List-en Up!

Alright, everyone. Today's post is very simple. These are things I want to do before I cash in my chips in a couple hundred years. You may have read my partial one which I posted a couple of weeks ago; this one is my complete one. Mr. President, I realize that you are an avid reader of my blog and yes, it's true. I would like to meet you. However, if you are voted out of office before I get the opportunity, I will want to meet the next one.

Also, readers, you will notice that my bucket list includes the item "Have 100 blog views in a single day." That one is entirely up to my readership. I guess I could track my own views and look at my own bblog 100 hundred times in a day, but I will not do that because that's cheating. I am leaving it in your hands, readers. It's all up to you whether that one comes true for me or not.

Bucket List

1. Ride a bike down the Great Wall of China.

2. Catch a marlin in the Caribbean.

3. Write a book which unexpectedly lands on the New York Times best-seller list.

4. Appear on a Food Network TV show. I'd make burgers wrapped in pancetta and smothered in gouda and grilled portabello mushrooms. And instead of a bun, I would use grilled eggplant.

5.Teach in a university classroom on the twentieth-century authors who have received a Nobel Prize for Literature or Peace. That includes, Marquez, Wiesel, Camus, Soyinka, Beckett, and Hemingway.

6. Attend a Baltimore Ravens football game.

7. Sit on a bridge overlooking the Seine, eating baguettes and Emmentaler Grand Cru.

8. Sing "London Bridge is Falling Down" on the London Bridge.

9. Be somebody's wish.

10. Win a raffle

11. Have at least one bookshelf dedicated to all of the things I’ve published

12. Own and read every book that C.S. Lewis ever wrote

13. Learn Arabic

14. Learn how to build a computer from parts

15. Repel down the Malad Gorge

16. Go on ten fossil digs

17. Make an archeological find

18. Have a picnic on a pyramid

19. Write a song that gets on the radio

20. Climb a very tall mountain

21.Learn a type of martial arts

22. Invent something useful

23. Be in a movie

24. Attend the Super Bowl

25. Bench press 350 pounds

26. Make a giant Jack o’ lantern and leave it on someone’s lawn, aflame for all to see

27. Build my own canoe out of a tree I cut down myself

28. Learn how to paint (for real) with oil and canvas and acrylic and watercolors and other things

29. Go to the Nobel Prize convention in Sweden (and while I’m there visit Villa Villekulla where Pippi Longstocking lived, though I'm not certain it's a real place)

30. Learn to ski without killing myself

31. Bury something cool then dig it up fifty years later (or allow someone else to dig it up)

32. Use a reference from Carlo Collodi’s Le Avventure di Pinocchio in my dissertation

33. Shoot a large animal and have its head mounted

34. Float down a river on a wooden raft like Huck and Jim

35. Have an exotic pet, or at least pet an exotic pet

36. Roll down the street in a tire (see To Kill a Mockingbird)

37. Meet the current President of the United States

38. Go to a General Conference session

39. Attend a Celtics game

40. Get to the Pro level on Wii Boxing

41. See an opera in the Teatro Massimo

42. Visit Pompeii

43. Visit Brindisi and the little thrift shop next to the Internet café just down from where I used to live

44. Have a hot-air balloon ride

45. Eat shark

46. Own a telescope

47. Learn calligraphy and make an illuminated script on parchment

48. Have a Where the Wild Things Are birthday party and have a wild rumpus (and maybe send everyone home without supper)

49. Visit Mayan ruins

50. Spend a long time in Ireland writing and learning Gaelic

51. Read Will Durrant’s The Story of Civilization (all 11 vols.)

52. See Jerusalem and climb Mt. Sinai

53. Wear Utes shirt to a BYU-Utah football game, then rip it to shreds like the Incredible Hulk

54. Play Moonlight Sonata on the piano without a mistake

55. Build a cabin of clay and wattles (I don’t want to live in it more than a day though) like W.B. Yeats

56. Go up a hill to fetch a pail of water then roll down without breaking my crown

57. Pan for gold in the Yukon

58. Have a dog named Buck

59. Visit the Sistine chapel

60. Make a YouTube video that gets 1,000 views

61. Get 100 blog views in a day

62. Publish a children’s book

63. Catch a salmon in Alaska, roast over a fire, and eat it with dill and lemon juice (Not totally something that Bear Grylls would do, but I'm not Bear Grylls)

64. Visit the Sacred Grove

65. Go to a game show (not be on a game show. Martha!)

Anyway, this is my life, reversed and put in list format. I would also like to know if any of my readers have done these things. If so, feel free to tell me how it went. If they aren't everything they ought to be, I may replace them with something else. But probably not.

By the way, how's your bucket list coming along?

The Five People You'd Like to Meet in Heaven: The Final Episode

Act V

When I arrive back at the booth, I notice that St. Peter is back in his spot. However, he's arguing with someone at the desk. When I look closer, I realize it's Jimmy Mcmillan, the former gubernatorial candidate for the state of New York. From where I'm standing, it looks like it's getting fairly heated.

