Salvation Through the Side Door

Day 12 of the mystery illness portends to be the beginning of an uptrend. I don’t feel as weak as I did yesterday, and I can breathe nearly normally, and the things that go on in my sinuses are considerably less frightening.

I went back to the doctor yesterday because I wanted to be totally sure I didn’t have strep throat. He said he did not think I had strep, and he essentially told me to go home and man up.

This is what I get for buying health insurance. Before I had it, I used to avoid doctors, because I never knew what a visit would cost. I figured it was better to die suddenly with money than to he healthy and broke. Now that I’m shelling out tons of cash every month and my expenses have a ceiling, I feel obligated to go in whenever I have a problem. A forty-dollar copay…that’s cheaper than dinner and a movie. It’s not just medical care. It’s affordable light entertainment.

I found out the doctor isn’t an MD. He’s a DO, which means “Doctor of Osteopathy.” I had to look that up. I was afraid I had wasted my money on a glorified chiropractor. I have no respect for chiropractors. Any medical school you can complete in six months has to be a con job.

It turns out osteopaths are real doctors. They’re just weird. I guess he can handle swollen tonsils. If I get a brain tumor, I’ll probably want a specialist.

This morning I’m reading up on John Hagee, the popular televangelist. He has a strange theory that Jews can go to heaven without accepting Jesus. Many Christian authorities, notably Jesus, disagree. I’ve been trying to find out what Hagee’s reasoning is without actually buying one of his books, but most of the sites I’ve found spend more time reviling and insulting Hagee than explaining his odd new doctrine.

Hell exists, and you can only avoid it by accepting salvation. When it comes to hell, that’s about all I’m sure of. The Bible describes hell as eternal, but it’s not clear to me whether that means hell will exist for eternity or that unbelievers will be tormented for eternity. The Jews don’t believe in eternal punishment because it seems wasteful. On top of that, eternity is a really long time, so no matter how evil you are, you would eventually suffer infinity times the amount of suffering you caused, which certainly seems unfair. After a trillion years on the rotisserie, even Stalin would have a legitimate gripe. After a trillion trillion to the trillion-trillionth power years, well, it would be even worse.

The Bible says Satan and his bunch will be incinerated in the Lake of Fire. I have no problem with that. These guys are really evil, and I their unsuitability for rehabilitation is pretty obvious, and incineration is humane and fleeting, compared to the misery they’ve caused. And no one will miss them; it will be a great relief to see them burn. I also have no problem with the permanent destruction of incorrigible human beings; there is no point in keeping them around. But eternal torment? Seems inconsistent with the nature of God.

I don’t claim it doesn’t exist. Scripture seems to suggest it does (although it isn’t as clear as people claim). But I would not be surprised to learn that it does not.

Whatever hell is like, I know it exists, and the New Testament is not ambiguous about the only means of avoiding it. If you accept Christianity as valid, it makes no sense to say some people don’t need Jesus. Christianity is exclusive in its nature. Certain exceptions are obvious: people who have never heard of Jesus, people who are disabled and incapable of understanding the Gospel, people who died before they could make a decision, people who died before Jesus was crucified…you can’t very well expect these people to be held to the same standard as everyone else. But people who knowingly reject Jesus are in trouble.

I’ve read silly claims that everyone who ever lived has somehow been made aware of Jesus. That’s just idiotic. Some Christians claim that even if you were born in a rain forest and never met a Westerner, God has somehow made it clear to you, deep in your heart, that you need Jesus. So if you don’t accept him, you go to hell. Please. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. It’s facially stupid; there should be no need to explain why it’s wrong. If it were true, there would be no need for missionaries. They’d show up in the jungle, and the natives would say, “We already know about that guy, but we still want the mirrors and beads.” In fact, they’d be sending missionaries to us. That doesn’t happen. There are a few weird stories about remote people having strange revelations, but the general rule is, unless a missionary shows up, no one has a clue. It’s amazing that myths this stupid ever gain credence among people who can read and write. This is one of the outrageous beliefs that make Christians seem dumb. It is not helpful.

The Apostle Paul was flogged repeatedly and also stoned because he insisted on preaching to Jews. And it wasn’t his idea; he wanted to preach to heathens. God sent him to the Jews. If they didn’t need the message, what was the point? God moves in strange and mysterious ways, but he isn’t crazy.

I don’t know what John Hagee is thinking. It’s bizarre for a prominent Christian to make a claim that contradicts the most fundamental and essential tenet of Christianity. If he had said Mary wasn’t a virgin, it would not be a big deal. If he had said there was no rapture, it could be overlooked. The Bible doesn’t say you have to believe in Mary’s virginity or the rapture to be saved. But forgiveness after rejecting the Gospel? No; that won’t work.

Hagee is affiliated with Larry Huch, author of The Torah Blessing. I wrote about this book a while back. It’s pure Judaizing and legalism. Huch says we’re supposed to worship on Saturday (unlike the early church under the Apostles) and that we have to wear prayer shawls and light sabbath candles. These guys are both wrong, and badly so, and you don’t have to be a scholar to know it. The scriptures themselves make it clear.

