affair was supposed to cement my belief in the fundamental dishonesty hardwired into the Democrat party.

As an adult, I know better. I now know there are more deceitful politicians than there are trustworthy politicians. Regardless of political party, people lie to get elected. Or, at best, they make promises they can’t keep. Once in office, they will manipulate facts to fit their agenda and take credit for achievements they originally opposed to make themselves look better. I have seen this happen time and time again, from Republicans, Democrats, Libertarians, and others.

If the last seven years have taught me anything, the bombardment of political lies (or as one once said … “alternative facts”), one party has turned dishonesty into an art form. The abundance of deceitfulness has become weighted heavier toward the party of so-called honesty. At this point, it’s out of control. To demonstrate what I mean, you should watch this. Actually, you only need to watch the first 29 seconds. The rest of it is biased punditry.



How do people like this get elected? How do her constituents take her seriously? How does anybody take her seriously? How am I supposed to trust the opinions of anyone who supports her? While I realize Marjorie Taylor Greene does not represent every conservative I know, she is influential within the GOP.

That said, let’s look at her claims from this very short statement.

1. When she was in 11th grade, Joe Biden made schools gun free zones. 2. A student brought guns to her school after her school was made a gun-free zone by Joe Biden. 3. There was no good guy with a gun to protect them and there should be armed personnel in schools to prevent stuff like this.

Great. Is there any truth to her statement?

In the fall of 1990, MTG was a junior at South Forsyth High School. On September 7th, a gunman entered the school with a pistol, shotgun, and a rifle. In other speeches, she’s said that this was one of the scariest days of her life which is understandable. There was a law passed in 1990 to make schools gun free zones so she seems to be talking about things that actually happened. But is she?

Who was the president when this happened? George HW Bush. Who signed the Gun-Free School Zones Act of 1990 into law? George HW Bush. Who introduced the bill in the Senate? Senator Kohl, a democrat from Wisconsin. Was this a liberal attack on the second amendment? It passed the house with strong bipartisan support 313 to one and was signed by a conservative president. Did Joe Biden make it happen? Well, he was a senator at the time so it’s likely he voted in favor of it but that’s about the extent of his involvement.

There’s more though. The Gun-Free School Zones Act of 1990 was signed into law on November 29th 1990 - almost three months after a gunman held students hostage at MTG’s school. Her school wasn’t a gun-free zone when the gunman entered her campus. If there weren’t any good guys with a gun present, that would have been due to her school district’s policies, not due to federal law.

There’s still more. How did the incident in her school end? No one was injured. No one was killed. Who stopped the bad guy with a gun? An unarmed good Guy. A teacher risked their own life, physically taking the rifle out of the gunman’s hands. Without the rifle, the handgun used to hold other students hostage and even then it wasn’t a good guy with a gun to end the crisis. The ordeal ended because the bad guy with a gun lacked stamina, he turned himself in after feeling dizzy.

Let’s re-examine her claims. 1. Joe Biden did not make schools gun free zones when MTG was in 11th grade. 2. There was a gun related incident at her school before schools were made gun-free zones, not after. 3. A good guy with a gun wasn’t needed to protect the other kids at her school.

In less than 20 second of talking, she spouted off a demonstrably false statement. Anyone with basic google search skills can look up the facts of her claim and realize the speech flowing from her mouth is a word salad of horse shit.

This is why I can’t take the GOP seriously. This is worse than the “all politicians lie” trope. If you’re going to make up your own facts, at least make it believable. If you’re going to be a lying liar who tells lies, pick a story that isn’t so easily disproven. The modern GOP has elevated dishonesty as if it’s some sort of virtue. MTG isn’t the only blatant liar in the Republican roster. It’s her and Lauren Boebert. And Matt Gaetz. And Ted Cruz. And George Santos. And Josh Hawley.