Jimmy: Now what kind of accommodations can I expect?

Peter: You get a mansion.

Jimmy: How much does it cost?

Peter: Actually, it doesn't cost anything.

Jimmy: I'm telling you  that the rent is too d--- high!

Peter: Jimmy, you're not allowed to say that here, and it doesn't cost a...

Jimmy: Say what?

Peter: You can't say that here.

Jimmy: I can't say that?

Peter: No, you can't say d---...oh, shoot. Look what you made me do now, Jimmy. You made me break the rules. Thanks so much.

Jimmy: I still say the rent is too d--- high.

Peter: There isn't any rent. You just agree to abide by the rules of heaven. We don't use any money up here, so you don't pay anything.

Jimmy: But if I follow the rules, can I tell people I'm from the Rent Is Too D--- High Party?

Peter: Only if you use a euphemism.

Jimmy: Alright. Do I get breakfast, lunch, and dinner?

Peter: You do not need breakfast, lunch, and dinner in heaven.

Jimmy: How come?

Peter: Because you're dead.

Jimmy: I can't be dead. I never took my gloves off.

Peter: Trust me, Jimmy. You're dead.

Jimmy: Look, I am a karate expert. You cannot tell me that I am dead. I can tell you that you are dead. I am not dead. I demand a roof over my head, money in my pocket, and breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And you wanna know why?

Peter: I'm not going to say it, Jimmy.

Jimmy: Because the rent is too d--- high!

Peter: Jimmy, you say that one more time, and I'm going to send you down the laundry chute. Either you stand by the rules or you cannot come in here. Understood?

Jimmy: Can I keep my beard and sideburns?

Peter: Uh, yes, you may.

Jimmy: Fine. I'll do it. But if you try to jack up my rent, you better know that I won't pay it. You wanna know why?

Peter: I'm pretty sure I know why.

Jimmy: Because the rent is too...high!

Peter: You got lucky there, Jimmy. If you'd slipped, you would have been out of here.



Jimmy walks away, jingling to keys of his new house and muttering something about getting married to a shoe Peter wipes the sweat off of his forehead and looks at me.

Peter: Oh, wonderful. An easy one.

Me: You look like you've had a day of it.

Peter: You wouldn't believe it if I told you.

Me: Tell me, and we'll see if I believe you or not. I'll ask you three times if you want.

Peter: No, once is enough.

Me: So, what's up?

Peter: Well, it started when James Harrison tackled Roger Goodell and sat on his face. I had to go break that ruckus up.

Me: Does that sort of thing happen frequently?

Peter: Only to Roger. Sometimes it takes a while for disgruntled players to get over their grudges. It got so bad that we had to move him to a secure facility where former NFL players aren't allowed. His only problem is staying inside the fences. Today, he put one toe outside of the gate, and Harrison made him pay for it.

Me: I hope he's okay.

Peter: Well, no one gets hurt in heaven, so Roger's fine. Harrison just likes to pretend that he's breaking Rog in half. No real harm done.

Me: Well, glad to hear that.

Peter: Then, Beethoven showed up and wanted to know how to get somewhere. I tried to explain, but he kept saying "Huh?" "Huh?" Slightly frustrating.

Me: I can imagine.

Peter: Of course, he's not as frustrating as Bill O' Reilly, though. All that man does is sit around and call people pinheads. The nerve. It's like listening to a tasteless Mark Twain with no imagination.

Me: (nodding in agreement)

Peter: And then, of course, Moses received an important epistle from Paul and lost it. Started to tear his mansion apart trying to find. I showed up to help him look and told him to stop being a basket case.

Me: What did he say?

Peter: He took offense to that remark and said I sure was high and mighty for someone who's needed in denial. Don't know where he would get that idea. But it is kind of like the pot calling the kettle black. He's been in denial himself, you know. It's was his mother's fault. He was in denial because of her. At least, that's what Freud said.

Me: Did you find it eventually?

Peter: Find what?

Me: The epistle.

Peter: Oh, yes. Nothing stays lost here for long. We're all about finding things. Even if it takes forty years of wandering around and looking, things don't stay lost. Except Robin Williams, of course. He's always been lost; even when he was alive, he was lost. Most of us are glad of it too. You can only take so many of his bad impressions and jokes before you want to tell him, "Get lost!" At which point, he yells back, "TOO LATE!" and runs away to bother someone else.

Me: That's too bad.

Peter: Then I took a trip over to the counseling center to check on Ernest and Sylvia just before coming back to the gates, and I ran into Nostradamus.

Me: What did he say?

Peter: It's always the same thing with him. He has no self-confidence anymore. All he does is moan annd ask, "Why doesn't anyone believe me?"

Me: Hmm.

Peter: And finally, there was Jimmy, and you saw what happened with him.

Me: Sounds like you could use a break.

Peter: It's not really as bad as I make it sound. Besides, someone has to do the work. If I don't do my part, I probably don't belong here. But you, you probably want to see your final person, correct?

Me: Yes, sir. I do.

