What do you call a cow that steals?
This, my friends, is an Official Doodle Commission for the lovely, talented, and cow-obsessed Cricketmuse.
Do you want a doodle, too?
Then write me a note for rates and details!
Last week the lovely and talented Alicia Jamtaas was the big winner of the Mike Allegra Win A Doodle Contest. Her prize was a custom made doodle of anything she wanted.
What she wanted was raven shape-shifter.
I had never heard of a raven shape-shifter before. Fortunately, Alicia clarified things:
“A raven shape-shifter is a woman who is able to shape shift into a raven. Like a selkie – woman to seal.”
“Ah!” I replied. (I decided not to mention that I had never heard of a selkie, either.)
Fantasy stuff is not really in my wheelhouse, but I figured I’d come up with something. I visited Google Images. There I discovered that no one on earth seems to agree on what a raven shape-shifter looks like.
So I winged it (so to speak).
Here’s your doodle, Alicia! I hope you like it.
This is my last post before shutting down the blog for the summer. Before I go, however, I wanted to give you one last bit of doodle-related news:
DUE TO POPULAR DEMAND, I AM NOW ACCEPTING DOODLE COMMISSIONS!
That’s right! You no longer have to win a contest to get your very own doodle. You just need to pay me. Click on the Hire Me! menu above for rates and details.
Have a great summer everyone! I’m going to miss you!
Here, lemme give you a big hug.
See you in September!
Holy schmoley cannoli! You guys sure like my doodles!
I am surprised and delighted to report that my Win A Doodle! Hooray! post was the most commented-upon post in my blog’s four-year history – handily breaking the former record holder, A Natural Cure (which had an unfair advantage as it was Freshly Pressed).
So wow. Just wow. You guys are wonderful!
And your vacation tales were delightful! And horrible! And delightfully horrible! I loved every last one of them.
In fact, if you haven’t already, I would highly recommend that you head back to the post to peruse some of the anecdotes. Your morning coffee will be pouring out of your nose in no time.
But enough of my yammering! It’s time to get down to business!
Let’s find out who will win a Custom Made Mike Allegra Doodle!
Our esteemed judge took his position before the Penguin Ice Bucket of Impartiality…
(How do you pronounce that, Alicia?)
Congratulations, Alicia-Something, you are the winner of a Mike Allegra Doodle!
There are two other prizes!
And the Third Prize-Winner gets what the Second Prize winner didn’t want!
So! Let’s continue!
Oh, crap, that means more stirring, doesn’t it?
Congratulations, Giff! You have won an autographed copy of Sarah Gives Thanks OR Blood on the Floor!
And the Third Prize winner is…
OK. That’s never happened before. Apparently that outcome is possible when you throw multiple ballots into a bucket.
So the judge and I had a consultation.
After much deliberation, the judge decided that as much as we love Giff (neither one of us knows Giff, but both of us concluded that Giff is probably someone we would love to go bowling with) it would be unfair to give her two prizes.
SO! We’re giving this another go!
And the Third Prize winner is…
*Sigh* The Third Prize winner is my bloggy tormentor/cat fancier/Brussels sprout eater/punk kid raiser JILANNE HOFFMANN!
I knew we should’ve given both books to lovable Giff.
Thanks to everyone who entered! See you next week!
IT IS TIME FOR A CONTEST!
Here’s your chance to win an official Mike Allegra custom made doodle!
But first, a word from Giddy Happy Mike:
This is the cover of the July 2015 issue of Highlights for Children.
“Harold’s Hat,” is in the latest issue of Highlights (which is awesome)! And the editors decided to promote it on the magazine’s cover (which is awesomer)!
The issue arrived in my mailbox on Saturday. My son took one look at it, turned to me and said, “You are so cool.”
Best Fathers’ Day Present Ever.
The entire magazine is fantastic, by the way (Highlights is always fantastic). So be sure to pick up a copy for the little ones in your life. OK?
Thank you for indulging me. Now where was I? Oh, yes…
THE WIN A DOODLE CONTEST!
IF YOU WIN, I WILL GIVE YOU A DRAWING OF WHATEVER YOU WANT!
Don’t believe me? Then just take a look at these recent doodle commissions!