It’s funny; Huch wants us to do too much, and Hagee would ask Jews to do too little. There’s plenty of error for everyone. Pick the path you like best.

I have much more respect for a rational Orthodox Jew than a Christian who blatantly contradicts his own faith.

How can error this obvious still be a problem in 2010? I guess that’s a dumb question, given that Mormonism and the Jehovah’s Witnesses and the Scientologists are thriving. Human beings can swallow absolutely any story. It’s tempting to think of people as rational–as though they had a baseline level of common sense–but they don’t. Remember Jonestown? Actually, you don’t have to look that far back. Just think about the people who believed the real estate bubble was going to last forever. You could disprove it in fifteen seconds with sixth-grade math, but executives at big investing firms still invested their careers in it.

Here’s another question: how can Christians still support John Hagee? Sure, the rest of his stuff may be great, but that little thing about denying the core belief of all Christians…isn’t that problematic? When a preacher says you can go to heaven WITHOUT Jesus, shouldn’t a little bell go off in your head? Isn’t that pretty much the one thing no preacher should ever say?

I’d love to believe it. I’d also love to find out that fornication and gay sex were acceptable, so I could approve of everything other people do, and I’d love to know that God will bless me no matter what I do. But I don’t make the rules. I want everyone to be happy and healthy and rich and have washboard abs and a weekly orgy and a Ferrari, but I’m not in charge. Near as I can tell, it’s Jesus’s way or the highway.

I was a Fool to Believe

Does it make sense to use the word “disappoint” when you’re referring to something that fulfilled your low expectations? Doesn’t disappointment necessarily include surprise?

Whatever. The Domino’s pizza I ordered was not good, and I guess I’m not disappointed, because I’m not surprised.

Here is the rundown.

1. Cheese. Seems like the old cheese to me. It was a lot like vinyl, and it was browned in many places, suggesting it’s too low in fat.

2. Crust. Still soft and flavorless, like Wonder Bread. But now it has a fishy-tasting, salty coating of grease on the edge. I can’t figure that out. The fishy taste suggests canola oil is involved; canola is naturally fishy-tasting. But maybe there was some kind of anchovy contamination at the local store.

3. Sauce. Can’t tell the difference between the new and the old.

I wanted to like it, but it’s just not good. They need to get real cheese with fat in it. They need a crust that has a little yeast flavor in it; the main reason people like pizza is that it tastes like fresh bread. They need a sauce you can taste. And that fishy grease has to go. I don’t even understand that stuff.

Maybe they were trying to imitate Pizza Hut’s spray-can butter. That’s a mistake. It does not take a genius to realize that butter was never meant to be an aerosol.

If you want to make pizza with very low risk of failure, use Grande or Costco cheese, Stanislaus Super Dolce sauce, and a simple crust made from flour, yeast, water, salt, pepper, and maybe a little olive oil. This business of hiring dubious chefs and rounding up focus groups is not the way to go.

I wonder why the pizza was so much better back in the Eighties. The new ingredients must be processed industrial waste from China. There has to be an explanation for a decline this steep.

Domino’s Gives it a Shot

Finally, something interesting in the news. Domino’s has decided to improve its pizza.

I worked for Domino’s about a thousand years ago. At that time, the pizza was very good. I saw the ingredients as they were delivered, and it was all good stuff. Real cheese. Real meat. Quality dough. The pizza wasn’t the New York style I prefer, but it was satisfying.

I don’t know why it got so bad after that. I suspect lawyers are part of the reason. The last time I had a Domino’s pizza, the crust was a lot like Wonder Bread. Spongy. Too easy to chew. I couldn’t figure out why they would ruin it by making it soft. Then a bell rang. Liability. Somewhere, someone has probably sued Domino’s because their dentures came out when they bit into a slice. Another possibility: a lot of food companies intentionally make their products bland and wimpy because that way, they offend the fewest customers. Consider Budweiser. It’s a pathetic excuse for a beer. It’s basically sweetened water with carbonation. But the lack of flavor makes it easy to drink, provided you keep it very cold. And it’s cheap.

Don’t ask me why the sauce went downhill. When I worked at Domino’s, they told me Tom Monaghan himself had created the recipe.

Now Domino’s says it’s sorry. They claim their new pizza is worth eating, and they even have a sale going, with a guarantee.

I have to try this. My policy is to try any new pizza restaurant that shows up near me and any restaurant that makes a significant change.

I have a feeling I’ll be disappointed. Good cooks are hard to find; traditional hiring strategies tend to locate people who are aggressive, hard-working, or connected. Those characteristics have nothing to do with good food. The fact that a person got A’s at cooking school says absolutely nothing about his ability to make food you will want to go back for over and over.

In my mind’s eye, I picture a bunch of enthusiastic but talentless corporate types, doing “trust exercises” and fire-walking and singing the company song and so on, when they should really be looking for someone who can cook. Screaming “WE’RE NUMBER ONE” really loud at corporate meetings doesn’t actually improve your pizza.

I’m disturbed that they say they added cayenne to their sauce. Pizza Hut makes spicy sauce, and it’s a mistake. Italy is not Mexico. But I can’t issue a ruling until I try it. I think I’ll order a pie for dinner.