Peter: And I think, if I remember correctly, you wanted to speak with Elvis?

Me: Yes, sir.

Peter: And I explained that we have no idea which one...


Suddenly, James runs up the window, out of breath.

Peter: James, what is going on?

James: We've found him!

Peter: Who?

James: Elvis Presley!

Peter: But how did you...

James: We ran paternity tests. We found Elvis' real father and tested everyone up here. We've found him!


Peter turns to me.

Peter: Well, it looks like you can have your interview after all. Did you still want to talk to him?

Me: Actually, I changed my mind. I really just wanted to talk to you for a while.

Peter: (smiling) Well, that's nice.

Me: You've helped me a lot. You and Charlie both have helped me. Cleared up my perspective on what heaven's supposed to be, and what I'm supposed to do annd how I need to act.

Peter: I'm glad we could help. By the way, did you notice how different Charlie looks whhen he's not in black and white?

Me: I did. I told him so.

Peter: Well, I wish you all the best anyway. Don't be a stranger. Come see us once you get settled in. Maybe we can find some work for you up here.

Me: I'll keep that in mind.

Peter: Have a good afterlife.

Me: Thanks. You too.

The Five People You'd Like to Meet in Heaven: Episode 4

Act IV

Instead of leaving the room right away to alert the front desk that they can send in the next interviewee, I sit in my chair and wonder what the h--- just happened.

Unknown voice: You can't think that!

Startled, I jump to my feet and look around. No one. Jehoshaphat, I think. That scared the h--- out of me.

Unknown voice: You can't think that!

D--- it, where is that voice coming from?

Unknown voice: You can't think that!

I race out of the room. Holy Moses, Big Brother's here too. I finally arrive at the front booth. Charlie's still there. With a confused look, he says, "Um, why have you been running? You don't need to run here; this is heaven after all."

Me: I keep...hearing...a voice. I think something...or someone is...watching me. Reading...my thoughts. Scared...me."

Charlie: Oh, don't be scared about that. It's just your conscience.

Me: My...conscience? It's never been...it's never been that vocal before.

Charlie: Well, in heaven everyone's conscience is much louder. It's standard procedure to amplify your shoulder angel a little when you come here. It's also easier to hear because your shoulder devil isn't so loud.

Me: Is there anyway to decrease to the volume?

Charlie: (nods) Mm-hmm.

Me: How?

Charlie: You really want to know? I'll tell you the secret. (he leans close to my face and yells) STOP SAYING BAD WORDS! (then, smiling) So, how did your visit with The Rock go?

Me: The Rock didn't let me talk.

Charlie: I expected that. The Rock doesn't let anyone talk. The Big Guy is the only one who can actually say anything with The Rock around.

Me: I wish you'd told me.

Charlie: About what?

Me: That my interview with The Rock would be a waste of time.

Charlie: Look, if you haven't learned by now that making choices--and sometimes bad ones--is the only way to learn, then maybe you're in the wrong place. There's a spot for people who don't want to make choices and learn from consequences, and it's not heaven.

Me: Wait a minute. Learning? That was before, right? That was when I was alive. I'm done with that, right?

Charlie: You think so? Then let me teach you something right now: life was all preparation for heaven. You don't stop learning now just because you're dead.

Me: Oh.

Charlie: Now do you understand?

Me: I guess so.

Charlie: Good. Now, (he scans the list) who do you need to see now? Hmm. Okay, you want to see Yogi Berra? (chuckling) I'll get him for you. He'll need someone to make sure he makes it alright. He tends to get lost.

Me: In heaven? You can get lost in heaven?

Charlie: I don't, and most other people don't. But Yogi, well, Yogi's special. You'll never meet a kinder man, but he's almost completely devoid of common sense.

Me: Well, I guess I expected that.

Charlie: (nods) You want to know something? Over on Seraphim Boulevard, we put a fork in the road. It's the same idea I was telling you about just now. If the road turns into two, then people can choose which one they want to travel down and they'll learn from it. Robert Frost was actually the architect and foreman for that job.

Me: So what you're saying is, if all roads lead to Rome,  no one could ever get to decide if they want to go to Moscow.

Charlie: Exactly.

Me: I think I get it.

Charlie: Generally people are pretty good about choosing to walk down one street or the other. But Yogi, (chuckling) he takes the fork. Every time. Hops over the barrier and everything. Just wanders around until someone comes to find him.

Me: That's interesting, and yet, I am not surprised.

Charlie: Well, I'll go get him for you. I guarantee you'll have a good time with Yogi.


Twenty-two hundred years go by. Finally, Yogi Berra walks in, sweating.

Me: Yogi, why are you sweating? Heaven's air-conditioned; you shouldn't be sweating.

Yogi: It's not the heat, kid; it's the humility.

Me: Oh, gotcha.

Yogi: By the way, I can't stay and talk long. It gets late early in heaven.

Me: Well, I'll be quick.

Yogi: Say, do I know you? I mean, if I hadn't seen you I probably would never have recognized you.

