cherries crawfish and callous

After a long week at work and some pockets of treasured time spent with friends, it’s time for a nice, long, lazy Saturday. After some light yardwork to start the morning, I picked some fresh cherries, plucked at the parkwood for a bit and settled down to catch up on some reading that I vowed to have done for quite some time. About 25 pages into Francis Chan’s Forgotten God, I got a bit restless and remembered that Vandy had given me some crawfish that his friend brought back from a trip.

Yeah…never had crawfish before…

I didn’t even know how to cook it…do I steam it? Do I boil it? Who knows?? After a two minute phone call and a quick visit to Wikipedia…I was on my way. What’s the worse that could happen?

hehehe…

After putting the water on the boil, I went upstairs cradling a bowl of cherries and the book I’m supposed to be reading, trying yet again to get some quiet time to read. 20 pages later the water was boiling and the little creatures went into the pot. After another three minutes of boiling they went over to the other side of the stove to start the cool off process. At this point I stepped out to get some more cherries and when I came back inside…I noticed something amiss.

What in the world is that stench??!!

I guess what my friend has perhaps forgotten to tell me is that crawfish has a distinct odor. After eating it your hands will smell like shellfish for the next few days…even as I’m typing this I’m rubbing crawfish juices all over my keyboard (kidding. No juices just smell). As I picked up the first one…I had no clue what to do…do I bite into it? Do I peel it and eat? What do I do with the head? After a few trials I got the hang of it…there really wasn’t much to eat…just picking at stuff really. Now that I’m done I’ve come to realize that cherries and crawfish may not have been the best combination.

That’s ok…it’s good learning experience on a slow Saturday.

the undo button

Yesterday, I was talking to CTG on Sametime and we were talking about the undo button (I know…weird topic). The question that naturally followed …is there anything in life that I would undo? Without thinking that much (or really at all), I blurted out “of course there is!” This of course led to the follow-up question, what would you undo?

Well, that really stumped me. At first I was so ready to count out the stupid stuff I’ve done over the last 20+ years, but as I sat there and thought about it…was there really anything that I regretted doing? Was there anything that I’d take back or undo? Funny thing is, I’m a firm believer that God has planned everything that happens to me in my life, from the grand scale “what am I going to do with my life?” all the way down to the seemingly inconsequential “what am I going to get for lunch?” Psalms 139 spells out that even when I was unformed, my days were carefully fashioned. If I were to regret or want to undo anything…does that mean that I’d want to undo something God’s done?

All of this was going through my head as the Sametime window was blinking on my screen. Shoot…I have to respond… Quickly (and ever so cleverly), I cracked a joke and made a funny and the conversation took a turn onto something else. Ahh…situation avoided… Then as the day wore on and I had some time between work tasks…the thought reappeared in my mind, would I want to undo anything? Since my friend had left for the day…it gave me even more time to mull. Again my thoughts turned to the Psalm. Hmm…even though the topic had long passed yesterday…I think I’m going to reply to the question today…

For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. Psalms 139:13-16

from mess to masterpiece…

Today, even though it was my late day to show up to work, I woke up at 6 (not really sure why…). After my morning ablutions, I sat down to check my email when it suddenly hit me. I realized what a gift I had on my hands; 3 solid, beautiful, magnificent hours of free time. Oh baby. What the heck was I doing sitting in front of my computer checking email?? So, with that in mind, I dropped my friend off at his class and decided to make the most of the rest of my newly found free time. I mowed the lawn, set the sprinkler system (yes, in addition to growing long, my grass has also taken on a hint of yellow), and even cleaned the bathroom. Then, I sat down and started on my devos, which, to be truthful, has really lagged as of late.

This morning, my devos took me through the early part of Ephesians. While reading through the beginning of the passage, it really hit me just how much of a mess we are. We were dead in our transgressions and sin, following the ways of the world and gratifying the cravings of sinful nature. We were objects of wrath…yikes! The first three verses really hammer in just how lost, how far gone, how hopeless we are. We’re not just a little spiritually sick, or spiritually weak, but no, Paul says we’re dead. Death is a separation, so when we die, we’re separated from other people, permanently (duh). Likewise, spiritual death is a separation from God. It’s funny, when I think about my life, I don’t tend to think of it as steeped in sin or being a terrible mess (most of the time), but that’s exactly how it is, that’s exactly how it can be.

Then, in verse four, there’s a dramatic change, going from a gloomy outlook to something different, precipitated by the phrase “But God…” I was deserving of punishment from him, But God…I was disobedient to Him, But God… At these two words, the passage takes a dramatic turn: it is by grace you have been saved. This change then leads into the fact and realization that I can’t work my way into anything, but only and purely by the grace of God would I be able to saved. Only God can work my sinful soul into heaven. God has transformed me and allowed me to be able to be with Christ.