I’m a believer in having conservative voices in government. I think they help temper the wildest ideas of liberals in elected positions. But in the current state of American politics, I would gladly accept the worst of the DNC’s proposals over the constant barrage of deceit and grift that has permeated the GOP.

If there is to be any sanity in conservatism, they need to reject the charlatans who have become the spokespeople of the Republican Party. Until that happens, I can’t take you seriously.

Good Will Through Older Eyes

In the fall of 1997, 18 year old me had this massive crush on a girl I met through church. She wasn’t one of the popular kids from our youth group, a trait we shared. She could have been if she wanted to but I think she didn’t want to be a part of that inner circle. An outsider by choice. We hung out a lot and she was flirtatious. She was one of the few girls at my church that didn’t treat me like I was a weirdo. Did I need a sign to know if she was into me? Maybe. The sign was lit up in neon lights with all arrows pointed at her. If I had asked her out on a date, she would have said yes.

If.

The question of our romance remains hypothetical. A really big if. Why? Because I never asked her out.

The reasons are many. I was young and stupid. Naive. I might have had the ego and invincible arrogance of any normal newly minted adult, but I also struggled with soul crushing insecurity - a malady that would grow into diagnosed depression and anxiety as I got older. While I was 99% sure she liked me and would be willing to date me, that 1% chance was holding me back.

What if I was wrong? What if she wasn’t flirting? What if that’s just her personality? What if there was no meaning to her giggles and hair twirls while she stared at me? What if there was no emotion to the times she touched my arm or placed her hand on my back? Like a criminal trial, there was reasonable doubt. I couldn’t find her guilty of infatuation so I couldn’t sentence her to my adoration.

Like I said, I was young. And dumb.

My best friend, Jeff and I worked at a record store at the time. When the girl mentioned needing a job, I suggested she come work with us. She applied and with a good recommendation from me, she was hired. I was twitter-pated. Now I could see those eyes gazing into my deepest being six days a week instead on once a week. I could have longer conversations and feel her lingering touch more often than I had ever expected. We worked well together, occasionally took lunch breaks in tandem. I’d drop by when I wasn’t scheduled to see if she was still there; anything for a little extra time in her presence. Yet I still never asked her out. This awkward reciprocal flirting and unrequited romantic tension went on for months.

After work on Friday, December 5th, 1997, Jeff and I opened the store. He and I were the only two people employees for the first few hours of our shift. There weren’t many customers visiting that morning, so we had a lot of time to chat and goof off. When he and I talked our conversations were deeply philosophical, even if immature. Our topics usually fell into one of three topics: God, girls, and geekery. After all, we were straight dudes trying to figure out our places in this world. As for the nerd talk, Jeff was the dude who got me into comic books back in junior high. We bonded in high school drama club. We were both fans of horror and science fiction. After graduation, he and I were practically brothers, going to concerts, movies, and poker night together nearly every weekend.

That Friday, the girls topic narrowed down to one girl. The girl. The one I had been enamored with for most of the previous six months. He wanted to know why I still hadn’t asked her out. Even he could see she wanted me to ask her on a date.

I told him I couldn’t. He said I was an amateur. I told him she was beautiful, smart, fun, and different than any girl I’d ever known. He said he’d ask her out for me if I didn’t do it. I balked. I explained she was too perfect and I didn’t want to ruin what I had. He smacked the back of my head and said “Maybe you’re perfect right now” and suggested it was me I didn’t want to ruin.

How do I remember the exact day and date that conversation transpired? Because it’s the day the movie Good Will Hunting was released. After Jeff and I clocked out from work, we drove to the theater in Lynnwood and watched it. That was common for us, catching the movies we were most excited to see on opening night. We did it with everything from The Matrix to The Big Lebowski to The Mask of Zorro.

In the movie, Will (Matt Damon) told his therapist Sean (Robin Williams) about a recent date with a girl he liked. Sean asked if they were going on another date and Will said he didn’t know because he hadn’t called her back. Sean called Will an amateur.