Me: No, you don't know me.

Yogi: Are you sure? 'Cuz it felt like I was having deja-vu all over again. Were you at my funeral?

Me: Nope.

Yogi: That's probably why I didn't come to yours then. Oh, well. I make wrong mistakes all the time; guess this is just another one.

Me: It's alright, Yogi. Everyone looks like someone.

Yogi: Oh well, I'm not perfect after all, and if I were perfect, I wouldn't be.

Me: I'm not sure what that means.

Yogi: Neither do I. But you know something? You're the first person who ever told me that. Everyone else just sort of laughs and nods like they understand, even though I know they don't. I don't even understand ninety percent of the things I say, and the other half, well, I'm pretty sure I didn't say other half of the things I said.

Me: I'm honored.

Yogi: You should be. Now, do you have some questions for me?

Me: Just one.

Yogi: Go ahead and ask then. But I'll warn you: if you ask me anything I don't know, I'm not going to answer.

Me: Okay. My question is, What do you think of the Yankees now?

Yogi: You know, I wish I had an answer for that because I'm tired of answering that question.

Me: So you don't know?

Yogi: I think they've got deep depth.

Me: Anything else?

Yogi: Look, all I'm saying is, in baseball, you don't know nothing. Don't let anyone tell you different. Half the lies you hear aren't true.

Me: I'm lost.

Yogi: Well, you've got to be careful if you don't where you're going because you might not get there.

Me: So, in theory...

Yogi: There ain't no difference between theory and practice. In practice there is.

Me: So, you're just talking about practice? You and Allen Iverson must have a lot to talk about, I'm thinking.

Yogi: Thinking? How can you think and talk at the same time?

Me: (looking at my wrist, even though watch isn't there anymore) Yogi, I hate to rush you out but you've got to go home, and I need to chat with one more person before they give me the keys to my mansion.

Yogi: Already? But if he hadn't been talking so much, we might have had a conversation.

Me: Well, this is the way it's got to be.

Yogi: Can't I just stay in here for a while? Just until Will Ferrell stops hanging around outside? Every time he sees me, he starts talking like Harry Carey. It's embarassing. I try to get him to stop, but he's one of those people, if they don't already know, you can't tell them.

Me: No, Yogi, I think it would be better if you just went back.

Yogi: Please can I stay?

Me: No, this interview is over.

Yogi: But it ain't over till it's over.

Me: Trust me, Yogi. It's over.

Charlie walks in, takes Yogi by the arm, and leads him out of the room. Just before the door closes, I hear Yogi say, "Charlie, the future just ain't what it used to be."

The Five People You'd Like to Meet in Heaven: Episode 3

Act III

I go back to tell St. Peter I am ready to speak with my third person. However, instead of St. Peter in the booth, I find Charlie Chaplin.

Me: Hello?

Charlie: Oh, good. It's you. I was waiting for you to come. Peter said you would.

Me: You can...talk?

Charlie: Of course, I can. Did you think I couldn't?

Me: Oh, it isn't that. I've just only seen you in the silent films though, so it's odd to hear you speak. By the way, has anyone ever told you how different you look when you aren't in black and white?

Charlie: Excuse me?

Me: I mean, you're just in white now, not in black and white. And why don't you have a mustache anymore?

Charlie: (whispering) You know, facial hair is kind of a delicate topic up here. They actually only allow full beards or clean-shaven faces for the men. I guess they let a few men in with trashy stashes a long time ago, but word got around that pedophiles had broken past security. They had to shave and it's been this way ever since.

Me: I understand.

Charlie: By the way, did you hear what happened earlier?

Me: No, I was busy. Talking to John Wayne, you know.

Charlie: Well, here's the scoop. We've been having to turn away people in the last few hours.

Me: Why?

Charlie: Uh, let's just call it the "looking back" phenomenon.

Me: What does that mean?

Charlie: Well, the main idea is this: people come to the gates and want to come in. And we try to accommodate them. However, as soon as they find out what they can't do in heaven, or what they have to give up, they decide they don't want to come in. This job can be fairly disheartening during those times. Especially considering the things they won't leave behind. Not even for heavenly bliss.

Me: For example?

Charlie: Well, today, the Verizon guy (you know, the nerdy one with the glasses) brought his whole network up here and wanted to come in. But as soon as he was through the gates, he said, "Can you hear me now? Sorry...sorry, what was that? Um, hello? Hello? Shoot, they can't hear me. Must not be a tower around here." He didn't stay, and neither did any of his network, except for the construction workers. Heaven knows why, but they did.

Me: That's too bad.

Charlie: Mm-hmm. And then of course there were the Gatlin Brothers.

Me: What happened to them?

Charlie: Peter told them we didn't have beer in heaven. The thought of prohibition sent them into withdrawals, and they split. It's really a shame. I mean, I'm not a fan of their music (I prefer ragtime) but I wish they had stayed. We'll take as many as we can find, if they're willing to observe the rules.

Me: Anyone else have a problem?

