We Are All Going to Pay (Or Possibly Already Are Paying)

I have been increasingly impressed of late with the marvels that surround me.

Take milk, for instance. I want a fresh, icy cold glass of it? No problem; I just get up off of my bed (which is engineered to be hypoallergenic and is packed with springs to keep my back from getting stiff at night), walk down the clean floorboards of my home to the kitchen, and open the magically cold box there. (Of course, this box isn't REALLY magic, but I know so little about refrigeration technology that it may as well be. Whenever an evil spirit possesses and afflicts it, causing it to spew water or get uncharacteristically warm inside, I call a shaman who casts a spell on it while I am away and bills me $40 per hour plus parts. Bam, magic box fixed.)

Upon opening said magic box, I remove from it a custom-made receptacle which is lightweight, yet sufficiently strong and durable to hold my milk without buckling or becoming soggy. This receptacle is so durable, in fact, that if I threw it in my backyard, it would remain there for years and years without decomposing. Which is why I take it to the magic receptacle-recycling location instead.

The receptacle has a lid on it to keep it airtight, thus effectively insulating my beverage from the evil spirits (called "germs" by some) which inhabit the world all around me. The lid, too, is doubtless made by shamans (unionized ones, I hope. If there's anything I can't abide, it is a scabbing shaman). The lid twists easily off and on and is reusable to an extent which is, for all intents and purposes, limitless.

I open the container and pour perfectly chilled, homogenized milk which is exactly 1% fat by volume and disease-free (the shamans also run the dairies these days) into my favorite cup, which is made of a material similar to that of the milk container, but, unbelievably enough, more durable and also a lovely shade of violet.

But as I sip my perfect beverage, which is collected, prepared, and stored via a series of mundane miracles, I can't help but wonder about the price. I know it must have one -- nothing comes free, and especially nothing that's any good. Is there a day of reckoning on the horizon? A fiery day full of retribution and affliction and famine and measles that will serve as the just recompense for all the wonderment that surrounds me each day? And what of the other miracles I have not even mentioned in this post? What of the magic of cell phones and freeways and airplanes and the Internet? What cost will there be for these marvels? I shudder to think of it.

Then again, perhaps the cost isn't all that bad after all. It could be something as simple and pain-free as missing out on the "genuine," if you will. Insulated by my climate-controlled house and car and job, freed of the barriers of time and space by my cell phone and the Internet, entertained by my DVD player and the myriad of shows on cable television, I no longer have time for much.

For instance, I have no time for standing in line. I have no time for walking to work instead of driving. I have no time for running outside instead of on the speed- and slope-controlled treadmill at my gym (while I alternate between watching CNN, ESPN, and two other channels full of talking heads) on the TVs overhead. I have no time for just standing still outdoors and listening to the wind -- if I could hear it over the sound of passing cars and distant sirens. I have no time for the chatter of squirrels, chirps of birds, or long, slow conversations on a porch swing.

So maybe there is no fiery day of judgment. Maybe the cost isn't so bad after all. But is it WORTH it?

Meme Me Up, Scottie!

Again with the lack of substance -- I have other irons in my metaphorical fire at the moment. I am blogging, just not here. I might link to my efforts if the appropriate parties will give me permission. And by "appropriate parties," I mostly mean Mrs. Luaphacim, who is the primary focus of this other blog but doesn't know it yet because she is taking a Lenten fast from the Intarweb. More on that to come, perhaps.

But now for the meme: Google "*my name* needs" and look at the first 10 results. (But instead of *my name*, put your name.) They apparently tell you something deep and important about yourself.

1.) Luaphacim needs a ministry philosophy.
2.) Luaphacim needs to take better pictures on flickr
3.) Luaphacim needs Your Address!!
4.) Luaphacim needs to read up on the scriptures of comedian ron white
5.) Luaphacim needs music to dance
6.) LUAPHACIM THE MUSTANG NEEDS A HOME
7.) Luaphacim needs a name for his future network of QSAs on christian campuses
8.) Luaphacim needs home, a male domestic shorthair
9.) Luaphacim needs to expand my business, and am looking for small businesses that cannot afford the going rate for most designers
10.) Luaphacim needs an accepted phrase that broadly covers all these near-alternatives to avoid the danger of confusion and delay in our meetings while we debate the merits of each.

Apparently I am either a homeless animal or a very eclectic ministry-minded person... so, really, not too far from the truth, I suppose. What about you, dear reader?

What I was (probably) doing in 1984

What were you doing in 1984?

A good friend of mine recently asked me this question as part of our church's 25th anniversary. It was founded in February of 1984, and most of the people who he asked that question of had to dig a little bit, but had good answers for him.