I feel like Charlie Brown, running up to kick the football again. Will Lucy pull it away at the last moment? Probably. But if you don’t do the research, you don’t find the best pizza.

Japan Enters Cookware Fray

The Internet is an endless source of vital information, provided you are a seasoned Boolean-logic miner. Today I found some good news concerning cast iron cookware.

First, the current status of my collection. I have Griswold large-logo skillets in sizes 6 through 9, although I haven’t been able to make myself season and use my #7, because the bottom appears to have been damaged by sitting liquid. I have three Benjamin & Medwin skillets from Target (a set). I have a couple of big Lodge skillets. Other than that, I have a Dutch oven and some other irrelevant items.

The #9 is the ultimate breakfast skillet. Eggs slide right out, and they have that “cast iron fried egg” taste.

I wanted to complete the Griswold collection, but it looks like that won’t be possible. Sort of. I like the skillets without heat rings, because they sit directly on the range top. A heat ring lifts the skillet up a fraction of an inch. I just looked in my Griswold and Wagner reference book (why are you staring at me?), and it turns out my skillets were never made in sizes larger than 10. So I can get a 10, but that’s about it. I have no interest in the smaller sizes. I can’t figure out what they’re for.

If I want to go bigger, I’m going to have to pick a new brand, and it looks like Wagner will do. Their skillets sell a little cheaper, but they’re just as good.

I was considering fly-cutting the insides of my Lodge skillets to make them as good as my old Griswolds. They heat unevenly, and they’re rough. I may still do it, but it’s a perilous enterprise. I have no idea how uniform a skillet bottom has to be to conduct heat evenly, so I don’t know what I’m shooting for. I’m not sure how flat the undersides of the skillets are, either, and if I used the fly cutter, the undersides would be my references (think about it), so if they’re screwed up, the machining will also be screwed up. Even more aggravating: I have no tools suitable for measuring skillet-bottom-thickness.

Lodge skillets are just no good. I’m sorry. It’s that simple. I’d give mine away if I knew anyone who would want them. I only have two, plus a Dutch oven. I guess the oven is okay, since the finish is not as critical. Also, I never use it.

Oddly, the Target skillets seem okay. I had to polish them with a drill and an attachment, but they seem to work all right. Maybe they were made in a nicer part of China. Unfortunately, only one is in a useful size. One is really small, and the other is just barely wrong for cornbread. If you make cast iron skillets, you should know 9″ is standard for cornbread.

Speaking of the Far East, it turns out the Japanese make excellent cast iron pans. If you root around on the web, you can find a company called Iwachu. Like, “You better not shoplift in my convenience store, because Iwachu.” Or something. They make skillets. One size, as far as I can tell. I haven’t seen one up close, but people on the web say nice things about them.

I found another Japanese company called Nakedpan that makes skillets.

The Japanese make very high-quality cast iron. Big shock there. You can even get fancy teapots. Girly stuff. Very nice, if that’s what turns your crank.

I also checked Wagner’s site. They still exist, and they sell crappy Chinese (I assume) skillets. But wait! All is not lost! A few years back, I bought a new Wagner polished skillet. They take the crappy skillets and mill out the insides. They’re not as smooth as a Griswold, but the one I have has performed perfectly. It’s a #6, and I use it for cornbread.

I wanted to get more of these, but there was some reason why I didn’t. I think they only offered one size, or their website went down. I can’t remember. But now the site is up, and they offer skillets up to 13.5″ across. I’m inclined to get a couple. They won’t increase in value like Griswolds, but they may actually work better, and I won’t care if I destroy them, and I won’t have to sit watching Ebay for nine months to get a good price.

Here’s why I think they may work better. New cast iron is thick; that’s good, because it means heat retention and, maybe, better heat distribution. Old cast iron is thin. That’s good, because it reflects the high quality of the castings. The new stuff is cruder. My theory is that a new skillet that has been machined will have the heating qualities (and maybe warping resistance) of a new Lodge, with the smoothness and uniformity of an old Griswold.

I think it’s worth fifty bucks to find out. That’s what a big Wagner costs.

I wanted to tell Mike this important news, but for some reason he is wasting his afternoon cooking dinner for his family.

I came across a cast iron know-it-all on a forum. He was telling everyone what iron to get and how to treat it. He seemed to know absolutely everything you could want to know about the subject. He talked about polymers and other things I know nothing about. Interesting thing: his conclusions were pretty much identical to the ones I’ve come to via trial-and-error, bullheadedness, and pure ignorance. That happens to me a lot.

1. Season iron at 450, not 350.
2. Lodge is no good.
3. Pork fat for seasoning. He also recommended Crisco. He did not like light oils.

He also said you can’t remove seasoning with soap and water. That may be true, but you can definitely wreck the nonstick qualities, so it still seems like a bad idea.

He said the finish you get at 350 degrees isn’t even seasoning. You have to burn the fat to get the kind of molecules that make real seasoning. I guess the 350-degree finish is more like varnish. It certainly smells like it. It gets rancid when you don’t use the skillet.