Charlie: Sure. All the time. Clark Gable was in here the other day. He came up to the booth and handed me his list. I said, "Mr. Gable, my mother is a huge admirer of yours." He said, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a d---." I said, "Sorry, Mr. Gable, but you can't say that in heaven." He said, "Really? That's my best line. Forget this place." I kept his list though. Just for the autograph. I told my mom, and she cried for about ten years.

Me: Wow. That is some story.

Charlie: You have no idea. But the worst thing happened today. Michael Jackson showed up.

Me: Michael Jackson? The Michael Jackson?

Charlie: Yep. He said it was great to be here and he loved the decor. After all, white is his favorite color. We were fitting him for his robe, and he said, "What's with this robe?" Raphael told him that we all have to wear them. MJ got upset because he didn't want to give up his red jacket. We kept trying to convince him that he should relinquish it. Raphael even told him how great white looks on him (which we all thought would work), but MJ didn't want to listen. He moon-walked out of here so fast, I didn't even see him go.

Me: Oh, man, I'm sorry.

Charlie: Yeah, it makes this job really hard some times. Not to mention it would have been amazing to have the actual Michael Jackson at Michael Jackson Appreciation Night, but I guess that's why we keep records.

Me: What good do records do?

Charlie: Oh, not the paper kind; I mean the vinyl kind. LPs and 45s have great sound quality and they never get scratched up here. We like to listen to Thriller a lot. Do you know the Thriller dance?

Me: It's been a while, but I think so.

Charlie: Good, you should come. It's...well, I guess you would say it's at 8:00 p.m. on Friday, but we don't really keep time up here, you know. It's more out of habit or convenience when we do. And now you probably have heard enough from me. Who are you going to see next?

Me: It's on the list.

Charlie: Oh, yes. Let's see. (checks the list) Oh, this is nice. You want to see Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson.

Me: Well, I was a big fan during my teenage years. Just though it might be cool to hang out a little and talk.

Charlie: He's a nice guy. I'll have him over in a jiffy. Just a word to the wise: When The Rocks, no one else can. Have a great chat!


Forty years later, The Rock finally shows up.

Rock: Finally, The Rock has come back to...the interview room!

Me: Hi, Mr. The Rock.

Rock: So, what in the blue heaven do you want to talk to The Rock about?

Me: I just wanted....

Rock: It doesn't matter what you wanted to talk to The Rock about!

Me: Okay...then, I really...I, uh, okay...

Rock: Do you stutter? The Rock wants to know if you stutter. Tell The Rock if you stutter!

Me: No, I just...

Rock: Stop wasting The Rock's time then!

Me: Alright, Rock. I won't waste your time anymore.

Rock: Look, let the Rock tell you a little something. The Rock says this, alright? The Rock says this. The Rock says you should get a nice tall glass, fill it full of ice, and make yourself a nice tall glass of shut-up juice! And The Rock says this too. The Rock says you need to go back to St. Peter and ask for someone else to talk to, jabroney!

Me: Can...you even say that in heaven?

Rock: Jabroneys like you can't. The Rock can. You see, The Rock has a license to use the word "jabroney" anytime The Rock wants to use it, and if The Rock hears someone using The Rock's word without The Rock's say-so, The Rock can lay the smackdown on all of your candy...apples!

Me: I guess you couldn't get a license for that word, huh?

Rock: No, The Rock couldn't get a license for that word. You wanna know why? Because The Rock didn't want a license for that word. The Rock prefers to use euphemisms because The Rock thinks they're cool! If you smell...

Me: Um, can I say something?

Rock: Did you just interrupt The Rock? The Rock does not like being interupted. The Rock is the most electrifying man in sports entertainment and The Rock will not be interrupted by you, you beady-eyed, whisker-biscuit, bald-headed...guy! So why don't you go back to Supercuts and get your five dollars back, jabroney! If you smell what The Rock is cooking!

The Rock walks out of the room and slams the door so hard that The Rock almost pulls the door off of the hinges. Not that The Rock meant to slam the door, but The Rock is just so strong that The Rock couldn't help himself. Okay, I think I do need a glass of shut-up juice.

The Five People You'd Like to Meet in Heaven: Episode 2

Act II

Having just finished my interview with Jimmy Stewart, I make my way back to the booth to see St. Peter

Me: Um, excuse me?

Peter: Yes? Oh, it's you again. How was your chat with Jimmy?

Me: Just fine, thank you. I'm ready to meet my second person now.

Peter: Alright. (begins looking through the papers on his desk) I know I put it in here somewhere. (opens and closes the drawers in his desk) I'm always losing things, you know.

Me: I hadn't noticed.

Peter: (holding the paper aloft) Ah! Here it is. Now it says you want to see....John Wayne.

Me: Yes, sir.

Peter: Well, that's going to take a little bit of time. He's out riding fences with Clint Eastwood and Gary Cooper. Checking for break-ins and vandalism and such.

Me: Vandalism? Break-ins? But who would....