I, on the other hand, was two years old, and have little to no memory of 1984. So I cheated. Starting with the assumption that I was a typical two-year-old (which is a fairly safe one, I like to think), I came up with the following description of my activities:

In February of 1984, I was a little more than two years old. I can't really remember very much of what I was doing at that point, so I have enlisted the aid of a child development chart to determine what I would be likely to have done at the age of two. I imagine that most of my energies were probably invested in:

• Running around (my mother says I could run long before I ever learned to walk; conservation of momentum came much more naturally to me than balance did)
  
• Beginning to throw, kick, and catch balls (like a girl even then, no doubt)
  
• Standing momentarily on one foot (having been around a lot of two-year-olds, I can say it is a triumph to get them to momentarily stand still on any number of feet, so this is quite the prodigious feat. No pun intended. Really.)
  
• Climbing on playground structures (Some of my earliest memories are of going to the park and getting my fingers crushed on one of those slides that have the rollers on them)
  
• Possibly jumping awkwardly (as if I have ever jumped any other way)
  
• Developing right-handedness (how does one do that, exactly? Are there classes or something? I can't remember.)
  
• Turning doorknobs and opening lids (I bet a lot of parents wish this ability was developed a little bit later. :-) )
  
• Turning pages in a book, one at a time (which I have found is the best way to do it, unless the book is exceptionally dull and/or required for a class, in which case it is acceptable to turn multiple pages at a time)
  
• Growing teeth -- all teeth appear by three years old (and then the right upper central incisor is knocked out when your friend Zachary knocks you down and you slam your mouth against a concrete front porch and your mom freaks out and you are without that tooth until the age of eight or nine)
  
• Having a reduced appetite; weight gain tapers down to about 5 lbs. during this year (I was very skinny as a young child, my mother tells me. That sure didn't last long.)
  
• Beginning to have bladder and bowel control; sleeping as much as 10 or 12 hours per night (a couple of the few bright spots during the Terrible Twos)

And I imagine that's about it. A two-year-old's life is simple and easily confined within a bulleted list. What the list doesn't -- and can't -- contain is the amount of affection that a parent has for her two-year-old, nor the joy she receives every day as he continues to learn new things and become more and more unique. She doesn't mind that he runs around screaming like a banshee all the time (well, doesn't mind that much) because, if she's wise, she knows it will be over all too soon.

The list also can't contain the wonder of a two-year-old who, as soon as he learns how to syntactically form questions, is asking them. The world is a wondrous place full of mysteries and things to be discovered. It's a magical time, both for children and parents, even if they don't know it.

So what were you doing in 1984, if applicable, dear reader?

Adventures in Weight Loss, Or How to Get a Head Full of Crazy in One Simple Step

It's been a while since I've posted, and I apologize for that. Basically, I have been dumping most of my disposable free time into church, friends, and exercise (though not necessarily in that order).

I now weigh about 195, which is 40 pounds lighter than I did on Halloween. So that's nice, except it is causing some clothing-fit problems. This morning, as I was jogging on the treadmill, I almost lost my shorts, which fit me fine a couple of months ago. Ah, well.

I will have more to post in the next few weeks, hopefully, on dieting, exercising, gyms, and losing weight. Maybe even some work-related things, such as a new Turing Test for artificial intelligence that a caller to our Service Center ingeniously developed. It's all been marinading in my head, so I am planning to dish it out once it is thoroughly cooked and the juices run clear.

But I digress. The reason I am writing this is because of something horrifying that happened to me the other day...

As near as I can tell, one of the main downsides of the gym is that they play classic rock there. Don't get me wrong; it's fine for working out, and more than once, songs like "We Are the Champions" have helped me to finish my set on the bench press.

The problem is when I get the songs stuck in my head. The other day, for example, I found myself drumming incessantly on my desk at work and humming "Sweeeeeeeeet Emoooooooooooootioooooon" to myself all day long. Do you have any idea how annoying that is? And I think my co-workers noticed, even though I kept catching myself and reducing my volume, because a couple of them asked if the fan on my computer was OK.

But the worst part is when I get a song stuck in my head and then I am reading a recipe that seems yummy, but then I get to this part:

In a blender, combine the pistachios with the basil, mint, lime juice, vinegar, mustard, cayenne and olive oil. Blend at low speed until pureed. Add the ice cubes and blend at high speed until the sauce is very smooth. Scrape the basil emulsion into a small bowl and season with salt and black pepper.

and all of a sudden the song in my head changes to "Sweeeeeeeeeet Emuuuuuuuuulllllllsioooooon," and the world suddenly tilts all wrong on its axis, sending me plummeting into an abyss of craziness from whence there is no escape.

Ah, well -- I guess it could be worse.

An Invention I Can Wholeheartedly Recommend

Courtesy of that excellent Christian publication, The End Times:

COLORADO SPRINGS, Colorado, — Christianware, Inc., a supplier for Christian bookstores worldwide, today announced a new product that will enable born again women to convert the secular romance novels they once used to gratify the desires of their sinful nature into romance novels that will encourage more heavenly desires.

“I am excited to introduce the Christian Romance Novel Converter," said Jedidiah Thomas, president of Christianware, "You simply place a worldly romance novel into the converter, wait 10 minutes for the book conversion machinery to perform its function, and then open up the converter to find a Christian romance novel much better suited to women of a Christian mindset."

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that is correct! Make haste to read this article before you are consumed with sinful fleshly passions!!