So, yes, your doodling wish is my command.
There is one exception, however. I will not draw whatever you want if whatever you want is pervy. I am a children’s book author, bucko, so take your dirty, filthy business someplace else!
HOW TO WIN
The winning name will be drawn at random. The draw-er is this guy.
HOW TO ENTER
To get your name in the drawing, all you have to do is leave a comment below answering ONE of the following questions:
What was the best vacation you’ve ever had?
What was the worst vacation you ever had?
If you choose to describe your worst vacation (and I really hope you do!) please provide some detail to illustrate all the awfulness, OK?
HOW TO INCREASE YOUR CHANCES OF WINNING
Want me to stuff the ballot box in your favor? OK. I’ll add two more ballots if you announce this contest on your blog and link back to this page. That’s three chances to win!
Don’t have a blog? No problemo. Then you can get one extra ballot if you announce this contest on your Facebook page or Twitter feed.
As I mentioned, the Grand Prize-Winner will get a custom made, one-of-a-kind, Mike Allegra doodle (suitable for framing or lining birdcages).
But I have other prizes, too! Our esteemed judge is going to draw two more names from the hat!
Second Prize: This winner may select a signed copy of my picture book, Sarah Gives Thanks, OR a signed copy of the anthology Blood on the Floor: How Writers Survive Rejection (I have an essay in there).
Third Prize: The winner gets the book the Second Prize-winner didn’t want. Hey, it’s better than nothing.
Your entry is due on or before Monday, June 29. The winner of the drawing will be announced on Tuesday, June 30.
That’s it! Answer a question and get going!
Summer also means it is time for me shut down the blog until September.
I’m gonna miss you guys!
I’m gonna miss you guys a lot.
You guys are wonderful, really.
In fact, you guys are so wonderful…
I’M GONNA HAVE ONE MORE “WIN A DOODLE CONTEST” BEFORE I LEAVE!
Check back here next Tuesday for a chance to win a gen-u-wine, custom made, Mike Allegra doodle!
Tell your friends, enemies, and frenemies! Spread the word!
It’s gonna be fun. I promise.
As some of you know, I like to draw “Celebrate” stamps. The first such stamp (Celebrate Cows!) was drawn in 2009 for my then-three year old son. Head on over to this post to learn more. (Go on. The post is short — and it has pictures!)
On a related note, if you wish to see a stamp commemorating flatulence, you need go no further than here. (You’re welcome!)
It has been years since I’ve done the stamp-drawing thing, but both my son and I missed it. So I decided the time was ripe for some more stampy celebrations. Below are a couple of new ones for your viewing pleasure. (Do forgive the faint pencil lines; these are works in progress. Click on each image to enlarge.)
Are there any subjects that you feel deserve a Celebrate Stamp? Let me know in the comments!
When I was young, I loved visiting Grandma and Grandpa Allegra — which was weird, really, since neither one of them ever seemed very happy to have me around.
Unlike my doting maternal grandparents, they never asked me questions or told me stories or drove me to the Five and Ten to pick out a Matchbox car. They never plied me with ice cream or candy. They never played games with me; in fact, their house had no games or toys in it at all – not even a stray crayon, which was pretty much all I needed to entertain myself in those days.
Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m not quite sure that Grandma and Grandpa Allegra understood that I was a child. Their Christmas gifts support this theory. Every single year they gave me the same thing: cash and a box of handkerchiefs. It was a generous gift, but not a fun one.
At Grandma and Grandpa Allegra’s house, fun was never given; you had to go and find it.
One of my favorite childhood pastimes was to snoop around people’s stuff. So five minutes after pocketing the cash and pretending to be surprised and delighted by my holiday handkerchiefs, I headed down to the basement.
Grandpa was a pack rat of the first order and his basement workshop proved it. How many overflowing coffee cans of rusty nails does a person need? According to Grandpa: seven.
Pretty much everything in that room had a protective coating of rust on it. That was especially true of Grandpa’s wide assortment of old, useless tools — such as flathead screwdrivers with flatheads as round as thumbnails. He also had a wall of saws that couldn’t cut butter, a collection of hammerheads separated from their handles, and a pegboard of petrified paintbrushes.