Peter: Well, Molech and his gang up to no good ever since they left heaven a long time ago, but recently I think they've gotten tired of hell and want to try heaven again. John, Clint, and Gary are responsible for keeping them out of heaven and away from the walls. And when Molech and his boys are unsuccessful, which they always are, they generally try to spray paint the outer walls. You should have seen some of the dirty pictures they put on there last week. (wipes a tear) And they were such good boys once upon a time; I hate to see them ending up like this, but there's not a whole lot that can be done about it now. More's the pity.

Me: How soon will John be back?

Peter: A while maybe you should just listen to some music in the interview room while you wait.

Me: What kind of music do you have?

Peter: Oh, some of this, and some of that. We have assorted hymns, Handel's Messiah, Pink Floyd, anything from Bach....

Me: Wait a minute. Pink Floyd?

Peter: Of course.

Me: But how?

Peter: Have you ever listened to Pink Floyd?

Me: Yes.

Peter: Didn't "Echoes" and "Marooned" make you feel like you were in heaven?

Me: Come to think of it...

Peter: Exactly. Their only problem was getting here. Turns out they couldn't tell heaven from hell. So, Jacob went out and told them to come on in. Now they really have a great gig in the sky.

Me: Does that happen very often?

Peter: Does what happen very often?

Me: Needing to go out and bring people in?

Peter: Not really, but every once in a while it's necessary. A couple weeks ago Raphael saw Brett Favre out there trying to decide what he wanted to do.

Me: Is he here now?

Peter: Heaven no! He's still out there by himself, trying to make his mind, halted between two opinions. Most lukewarm quarterback I've ever seen.

Me: Okay, well then, I'll just be back in the room until John shows up.

Peter: Good boy. I'll send him in when he gets here.

Two thousand years later, the door opens. In walks a saddle-sore John Wayne.

John: Hello, pilgrim. You wanna see me?

Me: Yes, sir, Mr. Wayne.

John: Mr. Wayne? Mr. Wayne is Batman's father. You can call me John.

Me: Okey-dokey, John.

John: So, whaddya wanna see me about, pilgrim?

Me: I just have a couple questions for you.

John: Yeah?

Me: Why did you change your name?

John: In the first place, Marion Robert Morrison wasn't very tough sounding. Second, when a young kid like me has the initials MM, the other kids are bound to make up nicknames, which they did. When I turned six years old, they called me 6 millimeter. When I turned nine, I was M 'n M. And when turned twelve, they all called me "Mm-mm, good." So I changed it to something that couldn't be so easily mocked. One kid kept calling me Marion, so I belted him in the mouth. Told him, "You can call me John, you can call me Johnny, you can me a dirty son of a saint, but if you ever call me Marion again I'll finish this fight." I never had to though. So what's your other question, pilgrim?

Me: What made you decide to allow your character to get killed in The Cowboys? I watched it the other day, and I had to shut my eyes when Bruce Dern was shooting you in the back?

John: That's an interesting question, pilgrim. It was a heaven of a tough choice to let myself be shot in the back by someone like Bruce, especially considering his role in Support Your Local Sheriff. However, I figured it was about time I tried something a little different. Some people didn't like it, but I like to think it made for a better story. Got away from the formula, you know?

Me: Yes, I know.

John: Did you like it?

Me: I guess so. I mean, I would have preferred if you had lived to the end, but it was certainly a new take on the John Wayne as Superhero ideal.

John: Well, thanks.

Me: No problem.

John: Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go back on patrol. Gotta keep those fence lines safe, pilgrim. Who knows? Maybe you'll be out there soon, too.

Me: I would like that.

John: So long, pilgrim.

Rah Rah Rah

Well, today my littlest sister had her final performance/competition as a member of her cheer squad, and she did a great job. She even received a medal.

Now, this cheer competition took place at a fairly large gathering in the basketball auditorium at Northwest Nazarene University. I'm not certain how many other squad of different sizes and ages were in attendance, but suffice it to say there were many. If I were to make a guess I would say there were roughly 200-300 perky adolescent girls from all over Idaho and Utah. I attended so as to support my sister and her squad, but prior to leaving for the competition I had no idea what I would be in for once we arrived there.

In short, it was everything I had expected (unfortunately) and much, much more (even more unfortunately). Despite my apparently bad attitude about the whole experience, I did make some interesting observations about the event.

Basically, for four straight hours the air was filled piercing shrieks and popular (though not with me) music. And when I say music, I mean...well, let me put it this way: I have one Katy Perry song ("Hot 'n Cold") on my Ipod. It has now been erased so that I will never have to listen to that song again, even by accident. Further, if Lady Gaga were, by some freak chance (and yes, I use the word freak purposely), on my Ipod, she would quickly meet the same fate. I'm pretty certain that each squad used the same mix of songs in different orders because I heard more Katy Perry, Lady Gaga, Backstreet Boys, and other such (eesh!) music than I have ever cared to in my entire earthly existence. I heard about ten seconds of CCR's "Travelin' Band" and five seconds of "Pour Some Sugar on Me" by Def Leppard, but other than that, the music selection was enough to make me wish I had taken Odysseus's advice and stuffed my ears with wax (see Homer's The Odyssey).

