Man…there’s nothing like finding three great pairs of pants (that fit well) at a thrift store. Well, actually Aaron found them, realized they weren’t his size, and heard me call first dibs on them. Therefore, I ended up with three great pairs of pants that are not only cool, but fit terrific. Thank you Aaron, and World Thrift (or something like that).
Oh yeah…Aaron got locked in the bathroom at the thrift store…boy did I laugh a lot…
“Genius is one percent inspiration, ninety-nine percent perspiration.”
– Thomas Alva Edison
Ladies and Gentlemen,
After countless trials, tears, heartbreak, perseverance, blood, and sweat, I have finally mastered the art of the Belgian Waffle. You’re most likely thinking to yourself, “Whatever”, but I pull-your-leg not. As sure as George Washington Carver’s 300 peanut uses, I have found the secret to 7 1/2″ in diameter golden brown perfection.
Brought to the New York World’s Fair in 1964, by Maurice Vermersch, the Belgian waffle (or Brussels waffle) was triumphantly introduced to Americans. Unlike the modern day, brand name American half-breed waffles, the elegant Belgian waffle is forged from yeast-leavened batter and lightened with egg-whites. When the perfect amalgamation is attained, you are left with nothing short of a flawless wonder of elegance and pulchritude.
I often dream about life after death, and what my existence will be when I am with the Lord Jesus Christ in heaven. I cannot wait. I see myself waking up for an early morning swim; no need for trunks since I will be genderless. I levitate to the edge of the diving board, double-bounce myself, sweetly perform a 307C (reverse three-and-a-half somersaults,tuck), and dive into a pool of Belgian waffles. Opulent. Or how about engaging in a heavenly game of wiffle ball? If we played with my favorite treats it’d be called waffle ball. I’d play left field. My Beglian waffle would be my glove, fastened to my hand using a glue-like paste concocted from powdered sugar and localized honey. I would commit no errors and win the Gold Glove (or should I say Golden-Brown Glove?). OK. This has gotten out of hand.
I know as you have been reading (and wasting your time) your mouth is watering. You want to taste the pure, sweet, incandescent glory of God’s creation. Due to the classification of the recipe I am not at liberty to disclose the intel. However, if you are so lucky to make it near my humble home, you are more than welcome to join me in the participation of this holy consumption. If anyone wants proof of God’s existence…come over…and bring a fork.
This story is not at all intended to dishonor the dead; however, it’s quite amusing.
My wife, Stephanie, started medical school last week and to say the least, it is an overwhelming conglomerate of information that proves I know nothing. She has books upon books; hundreds of pages of text, diagrams, cross-sections, and anatomy maps. To visualize the gross content, one week’s worth of information fills a single, 4″ three-ring binder. Colossal. Scary. She is amazing. Anyway, one might ask, “Why on earth would you go to medical school?”. A logical and perhaps astute cookie might say, “To become a Doctor.” I, on the other hand, would respond, “Cadaver.”
The Cadaver is one of the most intriguing specimens on the planet. Why? Let see. It was a living human being. It looks like a person, only cold and not breathing. And, it has a family, and a name. Stephanie’s is named Henry. Slightly eerie. In medical school the students begin working with the cadaver on the first day. Not kidding. No warm-up time on a plastic one; no how-to videos; no meet-and-greet. Just a scalpel to the preserved flesh of a corpse. Chilling.
In order to dissect the dead body, it must be successfully raised from the preservation tank filled with formaldehyde. Formaldehyde (H2CO), first synthesized by Russian chemist Aleksandr Butlerov, is a chemical compound frequently used in the preservation process. These cadavers must be soaked in the chemical to keep tissues and cells from being destroyed. The bodies are raised from the tank using a simple crank-shaft lever pulley system. Not too complex (especially for future doctors). Anyway, Stephanie and her two lab partners push down the lever to hoist Henry out from the depths of the chemical coffin. Success! Way to go Steph and lab partners! You’re off to be made into doctors. Steph proceeds in her laboratory exercises while, Henry, staring at her with his voided eyes, lie there in his customary dead man fashion. Time is up. The lab group next to Steph starts putting their cadaver away. Keep in mind that these groups are in close quarters with each other. Now…somewhere in between the lowering of their mortal remains and closing the preservation tank, something goes wrong. The cause of the incedent is still unknown, but just as Shamu does a mid-flight triple-axle barrel roll in slow-motion, this cadaver comes crashing down in the the vat of formaldehyde. Instantly the chemical, mixed with deceased internal fluids, explodes out of the tub soaking none other than my beautiful bride. The scene is disastrous, yet stunningly hilarious. As soon as Stephanie realizes she is plastered in the vile, heterogenous liquid she bursts out in my new favorite phrase, “Ugh…dead dude juice!” Laughter filled the lab.
As you can imagine, she reeked to high-heaven for the rest of day. Four days a week she works with the cadaver, and each day she comes home smelling like chemically-infused death. It’s unpleasant to say the least. I spent some time trying to find some spiritual application, because hey…every good story has to have a spiritual application, right? Heh…just kidding. Anyway, I couldn’t find one.
Yesterday, I went grocery shopping at Sam’s (great place), and there was this woman walking around out front. I avoided talking to her (or any confrontation for that matter). Then I thought, “Why? What am I afraid of?” It got me thinking pro-actively again…
We (as Christians in general) avoid certain people and conversations because we are afraid we’ll leave with more than we bargained for. We are afraid that somehow they will rub off on us and infect us with sin or something. We have to figure out a way to get out of our sterile chambers and get involved in people. Four days a week Steph is getting dirty, sweaty, and abundantly smelly in order to investigate and learn for a purpose. There are (living) people all around us that we can get to know, learn about, and pour into. We may get a bit dirty or exposed to something we don’t care for, but if we don’t get close who will?
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