Okay, to sum up:

1. Mike has ridiculous priorities.
2. Wagner polished skillets seem okay.
3. I am right about everything that matters.

Must be the Hash Browns

I feel wonderful today, but I can’t figure out why. Is it because I’m getting over the virus that has slowed me down for a week? Is it one of those mysterious Christian things? Or is it the fact that I just had a MAGNIFICENT MCDONALD’S BREAKFAST WITH REAL COFFEE INSTEAD OF DECAF????

Cynics will move directly to the third option.

This virus is extremely odd. It makes one part of my body sick. Then that part of my body gets well. Then another part gets sick. It’s as if every part of my body has to develop its own resistance. I know that makes no sense. It started out in the upper part of my throat, and then that went away, and night before last, it went to the lower part of my throat. Now that’s breaking loose. It spent some time in my nose and sinuses, too. Where will it go next?

When I was in law school I had a bug like this, and when it got done with the rest of me, it made stuff come out of my eyes. I mean, come on. Give up, already. You lost. Get out. This is starting to seem like pettiness.

When I was a kid, my mother passed on a helpful tip from my great-grandmother. Her remedy for colds and the flu was to wrap up in quilts and sit by the fireplace, roasting her feet. I think this probably works, although I have dismissed other old Kentucky remedies, such as drinking sheep manure tea to make chickenpox pustules break. For several days, upon waking up, I’ve been cranking up the heat in the electric mattress pad and lying there until I get uncomfortably warm. Seems to make for a much better day. This is as close as I can get to roasting my feet by a fireplace. Maybe I could roast my feet by the plasma cutter.

I feel better today, but the improvement is mostly emotional, not physical. My symptoms have improved a lot, but I would not call myself well.

Whatever it is, I’ll take it. It’s better to feel happy than well.

I have to get off my butt and go to church today. I missed all sorts of stuff this week. I could have spent two days looking after a big-time Christian musical act while they visited the church. That would have been great. I missed the New Year’s services. I missed my prayer group this morning; I wanted to go, but it was 50° outside, and I was afraid I would be inviting a relapse by getting up too early and driving to Hallandale with wet hair. And I figured I’d give the bug to the other guys in the group, as well as the nice waitress who takes care of us. Then she’d be dead, and we’d be banned from Denny’s.

I considered going to the doctor today just to make sure what’s happening to me is normal and harmless. Then I remembered something. I saw a mezuzah in his office. Do I really want to see a Jewish doctor on Saturday? Wouldn’t I be contributing to the delinquency of a backslider, or something? The last time I saw him, it was on Saturday, and I didn’t even think about this.

I want to DO something today. I wonder how active I can be without inviting death. I could put the VFD on my drill press. I could try to fix the questionable ergonomics in the garage. Sooner or later, I am going to have to bite the bullet and part with my workbench. I have to get a dust collector, and I don’t need the bench any more, because my table saw provides me with, like, thirty square feet of horizontal surface.

AUUUGHHH I feel liquid running down inside my ear! Is this the virus’s latest attack?

Wait. It’s water from the shower.

Never mind.

Not Everyone Was Miserable

Last night while attempting to gain control of my radioactive doro wat roti with sour cream, I watched a little TV. I noticed people were whining about 2009. What an awful year! They were thrilled it was over.

I didn’t get that at all! Last year was great for me. I joined a fantastic church. I met wonderful people. I got delivered from an overeating problem I had had all my life. I developed a somewhat more normal relationship with my sister. I made real progress on some family problems. I got a lot of garbage out of my life. And I got a lot of neat tools.

Last year was rotten for a lot of people. I will try to remember that, and I will not be smug, because my efforts are not the reason my year was pleasant. But I truly believe that anyone who was willing to give up and draw closer to God could have had a great year.

I was invited to a New Year’s party, but I declined. Had I felt well enough, I would have gone to church, but I developed a cough, so I stayed home.

I don’t miss the parties. This is the lamest holiday of the year, including Groundhog Day. I don’t like staying up late. I don’t get drunk any more. I have never been very excited about dancing. I don’t want to pick up women. It’s considerate of people to invite me out, but I’d rather have my sleep.

I like Christmas; the childhood memories will always guarantee that. I like Thanksgiving because there is food. I like the Fourth of July because there is food. After that, my favorite holiday is the day when we set our clocks back an hour. Or the day after I file my tax return.

Halloween used to be pretty good, but now that I’m all religious, I have nowhere to go.

Getting drunk and staying up late the night before January 1st is like having a bachelor party with strippers on the night before you get married. It gets you off to the worst start possible. I’d like New Year’s parties better if they ended at nine. Why do we have to jump up and down and scream at midnight? It’s not like we’re all getting healed of cancer when the clock strikes twelve. It doesn’t really change anything. Why wait up for it? I say smoke some ribs, have some potato salad, fire a few rockets, and go home early. I went to bed at a reasonable hour, and when I got up, it was 2010 for me, just like it was for all the people who got drunk and ruined their sleep patterns. I didn’t miss a thing.

Maybe next year I’ll have a New Year’s Eve Afternoon barbecue, for other people who are tired of waking up in flowerbeds.

Here’s some things to celebrate. I didn’t hug a dirty toilet last night. I didn’t have to refuse a breath test. I don’t have a headache. I knew where I was when I woke up. I’m not wondering if anyone is pregnant or whether I have an STD.

