Caffeinated

It is often hard to admit when you have a problem so it is about time I think that I make a very public (though very obvious) confession.

I am addicted to coffee.

I used to just be an coffee drinker. Then life kept getting crazier and sleep more infrequent and a daily cup of Joe became a ritual. Then I met people who drank fancy coffee made with strange instruments called French Presses, Pour Over Sets, and Siphons and I discovered that maybe Maxwell House was not the house I wanted to live in for the rest of my life. Then I went on a mission trip to Colombia and visited the Coffee capital of the world complete with a coffee themed amusement park and the opportunity to see first hand where coffee comes from. Then my wife became a barista at a cool downtown coffee shop and started coming home every night smelling like espresso.

And then...I was hooked.

Why I Have Already Given up on a Few Resolutions for Next Year

I am not a normal person, but I think that has been well established.

While this is clearly evidenced by my love of Eighties Christian Hair Metal and fascination with funny sounding outdated words it has been made very clear by a recent discovery, or rather a recent admission of what I probably always knew.

I hate vacation time.

That felt pretty un-American just typing that out. This must be how Communists feel on a daily basis.

Surveyor of Mythical Lands

Recently I was surprised to catch myself reaching into the cookie jar.

This of course is the proverbial “cookie jar” symbolic of all those things kids do when they think no one is looking and not an actual cookie jar. I would not be surprised at all to find myself reaching into a real cookie jar because I am an adult and can eat a cookie whenever I want to.

But nonetheless I was busy just living life when I happened to catch myself in the act of trying to hide something from myself. I was not looking to catch myself red handed but all of the sudden in the middle of a random train of thought I saw my little devious inside self intentionally trying to keep things from the forefront of my thought process. This surprised me a little because I didn't know prior to this moment that I was crazy.

Why Cyberspace Can Be Good For Christianity

 People have been writing for years about how scary the world is going to get once computers become smarter than us and start controlling our brains. Maybe we are already there and we are all slimy pale white Keanus living our life in little pods while the Matrix controls all of our perceptions and reality. Maybe the Borg have already made their way to planet Earth and are assimilating us all into their bio robotic space cube that once captured Captain Picard in Star Trek The Next Generation. Maybe our computers are playing a joke on humanity by hypnotizing us into flooding the internet with selfie duck-faces and pictures of cats.

People have been fearing this kind of powerful technology for so long that even the word “cyber” seems retro and nostalgic.

And of course we have cause to be uneasy. Relationships between people are changing drastically. Identity theft and manipulation is easier than it has ever been before. The Government can spy on your every move. People are running into people and light poles more than ever because they are trying to walk and snapchat at the same time. The struggle is real in an internet world.

None of this is new and tons of people have already written about the dangerous effects of what our technological future will hold but I like to do my own thing. Call me blindly optimistic or youthfully naïve but I have been thinking and I have come to the conclusion that cyberspace might do some good for Christianity.

Minor Scales

When I was thirteen I received my first guitar and it was magical.

The moment was magical, not the guitar itself but that would have been cool too.

I do not remember a time that I was not wooed by face melting guitar soloes reminiscent of the era of big hair and spandex. I always wanted to be Marty Mcfly knocking the socks off his parent's sock hop.

So I cheated.

That's My Jam

                There are very few things as universal to all of humanity both past and present as a love for some kind of music. You can say you do not like a particular song or style of music but I have never heard anyone say that they hate all forms of music. As long as there has been a thing called culture there has been music to accompany it. Savage tribal communities had deep resonating drums, Celtic people had bagpipes, Indians have sitars and Swedes had 70’s teen dance powerhouse Abba (though most would agree they could keep them to themselves).

Cute Little Linus

It is surprisingly easy to get punched in the face by a Christian in the month of December.

            Granted, I am not sure why that would be a personal goal anybody would actually have but this is useful information should you desire it. This is especially useful when you consider how hard it is the rest of the year to get people who are supposed to be characterized by general niceness to give you a good right hook.

            If you want a Christian to punch you in the face simply say “Happy Holidays” instead of “Merry Christmas.”

Persistance of Vision

The multi-billion dollar international television and film industry would not be possible without an inherent developmental flaw found in the brain of every single human being, including you. I know that was a harsh way to tell you that you are inherently flawed but I thought you should know sooner or later.

This flaw is called the “persistence of vision” and causes our brain to mesh consecutive images together instead of seeing them separately as they really are. When our eyes transmit a signal to our brain, that image is held onto in our brains milliseconds longer than the actual signal is present. What that means is when we have two images presented before our eyes in a fast enough progression we will see the images as one fluid motion.

Groove

I have a reoccurring day dream when I walk into a room full of people that involves a futuristic DJ playing “Play that Funky Music White Boy” upon my entrance. A disco ball shows up out of nowhere and suddenly I am dressed in a white leisure suit dancing like John Travolta while everyone crowds around me swaying back and forth to the music.

I don’t know if I should have publically admitted that but whatever.

The point is in every situation I find myself in I immediately look for my groove. I am always listening for “my jam” to play and always looking for a sweet spot in life that just feels right. I want the music of my life to be the song that I know all the words to and exactly what the beat sounds like.

What Will Ya Have?

When you walk into the famous Varsity restaurant in Atlanta you will not be welcomed with a warm greeting. When you walk through the door a cahier will most likely yell at you from behind the register asking “what will ya have?” before you have even had a chance to look at the menu. The odd thing is that nobody ever gets offended. It is simply part of the experience of the Varsity and it draws hundreds of people from all over the world every day.

When I was I kid my family was traveling through Missouri and we stopped at a place called Lambert’s Café which bears the title “Home of the Throwed Roll.” The roll throwing is not a special technique used by their bakers to make extra fluffy rolls but is in fact the preferred method of roll delivery to each guest’s table. At a normal restaurant, when you want a roll you simply reach into the basket placed on your table but this is not a normal restaurant. At Lambert’s getting a roll is much more interesting. Simply raise your hand in the air and an employee standing at the front of the room will throw it to you. It make sense then, that if you raise your hand for a roll you better be ready to catch but for some reason that thought did not compute in my five year old mind. I raised my hand and got distracted by something only to feel the hot buttery sensation of a huge roll being lobbed at my face while my family erupted in laughter. I was highly offended.