Two days ago I witnessed my friend get baptized, and as she went into the water and came back up, in my mind, the symbolism of that dramatic change took place. I know…she was a Christian already and the baptism is a public profession of belief, but to me, at that moment, God transformed her.

This passage ends with one of the most humbling and beautiful sentences I’ve ever read: For we are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do. Here, the word “workmanship” can mean product, project, or masterpiece. We are his workmanship, created and worked upon constantly at His pleasure. Makes me think sometimes…how can I just take that and run with it? How can I just live with that fact and not do anything about it?

"Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God…"

The 2010 Census: Annuit Coeptis has hit a bit of a snag…

It’s 2010, the year of the decennial census. We all get letters in the mail asking us several probative questions, all with the intention of taking down information for statistical analysis. The federal government uses data collected every ten years for various purposes, including congressional seat allotment, education funding, etc. Censuses have been used since before the time of Christ to gauge the population changes in a certain region, and gather demographical information. At first glance, this may seem as a positive thing, something useful to have; however, is it really effective? Is a door-to-door headcount really the best way to gather information about the population of our country?

This year’s census will cost $11 Billion, which includes the marketing, mailing, and finally the door-to-door interviewing of the entire population of the US. This is more than half the annual budget of NASA, and 20% of our annual federal funding for education. It costs, on average, $57 for a census worker to visit a house. The process has been described as tedious, costly, and inaccurate in op-ed pieces in the Washington Post, NYT, Christian Science Monitor, and about a dozen other major metropolitan newspapers. A senior fellow at the Brookings Institute says that it would be a mistake for the census to be carried out without sampling. So why does the census not use statistical sampling?

The constitution, at the time it was written, calls for a decennial enumeration of the general population for the apportionment of representatives.

Representatives and direct Taxes shall be apportioned among the several States which may be included within this Union, according to their respective Numbers, which shall be determined by adding to the whole Number of free Persons, including those bound to Service for a Term of Years, and excluding Indians not taxed, three fifths of all other Persons. (Article 1, Section 2)

At the time it was written, a door-to-door headcount was the only known way of counting the population. In today’s day and age, there is a general consensus that statistical sampling would greatly improve not only the accuracy of the census, but also carry only a fraction of the $11 billion price-tag that the current headcount has. The language of the constitution itself in this particular case is arcane. Adding the whole number of free persons and three fifths of all other persons. 3/5 of all other persons?? Clearly this passage was written in a time and matter that reflected the best thinking of it’s time. I think it’s fair to say that it’s time to update this with a more effective method. Well, how come we haven’t done so yet?

As it turns out, such an update of the constitution is extremely controversial due to the political nature of the change. The census generally overcounts kids that go off to college (whose parents may have counted them, in addition to their own census filing at school) and military servicemen serving away from home. In the same respect, the census has undercounted hard-to-reach minorities and homeless people in traditionally urban and other densely populated areas. These folks, were they to vote, would probably vote Democrat (a generalization). This would pose a long floor-fight to even bring such a measure to vote. Nevertheless, this is definitely a worthy cause to consider, as it would alleviate a great tax burden upon the population, as well as increasing the accuracy of the population statistics.

Ok…didn’t mean to put you folks through this whole long thing…but it’s one of those things that really annoy me. I appreciate that we should be getting statistical data about the population to decide how many seats a particular state gets or how much federal education funding each gets, but there are better ways of getting to that data. If only we could push aside the partisanship and get to a better place.

50 beans | soy tax??

Since my mug broke on thursday, I was unable to make coffee yesterday morning. When Dan sent the coffee email at 9:30, I got all excited and replied with a hearty “ready!!” and proceeded to head downstairs to our lobby meeting point. As the coffee crew congregated we chatted about or lives and the weekend, walking to the Starbucks in the lobby at the same time.

As we shuffled in line for the next few minutes I had to decide what to get. It’s been a while since I’ve bought coffee (since I make it at home), so I thought I’d opt out of my regular Americano and get something different: Grande soy latte (don’t judge). $3.55 + 0.40. What the heck?? Soy’s 40 cents extra?? Ok, soymilk costs slightly more than 2% milk, lasts roughly 12-20 times longer in the fridge or out in an unopened container than milk (so stocking costs are lower), and come in smaller containers so it’s not like they will open a carton and not be able to use it all in one day. McDonalds doesn’t charge extra for ketchup, so why charge extra for soy? It’s not an addition, it’s a substitute.