However, it was interesting to see how many of the mothers in the audience (and there were quite a few) who happened to be dyed brunette (I was looking around a lot because the cheer performances were not exactly riveting). I'm not sure if it's a cheer-mom trend or if they merely want to be involved with cheerleading while simultaneously distancing themselves from the--how can I put this--blonde reputation carried on by the (gulp) sport called cheerleading. All I know is this: I have not seen that many brunette dye jobs in one location for a long time. Perhaps ever. But that was the least of the oddities I witnessed.

I saw one girl out in the corridor practicing a butterfly routine (she flitted over and over for about five minutes from one side of the hall to the concession stand and back again), but I think she was trying to work the hyperactivity out of her system because she never performed it in front of the audience.

Another girl could not bear to separated from her cellular device, but she needed her hands free while she carried her large bucket of popcorn, so she was walking around with her phone stuck halfway into the waistband of her cheer uniform.

A coach, of all things, borrowed a bow from one of the girls on her squad (I believe that squad was from Utah), entered the jump-off competition at the end, and, pretending to a member of her own squad, performed against all of the little girls who were actually a part of the competition. No one caught it though, and she walked away with a medal. Now that's some crazy competitive spirit.

Oh, and then there was all the wedgie-picking. Everytime I looked around the room, there was another performer adjusting her spankies. Some were red, some were black, and some were zebra-striped, but they all had one thing in common: they were riding up.

Also, some of the girls (ahem, many) were wearing so much makeup one had to think they were one of three things: child prostitutes, clowns, or cheerleaders. Since prostitution is illegal in Idaho and there weren't any sad clown faces, I could only guess that they were cheerleaders.

Finally, I noticed a woman (a spectator, not a performer) farther down the bleachers who was wearing a black hoody with a gold sequined "z" on the back, along with what I believe was her own cheer uniform: a glittering gold mini-skirt with leopard print spankies showing and matching snow boots. Even I, with my limited sense of style, know that it is taboo to go out in the world (nay, even to stay at home) wearing something like that. I guess the power of the cheer spirit must have possessed her body because I don't know what else could have possessed her to show herself in public that way.

To top it off, we had to pay to get in to this event. Ten bucks a person. The nerve some people have. Taking advantage of me and mine just because I wanted to support my sister in her recreational interests. Tsk, tsk, tsk.

I mean, um, Go, team, go?

The Five People You'd Like to Meet in Heaven: Episode 1

Mitch Albom's book The Five People You Meet in Heaven begins with the death of an old maintenance man named Eddie. Eddie goes to heaven where he meets five people who teach him valuable lessons about sacrifice and other such things.

I do not intend to argue with anyone about who we get to meet on the other side of the Acheron, but the thought did come to me that instead of being assigned to select individuals, I would like to choose the five people I chat with myself. After all, if, by some chance, we retain an iota of what we are here, we're still going to want to make our own decisions every once in a while. This is one of the decisions I want to make. I will keep the number of people I choose to meet in heaven at five, though, and the choices will still be based on my admiration and respect for them and the influence they have been to me.

Now, think for a minute. Think about heaven. Think about dogmatic descriptions of the place--if you must--or your own personal perspective on the organization and landscape of Elysia. For the sake of ease however, let's just say there is a toll booth and St. Peter is in it, raising and lowering the gates. Until you give Peter your list of five people to speak, he won't let you through.

The Five People I'd Like to Meet in Heaven: Act 1

Peter: Got your list?

Me: Yes, sir. Right here.

Peter: Let me see. Hmm (he scans the paper). I see you hand-wrote this.

Me: Yes, sir. I did hand-write it, sir.

Peter: Sure wish I could read it. Oh drat, I need my glasses.

Me: (waiting as he searches his pockets, I begin to tap my foot) I sure would like to get into heaven today, sir. If it's not inconvenient.

Peter: (chuckles) You talking the 24-hour or the 1,000-year kind?

Me: (smiling) You choose, sir, but I don't think it will take you 1,000 years to find your glasses. They're on your head.

Peter: (pulls his glasses onto his nose) Well, that's much easier to read, isn't it? Alright, you want to...hmm...this is interesting...

Me: What's interesting, sir?

Peter: Your fifth choice is Elvis Presley.

Me: Is there something wrong with that?

Peter: There's nothing wrong with it exactly, but...

Me: But what, sir?

Peter: Well, ever since that 8.6 earthquake hit Las Vegas, we've been having new batches of Elvis impersonators running around heaven like you wouldn't believe. Now we're not sure which one is the right one. Is there any way you could cross him out and pick someone else?

Me: Can I think about while I'm talking to the other four people on my list, sir?

Peter: Sure thing, kid. Now...let's see...you want to see Jimmy Stewart first, do you?

Me: Yes, sir.

Peter: Well, if you will just step over into this room right here, I'll send Gabriel over to fetch...oh wait, I forgot. Jimmy's on usher duty today. He has to welcome all the new arrivals, you know.