It wasn’t all broken tools, of course; that workshop was a museum of oddities — much of it dangerous. I knew I wasn’t supposed to play with Flit guns or those animal traps that clamped down on the legs of unsuspecting raccoons, but, really, how could I not? Besides I was careful, I donned Grandpa’s air raid warden helmet and gas mask before Flitting away. I also never put my own foot in the trap, because that would be stupid; instead I pried the trap apart, carefully set it on the ground and threw screwdrivers at the trigger until it snapped with amputating force.
The workshop also showed off Grandpa’s appreciation for art. Hanging on one wall was a framed paint-by-number picture of a prim, haughty, topless woman sitting on a rock. The image was remarkable for its lack of aesthetic or erotic appeal. The room also contained an illustration of Alfred E. Neuman uttering his iconic catchphrase, “What, me worry?” Considering the fact that this workshop contained cans of lead paint, Freon, and DDT, perhaps a little more worrying would’ve been advisable.
Buy, hey, I grew up in an era where unsupervised excursions to dangerous places was a rite of passage. If you weren’t smart enough to not drink paint, the world was better off without you.
To be fair, Mom was an attentive and vigilant parent under normal circumstances. A visit to Grandma and Grandpa Allegra’s house, however, was anything but normal. There, she had a role to play. Protocol required Mom to sit at the kitchen table and pretend she was having a civil conversation with her in-laws. Mom was always civil, but her civility was rarely reciprocated.
Grandma Allegra hated my mom. No one quite understood why. I don’t even think Grandma understood why, but hate her she did. As a consequence, our visits were never very long. After about 30 minutes, Mom would decide she had had enough passive aggression for one day. She’d deliver a sharp elbow to my Dad’s ribcage, stand, and call, “Michael! We’re going!”
That was my cue to drop everything (usually a screwdriver onto a raccoon trap) and hustle up the stairs. I understood that when Mom said, “We’re going!” it meant, “We are going now. Right. This. Instant. Do you understand me, young man?”
I did indeed. But I was always disappointed. A half hour wasn’t nearly enough time to explore such a junky nirvana.
So one day I clomped up the basement steps and announced, “I wanna stay here overnight!”
My declaration was met with stony silence. Not one of the four adults present wanted to implement this idea. Mom diplomatically brought the topic to an abrupt close with a “We’ll see.”
A “we’ll see” from Mom was really a “like hell.” The topic was never broached again.
Nonetheless, I couldn’t stop wishing that someday I would find enough time to get the Full Basement Immersion Experience.
Sometimes your wishes are granted. And, sometimes, when they are, you wish you never wished for them in the first place.
Grandpa Allegra died in 1991. Grandma’s mind deteriorated quickly and a decision was made to send her to a nursing home. The house was to be sold to pay her bills. Before a realtor could be called, however, the contents of the house had to be dragged to the curb. Dad assigned me to the basement.
I was, more or less, an adult in the early 1990s and many of my adult personality traits had clicked into place – for example, my pathological aversion to filth and clutter. Other traits, however, had remained intact since childhood – like my severe allergy to mold.
To put it another way, cleaning out that basement was hell. By the end of the day, I was filthy, sneezing, coughing, wheezing, sweating, bleeding, and discovering new and exciting uses for the F-word. My fondness for my grandparents — which was never all that fond to begin with — easily devolved into a sweaty, squinty-eyed hatred.
Oh, how I hated, hated, hated them – and unlike Grandma’s hatred for Mom, I knew exactly where my hate came from. Why would anyone hang on to so much worthless crap? What kind of monsters would subject their own grandchild to such an exhausting, moist, mold-encrusted torture?
I’m much older now. The hate is gone. My views toward my grandparents have mellowed considerably. More importantly, that terrible basement cleaning experience has turned me into a wiser man.
The other day, as I sat on my bed reading, my son entered the room and started rooting through my end table drawers.
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing. Just looking.”
So I read and he rummaged. After about ten minutes he slammed the last drawer shut and expelled a little, disappointed sigh.
“What’s the matter?”
“You don’t have interesting junk,” he said.
“You bet your butt, I don’t,” I said with pride. “And someday you’re gonna thank me.”