Any holiday people can’t celebrate with their kids ought to be questioned.

People never seem happy on January 1st. Is that just my imagination? They’re quiet. They seem to feel sheepish. Nothing is moving outside. I feel like The Omega Man.

I got up fairly early, cleaned myself up, and got back in bed to sweat the remaining viruses out. That gave me time for a lot of prayer, which is good, because whenever I get sick, my prayer routine suffers. Now the day and the year have a solid foundation under them. That sure beats waking up in a tuxedo, with a mop bucket next to the bed.

I think the need for wild celebrations is a symptom of dissatisfaction with the rest of your life. When I was in college, I was miserable, and I looked forward to getting extremely drunk twice a week. Drunkenness was the best part of my life. These days, I would be upset by the prospect of getting drunk. It would be a chore and an inconvenience. And being around people who are drinking can be like babysitting.

This is going to be a great year, and 2011 will be even better. I base that prediction on the assumption that I am given the grace to stay on the path I’ve chosen; only God can bring it to pass. I expect things to get better and better, even if I die. I don’t need to get drunk to be optimistic and excited.

Thank you, Lord, for an excellent year. Thanks for a positive trend that will continue even after my life is over.

“Quiet” Tool-Obsessed Neighbor Amassed Arsenal of Lethal Peppers

I decided to torture my virus with more hot food. I hit the store and got ingredients for doro wat. The plan was to make it even hotter than the curry I made a few days ago. I picked four habanero golds plus one big Trinidad Scorpion to season it.

Now I have the stew bubbling on the stove, but it seems like the virus just went away. My head opened up, and I feel much better. Maybe it was the fumes from the burning onions, toasting spices, and minced peppers. Or maybe I’m really cured.

I have to ask myself: do I still want to eat this stuff if I’m not sick?

Of course I do. Let’s not kid ourselves.

I’m planning to make rotis instead of injera. I can’t help it. Rotis are better. And I bought sour cream to wrap up in there with the doro wat.

Tomorrow I may have something that makes a virus seem pleasant.

More

Ohhh…that was amazing. My brain actually melted and ran down my throat. I can’t say I miss it. I haven’t used it since 1996.

Take my word for it. Rotis are ten times better than injera. Dump a big pile of doro wat on one, make sure there’s a boiled egg in there somewhere, add a big blog of sour cream, fold it up like a burrito, and GO.

Ancient Ailment has Only One Cure

I just read about Rush Limbaugh’s health problems. I think he needs to get his personal life in order, but I doubt he has sufficient incentive.

Imagine the celebrating, if he dies. Only a few Republicans danced in the streets when Ted Kennedy died. Fringe nuts and kids, generally. But disrespect, cruelty, and schadenfreude are three of the pillars of leftism, so if Rush died, the situation would be very different. We’ve seen what happens when prominent conservatives die; the remarks from the left could not be more despicable were they written by demons.

Monetary success can be a poison. It’s an especially effective poison, because it convinces you everything is fine, and it makes you dread its own antidote. I was thinking about this today, in connection with addiction. The one thing that will beat any effort to help an addict is money. An addict with money can afford to refrain from working. He can afford to alienate his friends and family. He can buy everything he needs to maintain his necrotic lifestyle. He can pay attorneys to fight anyone who tries to help him.

One of the best things you can do for an addict in your family is to write a will and cut him out. It sounds cruel, but it’s not. Most people don’t have inherited money, and they survive. Refraining from giving someone unearned money is not the same as forcing him to live in poverty. And Uncle Sam is always there to catch him if he falls.

To get back to Rush, he does not seem like a happy individual. He spends his workday criticizing people, and then he goes home to an empty house. His fulfilling hobbies: golf and cigars. I’ve been a curmudgeon and a critic, and I think it leads to dissipation and regret.

My pastor talks about money a lot, and he says the reason he does so is that every time he talks about money, he is crucifying the god of this world. I think that’s true. In the physics of human relations, money is analagous to energy. It’s a protean substance which can be transmuted into nearly anything. Sex. A convincing imitation of love. Shelter. Food. Blessings for your friends. Harm to your enemies. It’s the closest thing we have to pure power. We trust it more than we trust God, because it’s faster-acting and requires no faith or virtue to put it in action. It’s a little bit like the dark side of the fictional Star Wars force. It will get you quick results, but later on, you may find that the benefits it appeared to confer were actually curses.

Money is like the tongue. The Bible says life and death are in the power of the tongue, and that no man can tame it. The things you say and write can do great harm, or they can do great good, and it’s extremely difficult to control your words in order to maximize the good and minimize the bad. The money you spend (or retain) can do great good or harm, and unless you’re fit to have money–unless you have enough character to use it correctly–harm is more likely. Developing that control is a great challenge. I believe it’s impossible without the help of the Holy Spirit.

I belong to a branch of Christianity which promotes the idea that failure and lack are curses. It says we are not supposed to be poor. I think that’s correct. Some of the Apostles had employees. Jesus’s father was a skilled tradesman who had at least six children, and Jesus himself was part of the family business. With regard to wealthy people living in God’s will, Jesus said that with God, “all things are possible.” The Old Testament is full of passages that clearly indicate that God rewards people with prosperity and good health.