Me: Can someone else take his place for a while? I would really like to speak with him.

Peter: I'll see what I can do. (he yells to a fellow angel) Hey, Raphael, you're the usher coordinator today, aren't you?

Raphael: Yes, I am.

Peter: Can you find someone that can relieve Jimmy for a few minutes? This kid really wants to talk to him.

Raphael: The only other one that can handle it is George Burns, and he's taking a smoke break.

Peter: We don't take smoke breaks. We don't even have smokes; this is heaven.

Raphael: I know that. You know that. Even George knows that. He just does it for the memories. It's the same reason he stands at the gates and says "Welcome to heaven. I'm George Burns" and goes into one of his monologues.

Peter: Well, can't Meatloaf do it?

Raphael: Sorry, but no. The last time he did it, he started singing "Heaven Can Wait" and there was a big traffic jam outside the gates. I told him to shut the heaven up but he couldn't hear me.

Peter: (sighs) Alright then, just do what you can. (to me) If you will kindly step into this room, we'll have Jimmy over here in a little while. Thank you. Next please. (to next arrival) Ah, Mickey Rooney, it's nice to see you. Sure took you a while to get here, didn't it?

An hour later, I am still sitting at one end of a long wooden table in an interrogation room, half-expecting Jack Bauer to pop in any moment and ask, "Where did you stash the other nuclear devi....oh, sorry, I was expecting someone else. My bad!" This must be where God takes confessions, I think.

Finally, the door opens. There stands Jimmy Stewart.

Me: (shaking his hand) Mr. Stewart, it's a real pleasure to meet you, sir.

Jimmy: Y-y-you can...you can stow the formalities, son. I-I-I'm just Jimmy to those who...who..who know me.

Me: Alright, Jimmy. I'd be glad to consider you a friend.

Jimmy: I-I-I didn't say...I didn't say that we'd be friends; I just said that...that people who know me refer to me as...as...as Jimmy. Y-you might say we're a-acquaintances, right?

Me: Right, sir.

Jimmy: Now, wha...what did you...what did you want to speak to me about? I-I-I am a busy angel now, you know. Have to...have to greet people when they come in so...so if we can hurry this up, I sure would be...sure would be grateful. Got a...got a lot of people to meet out there. Most...most of 'em don't recognize me in this white getup, but once they do figure it out, well, well, they sure do...they sure do light up. That...that's when they get their halos, you know, that's...that's why they light up.

Me: Okay, Jimmy. I just want you to do one thing for me.

Jimmy: Well...well what is it?

Me: Can you tell me the story of how you met Harvey?

Jimmy: Well, isn't...isn't that interesting? Th-th-the other day, Harvey came to me and asked me the same if I remember that night.

Me: Do you?

Jimmy: Of...of course, I do. Now...now let's see. "I'd just put Ed Hickey into a taxi. Ed had been mixing his rye with his gin, and I just felt that he needed conveying. Well, anyway, I was walking down along the street and I heard this voice saying, 'Good evening, Mr. Dowd.' Well, I turned around and here was this big six-foot rabbit leaning up against a lamp-post. Well, I thought nothing of that because when you've lived in a town as long as I've lived in this one, you get used to the fact that everybody knows your name. And naturally I went over to chat with him. And he said to me... he said, 'Ed Hickey was a little spiffed this evening, or could I be mistaken?' Well, of course, he was not mistaken. I think the world and all of Ed, but he was spiffed. Well, we talked like that for awhile and then I said to him, I said, 'You have the advantage on me. You know my name and I don't know yours.' And, and right back at me he said, 'What name do you like?' Well, I didn't even have to think twice about that. Harvey's always been my favorite name. So I said to him, I said, 'Harvey.' And, uh, this is the interesting thing about the whole thing: He said, 'What a coincidence. My name happens to be Harvey.'

Me: Thanks, Jimmy. I just want you to know how much I appreciate the influence you've had on me.

Jimmy: Well...well, thank you. "Here, let me give you one of my cards. Now if you should ever want to call me, call me at this number. Don't call me at that one, that's the old one."

Me: Thanks, Jimmy. By the way, can I use you as a reference? I'm going to need some kind of job up here eventually.

Jimmy: Can...can you...can you sing?

Me: Sure:

Jimmy: I...I never could sing. Donna Reed used to tell me that. All the time. Even "Buffalo Gals" didn't sound right when I was singing it. But if you want to tell Mozart that I sent you for an audition, go right ahead. I guarantee you, you'll...you'll...you'll end up polishing stars like Gordon McCrae in Carousel.

Me: Is he a star polisher?

Jimmy: No. He...he's in the choir. He...he's too vi-vibrado for me, but Mozart seems to...to like him...like him a lot. Good...good luck to you though.

Me: Thanks for talking to me, Jimmy. No matter how many people try to imitate you--and there have been and continue to be many--you truly are and forever will be inimitable.

(Note: all quotes are take from Jimmy Stewart film Harvey)