Then Will said “Don’t worry about me. I know what I’m doin’. Yeah, but this girl was, like, you know, beautiful. She’s smart. She’s fun. She’s different from most of the girls I’ve been with.” Sean urged him to call the girl. Will continued, “Why? So I can realize she’s not that smart? That she’s fuckin’ boring? You know, I mean, you don’t. This girl’s, like, fuckin’ perfect right now. I don’t wanna ruin that.”

Sean replied, “Maybe you’re perfect right now. Maybe you don’t wanna ruin that. But I think that’s a super philosophy, Will. That way, you can go through your entire life without ever having to really know anybody.”

In the darkeness of the theater, Jeff and I turned our heads to look at each other. His expression matched mine. Jaw slack and wide eyed. Our earlier interaction matched the movie nearly word for word, just with less swearing. It’s as if Matt Damon and Ben Affleck were time travelers and they eavesdropped on our future discussion when writing this scene. We walked out of that theater questioning ourselves. “Did that really happen? Did we recreate the movie before even seeing in it? Was our life imitating art? And how could we recreate art with no prior knowledge of the art we copied?

The movie also made me cry. Seeing Matt Damon break down into tears as he and Robin Williams’ embrace at the end of the film is enough to melt the coldest heart. Good Will Hunting impacted me in other ways. Lines like “How do you like them apples” and “Go with the wrench” and “It’s not your fault” have become permanent parts of my vocabulary. As an autistic person I’ve always used song lyrics, movie dialog, and literary quotes as substitutes for original communication as a way of masking my social awkwardness. It’s called scripting.

It shouldn’t need said, but Good Will Hunting remains one of my favorite movies of all time. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve watched it.

My oldest son has been struggling lately as he is trying to figure out how to adult. After he got some discouraging news recently, I figured he and I needed a movie night. Something to help him feel better. A reminder that it’s not his fault. Naturally, I chose Good Will Hunting. He’s roughly the same age now as when I first saw the film: halfway between 18th and 19th birthdays. He is, like I was, going through transitions, trying to discover who he is and what he wants from life. Confident yet insecure. Opinionated yet confused.

Thankfully, he really liked the movie. I don’t think my ego would have survived if he said it was dumb. Then we talked for a bit. Thomas already knew about the girl and the saga of me never asking her out. I’ve told him the whole story before because it includes one of the few times I believe I audibly heard God speaking to me. When the movie was over, he asked me if I regretted not asking the girl out, much the same way Will asked Sean if he regretted meeting his wife. I told my son no. I have a lot of regrets, but not asking that girl on a date isn’t one of them. We talked about a couple other things and Thomas let me know he felt better after watching the movie. Mission accomplished.

Aside from getting my son’s impression on one of my cinematic favorites, I also had an unexpected observation about myself.

The first time I watched this movie, I identified so much with Will. Unlike him, I wasn’t abused or shuffled around different foster homes. I had parents who loved me. I was not as violent. I didn’t smoke, didn’t drink alcohol. But I was insecure and angry like Will Hunting. Both Will the character and Nic the kid were well above average intelligence failing to live up to our potentials. I saw him as a more delinquent version of me. Repeat viewings never changed the connection I felt to Matt Damon’s creation. But something different happened last night. For the first time, I related more to Robin Williams character. I felt more like the therapist Sean than the patient Will.

It’s not 1997 anymore. I still need to improve myself. But I’m not the lost, insecure, and directionless kid I once was.

During the same counseling session where Will and Sean talked about Will’s date and the possibility of more, Sean said “You're not perfect. And let me save you the suspense, this girl you met isn't either. The question is, whether or not you're perfect for each other.” I feel this in my soul these days. Annie and I both know we’re not perfect people, but we are perfect for each other.

When Will challenges Sean, the therapist replied, “I teach this shit, I didn't say I knew how to do it.” If there was a line from Good Will Hunting that resembles who I am today, that would be it.