I believe in prosperity, but I also believe God doesn’t give us scissors and sharp sticks until we promise not to run with them. In other words, I don’t think God would proactively assist a person financially if he knew the money would be spent stupidly or sinfully, toward the person’s own destruction. I don’t think he would give it to a person who would respond by becoming arrogant or overly independent. We are told that if we ask for good things, God won’t give us serpents and scorpions. Money may seem like a good thing, but to some people, serpents and scorpions would very literally be less harmful than cash. Venomous animals can hurt your body, but they can’t do much to your soul.

If all this is true, I guess you have to ask who gives people monetary blessings that later turn out to be damaging. Is it God? Probably not. Not unless God has a purpose in the damage.

I think some charismatics worry too much about blessings and not enough about becoming worthy of blessings. A blessing is not a blessing if you turn it into a stumbling block. Every blessing comes with obligation and responsibility, and the supernatural improvement in character that makes good stewardship possible is a greater blessing than the blessing of which you are the steward. A material benefit is fleeting. An internal improvement is permanent and continues paying dividends forever. The weirdest thing about all this is that God himself will make the internal improvements, even though he later gives you the credit. It’s a pretty good deal.

Bedeviled by Sean Connery’s Catchy Mantra

Here’s a near-paradox. I love sleep, but I hate rest.

I felt pretty cruddy when I got up today, so I decided to do two things: rest, and stay warm. I think it was a mistake to be active yesterday. And the hotter I get, the better I feel. Except for smelling and sticking to things.

What do you do when you rest? I hate lying around watching TV. I don’t have enough character to do something productive while I rest. This is one of those times when the Internet is actually good for something.

What can I blog about? Here’s something fun. I never, ever redeem my credit card points, and they keep expiring. The stuff you can buy with them is usually not very interesting, so I forget to redeem them, and I lose them.

This year I decided to redeem them for a Sears gift certificate and see what I could find. I decided to get a Fein Multimaster.

This is one of those tools no amateur buys for himself, because they’re insanely expensive for what you get. But when you have a pile of old credit card points and nothing else to do with them, putting them toward the price of a Multimaster seems almost justifiable. It beats not using the points at all.

I have no use for it, as far as I know. Detail sanding, I guess. Cutting things in awkward spaces. That’s about it. I think it’s one of those tools that come into play at random moments, when nothing else works. Like a Dremel.

Maybe I should go lie on my back and listen to religious CDs. I actually enjoy that. If you’ve never had an experience you considered supernatural, this kind of thing can be boring or silly, but when you’ve seen a few kooky things, it’s comforting to hear other people talk about their own manifestations.

What else can I do? No cooking. I’ve gained two pounds. Was it the holidays? Partly. Mainly, I’ve been eating too much because I feel sorry for myself. If I can’t do anything or go anywhere, I should at least be able to eat ice cream, right? That was my line of reasoning. But I am not willing to gain weight, so I had to quit.

I could practice sight-reading, which is like studying Harry Reid speeches while eating liver and waiting in line to have your driver’s license renewed. I’ve decided I’m going to do one of two things: learn to sight-read and give keyboards another chance, or give up the whole keyboard dream. A cousin of mine is married to a famous trombone virtuoso, and she suggested sight-reading as a way of compensating for my deteriorating musical memory. Can’t hurt to try. If I can make myself do it, I might at least be able to compose efficiently, even if I never become a good pianist. Composing was my original goal.

I’m working on improving my memory. I memorize scripture and I am fanatical in my efforts to get enough sleep. And I’m losing weight. I have this idea that being fat is bad for the brain. I’m also taking B1 again.

God gave me a big pile of gifts, and so far, my biggest achievement has been creating the world’s best cheesecake. I realize that’s a major feat which, on its own legs, justifies my elevation to sainthood. But I can’t help thinking I should be accomplishing more. “Cheesecake” makes for a short resume. I hear such beautiful music in my head; surely I was intended to write some of it down.

Christian music was great for a few years, but it seems to be in a slump. Some of the songs they play at my church are so monotonous, you wonder why anyone bothered paying for the copyright registration. If I wrote a song like that, I’d delete it from my hard drive without telling anyone. Christians ought to have quality music again. We don’t want to spend eternity busing performers in from hell whenever we have a party.

I could practice. Or I could go look at YTMND.com for six hours.

Don’t Shop at Mohammed’s Secret

Wheeeee my brain is still floating in a viral mist. I may go back to the doctor today to see if he has better drugs to help me breathe while I sleep. The virus is doing what they so often do. It’s touring my body, with a different stop every day. First, the throat. Then the bones. Then the sinuses. Then the lungs. I suppose I’ll get well when it runs out of new places to go.

I have to wonder if I’m one of the lucky people who get the flu in spite of being vaccinated. I don’t think so. I haven’t had much of a fever. But this is no cold.

I think I made a mistake yesterday, getting up and fooling with tools. Maybe doctors really mean it when they prescribe rest. I thought they just said that so they could feel like they were helping.