For some people, getting soy in coffee is not a choice (i.e. me). I, for one, don’t like soy in my coffee, but because of certain circumstances against my will, I must use soy. This is a form of price discrimination, where people who want to be healthier, or simply can’t drink milk, are forced to cough up an extra 0.40 per cup so that they can enjoy what other people can get for no additional cost. I know this is a big stink to raise for 0.40, but this adds up to be quite a bit over the span of a year. They don’t charge extra for handicap bathrooms (I know…if it wasn’t the law…they probably would…) so why target us soy drinkers.

C’mon Starbucks…stop the soy tax.

my mom

I fully intend to write something nice about my mom today…seeing as it’s mother’s day and all; however, for some reason I’m having the hardest time trying to find the right words to say. You know…I can’t think of anything that could possibly describe my mom better than the following:

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. (1 Corinthians 13:4-7)

Thanks for putting up with me all these years mom. Happy Mothers Day!

gotta love farmers (market)

It’s MAY!! That means good weather, the start of bbq season, and memorial day to cap off the month. To make things even better, it’s the start of the downtown farmer’s market! Now, I’m not exactly treehuggerish and all that, but I am quite tickled when it comes to farmers markets. For some reason these short Wednesday retreats provide me some well deserved time away from my desk to pursue fresh seasonal fruits and veggies. Oh who am I kidding…they gots the kettlecorn too.

The walk outside gives me a chance to not only get some fresh air and sun, but an opportunity to interact with people I wouldn’t usually encounter on a daily basis. At the market, I’ve run into every kind of person, from retirees playing chess on the bench to ex-NBA players donning a three-piece cage. Even though I don’t usually talk to these people every time, I like the sense that people from all walks of life can find commonalities at something as simple as a farmers market. From the ripe peaches and asian pears to the zucchinis and fresh asparagus, I usually emerge from the market with my hands full of good healthy produce and kettlecorn, my temporary locavorism satisfied.

The farmer’s market really is an experience that puts me in a separate world, where time slows down and I can enjoy the simple pleasures in life. You know, if you have some time to burn on wednesdays, what better way to kill some time than to come out and walk around? I’ll meet you there.

50 beans | a weekend ritual...

tsssstt...The nitrogen quickly escapes from the pressurized can of perfectly tanned medium roast coffee beans as I pull back on the sealed tab, releasing an aroma that rushes to fill the kitchen. As I count out the beans for my task, I slowly and purposefully take in the experience of the coffee through all five senses. From the coarse, slightly oily texture of each bean to the rich and fragrant aroma filling the air around the room, the feast for my senses is something that often leaves me breathless as I savor every moment.

The whirring sound of 50 perfectly browned beans nestled in a ceramic-disc grinder composes quite a tune to my perked ears, listening for any kinks and hiccups in the grinding process. As the freshly ground powder is transferred and tamped into the filtered holder, any residual grounds is brushed away before the filter can be set. Now, the paintbrush is ready to sweep the canvas.

As the filter holds the 7 grams of tamped grounds in place, 30ml of 194°F distilled water is forced through at 12 atmospheres of pressure, extracting more than simply colored water. The resulting brew is an aromatic experience, thick in consistency and carrying with it a buttery layer of crema, composed of rich oils, full bodied flavor, and really the essence of the bean. As the temperature drops down to 150°F, it’s time to enjoy the brew.

Holding the vessel with both hands, I let the warmth travel through my fingers and up my arms. The fragrance rises up and I feel the light steam surround my face. As I take the first sip, the velvety texture swirls around my mouth, the pleasing mix of sweet hints of flavor from the oils and the sugars, and bitter tastes to boot. As the bitterness fades, the sweet notes linger on my tongue like a haunting refrain. At the same time, I try to inhale as deeply as possible to take in the fragrant aroma. Since I was a child, I’ve always loved the smell of coffee, and it’s a simple pleasure I take for myself everyday. I’m no coffee expert, and I wouldn’t claim to know all the different flavors and smells that I experience, but it’s a personal enjoyment nonetheless.

As I finish the cup to begin my day, I close the can of beans back up and put it in the freezer (I know it’s weird…but that’s where I’ve always kept coffee beans) until the next time I can take a few minutes to take pleasure in the joy that is coffee.

falling rocks

A few weekends ago, on the way up to Stinson Beach, I saw a sign cautioning for falling rocks. This struck me as a bit unusual and kind of pointless. What exactly am I meant to do with that kind of information? It’s not like I can do anything about falling rocks. Even if I drive slower and more cautiously…would I be able to avoid rocks coming at me from above? They might as well just put up another sign saying: random accidents ahead, life’s a lottery, be lucky.