I’ve looked at the news, and it appears that we will all have to expose our genitals to airport screeners from now on. For some this will be a degrading nuisance. Others will think, “Finally, I have an excuse.”

No one ever listens to me. I solved the screening problem a long time ago. We need an express line for people willing to eat a slice of ham in front of airport employees. People who eat pork don’t blow up airplanes. And it’s not racial profiling. Oh, no. It’s DIETARY profiling. Totally different.

I know I’m eccentric, but I can’t shake this mysterious hunch that says terrorism is somehow connected to Islam.

It’s disturbing how underwear has evolved into an offensive weapon. First, the Unabomber tried to kill himself with his underwear. That wasn’t so bad. Now underwear is going tactical, and they’re using it to kill other people. Do you know what this means? We’re all carrying concealed weapons now. Except for hippies who don’t wear underwear.

Sensible underwear laws NOW! Where is Sarah Brady when you need her? We need an advocate to take a stand before people start going to underwear shows and using loopholes to buy armor-piercing cop-killer underwear. Studies show that over 99% of violent crime victims have underwear in their homes. Even more disturbing, very few of them store their underwear properly, in underwear safes.

Don’t make me connect the dots.

I posted my new terrorism remedy on Twitter. Are you ready for it? Here’s how we punish terrorists from now on: exploding underwear activated by calls from Dick Cheney’s cell phone.

We’re going to have to refine our jargon. From now on, going without underwear will have to be referred to as “NOT going commando.”

We’re going to have to ban assault underwear. That much is clear. And we’ll have to come up with classifications, such as automatic and semi-automatic underwear.

I estimate it will be about three days before we hear about an anonymous porn message board featuring backscatter photos of attractive tourists. It would be wise to prepare. The next time I fly, I plan to sell ad space on my belly. For the right sum, I’ll get glue and sequins and spell out “This Bud’s for You” or “Palin 2012.” How about, “Ask me About Herbalife”?

I’m trying to figure out what Muslims could to to humiliate us further, but I’m drawing a blank. Well, that’s not true. I forgot about the butt bomber. Remember him? He hid his bomb in a very unfortunate location. When his specialty gets popular, we’ll have privacy invasions that make backscatter scans seem about as offensive as passport photos.

Here’s a theological question. If a Muslim wears exploding underwear on a plane, but he sits next to Mitt Romney, who is wearing magical Mormon underwear, which underwear wins? Will the magic underwear prevail? I hope Mormons never get into terrorism (beyond producing Harry Reid). Their underwear is so big, one pair could take out a city block.

I foresee a day when no American will be able to go anywhere, for any reason. When that happens, Muslims will walk to your house and blow their underpants up when you open the door.

You know who must be embarrassed today? The guy who made the Flight 253 underwear bomb. His pal trusted him to give him a nice clean blast, and instead, the terrorist is now basically a lady. Fat lot of good 72 virgins will do him now. How do you apologize for a thing like that? I’ve had friends let me down, but generally it involved things like failing to repay small loans. When a buddy char-broils your entire crotch, de-friending him on Facebook doesn’t really express the extent of your hurt feelings.

Stay in on New Year’s Eve. I think it’s safe to assume there will be an exploding-underpants flash mob at every celebration in the United States. I’m glad Dick Clark isn’t alive to see this. Oh, wait. He is alive. Hope he has ear plugs and a polycarbonate face shield. As the premiere rock and roll impresario of the Fifties, he is very familiar with the sight of flying underwear, but in the past, it usually contained hotel keys and love notes, not homemade napalm.

Hey, I just realized who we need to call to fix this crisis. Tom Jones! If anyone knows how to deal with airborne underpants, it’s Tom.

I’m eagerly waiting to see what fanatical Islam can do to make air travel more disgusting and ridiculous.

Rube Goldberg Drills a Hole

I think it is just barely possible that I ordered the wrong drill press vise.

Here is my cross slide table, which I finally installed today. I had to make those slabs of aluminum from a 4″ square bar. Then I roasted a new countersink trying to make holes for the bolts that attach to the sides of the table. Apparently 1000 RPM, while fine for a 1/2″ 2-flute end mill, is not a great speed for a zero-flute countersink. Fortunately, there was a bigger one in the set, which I did not roast.

Here is my ancient Home Depot drill press vise, which probably has 2 1/2″ jaws. It’s too small.

I figured 4″ would be about right. But check this out:

I guess I can make it work, but it looks a lot like the Grinch’s sleigh on the way up Mount Crumpet.

Maybe I should see about a 3″ vise.

I’m very pleased with the mounting job. It was not easy. I had to saw the slabs out. Then I had to mill them to size. After that, I had to drill the holes, and then I had to do the countersinking. I had to go to the hardware store to find bolts and stuff that would work. The cross slide table is designed as though the engineer who created it knew someone would try to put it on this type of drill press, and he was determined to stop them. I had to sink bolts into the aluminum slabs from below, because there was no way to go through the drill press table without cutting into it.

A more suitable base for the cross slide table would be a viable and useful project, but I’d need a big chunk of steel, and if I screwed up once, I’d have to trash it and start over.

The more I worked on this, the more I understood how much I needed a drill press. Drilling on the mill works extremely well, but you have to play around with a four-foot-long table and a gigantic vise. It would be much faster on the drill press.

I received a VFD for Christmas, so I’m going to slap a 3-phase motor on this puppy. I can’t live without reverse. I just can’t. You understand, right?

I feel like the king tool stud of the universe. And it will be nice to have this junk on the drill press table instead of scattered around the garage.

Plus Boring Virus Whining

I guess people think I’m dead because of the gap in my blogging. Sorry to disappoint you. The virus has left me in a strange mental state in which I sort of drift around like a cloud. I just don’t feel like doing anything.

I’m not complaining. The soreness went out of my throat yesterday, and I haven’t had chills or aches since Saturday night. I’m caught up in a dreamy state in which I lack motivation. And I don’t feel like exerting myself mentally. This must be how liberals feel every day.

I’m so happy I can swallow and breathe, I don’t care much about anything else. I can almost taste food.

My doctor says about 4% of sore throats are strep throat, and the remainder are mostly viral. I tested negative for strep, so I guess I’m in the majority. I had both flu shots, and I haven’t had a high fever, so it’s probably not the flu.

The medicine I use causes much of my suffering. I loaded up on Afrin night before last, and after I got up in the morning, I had the notorious rebound effect, so until about nine p.m., I felt like I had rudder-box packing stuffed up each nostril. I also had problems with 12-hour Sudafed waking me up at three in the morning.

I decided to try guaifenesin. It’s supposed to loosen things up. Seem to work, but not all that well.

The guy who runs security at my church sent an email to everyone who works with him. An organization that trains security people will be having a two-day seminar in Fort Lauderdale in January. I think it would be great, but the $300 price is a bummer.

I think our church needs to have a few members packing heat at all times. We’re in the ghetto, and we collect cash offerings. Besides, being unarmed is almost never a good idea. Remember Jeanne Assam. Better yet, remember the people who were killed before the gunman ran into his first armed Christian.

Whenever I go into the building, I have to leave my carry piece in my truck, where it can be stolen by crackheads. I’m unarmed, the church has one less potential defender, and the crackheads have a chance to steal a nice pistol. This is not a good situation for anybody, except the crackheads. Plus, it’s a pain.

On the subject of guns, allow me to bring you good news. Federal FMJ 9mm ammunition is back down to $9.95 per box, where it should be. What a relief. You can find it at Outdoormarksman.com. They also have Wolf 7.62mm x 39 for $200/thousand. That’s helpful, if you need to sweep your church’s parking lot with a Vz 58. That will learn the heathens respect.

If I can make myself stand up long enough, I may finish my Saiga 12 conversion today. I would be really embarrassed if a burglar showed up before it was finished and all I had to offer him was a 1911.

I try to be a thoughtful host.

My Nose Hairs are Smoking

I think I killed my digestive tract. I’ll have to replace it with PVC.

The chicken curry was magnificent. I was actually able to taste it through the viral infection. I used three habanero gold peppers in 2 pounds of chicken, and it was perfect. Any hotter, and I would not have been able to eat it. Any milder, and it wouldn’t have gotten the job done. I needed something to scorch my sinuses and open up all the little holes in my head, and this stuff did it.

I wish I had some chicken fat to add to it. That would make it even better.

I Attempt to Melt a Slotted Spoon

I found a doctor who works on Saturdays. This guy is open twelve hours a day during the week, plus Saturday mornings. Crazy. Seems like a good doctor. Very efficient. I commented on his schedule, and he says his friends can’t make a living because they don’t want to work.

He says I have a viral throat problem, so I have to avoid people for a few days. Unless they are people I want to kill. He also said you should always see a doctor when you have a sore throat, to make sure it’s not strep, which can affect your heart. This is pretty much why I showed up.

My blood pressure bordered on high, so he gave me a sheet of dietary instructions. I took a look, before giving it to Marv to chew on. He could have just said, “You know what you do all the time? Stop it.”

My diet is actually pretty healthy these days.

Last night was a fun ride. It started with a scratchy throat. Then it got worse, and I got unbelievable bone pains. I got so cold I could not get warm. I put three blankets on the bed and cranked the heated mattress pad to its highest setting, and my hands were still like ice. The air temperature in the room was 75, but it didn’t matter. Then, of course, I woke up frying. I slept about fifteen minutes.

I can’t drive for the church tonight. I guess they’ll find someone else to drive people from the shelter.

There’s one nice thing about being sick. It gives me an excuse to make blistering-hot food. When you have a cold or sore throat, spicy food and ice cream are the only things that taste good. I have to decide what I want. I’m thinking curried chicken.

The great thing about this opportunity is that I don’t have to share this, so I can make it so hot it glows. And I’m going to pile sour cream on it.

Soon the viruses will wonder what hit them. This body will not be a pleasant place in which to make a home and raise little viruses.

I feel pretty good today, except for the throat and a little mental fog.

Stand Upwind

My throat feels funny and I have a fever of 99.4°. You are advised to shun me until further notice. If you are female and therefore already shunning me, you may disregard this message.

What’s a good cocktail based on Nyquil? Can I make a frozen daiquiri from it?