Daniel Abbey

Note: this post uses portions of an old article you may have read but can now no longer find on my site. Forgive me. I’ve always wanted to reword that article. This is the (better) update.

I miss drinking tea.

“Well get up and make some you dopey fool!”

Yeah but I don’t feel like it. I haven’t felt like drinking tea for a few weeks now.

Something must be wrong.

I’m English. And like every other scraggly-toothed, stiff-upper-lipped yeoman I like my tea – nay, NEED my tea on a regular basis.

Tea is how we start/get through/end the day as well as react to football matches/deal with strange election results/conclude funerals.

In Britain, people drink an average of 1,550,600 cups a day – just over 7 Olympic-size swimming pools – a stupendous amount of tea. Hooray for India.

English tea consumption, like the mathematical equation Pi, is constant, bankable, and woven into the very fabric of the universe.

So why am I not drinking?

It’s not like I don’t have the right brand. Some people won’t drink tea unless it’s of a very special quality, grown in the magical hills of some faraway third-world country, protected by rebel insurgents and tree fairies, touched only by virgins, transported down to civilization one sack every six months and doled out to the rest of the world on a gold barter arrangement. This tea is usually sipped out of a small porcelain thimble held between the thumb and index finger with the pinky extended as far away in the other direction as humanly possible.

That ain’t me. I also dislike anything that pretends to be avant garde but is actually the product of some unholy union between Earl Grey and a dubious sounding fruit. Bergamot Orange is one such example. It’s as clear as ant’s blood and tastes like mouthwash. I’d sooner use it to scrub my car than let it slip down my throat.

I enjoy the traditional English cuppa, also known as Builder’s Tea, which is strongly brewed Ceylon with milk and sugar mixed in. Forget green tea, herbal tea, or whatever medicinal tea your local shaman alternative doctor is hawking you. They may be able to cure cancer, promote brain activity, and enhance sexual performance but do you really wanna chastise your taste buds to be a virile, intelligent lothario?

Wait, don’t answer that question.

Back to my current tea-totalling (pun intended). Maybe it’s the unbearable Philippine heat? It’s hard to drink tea when it feels like the earth’s been stuffed inside a giant leather jacket.

Or maybe it’s because I tend to drink coffee most of the time at work. Now that I have a real job with real deadlines and a real coffee machine in the pantry with tons of gourmet grains in stock, coffee has become, well, a lot easier to prep and drink, that’s for sure.

I know there’s a theological lesson buried in here somewhere. Maybe if I flip the kettle on and drop a teabag into a mug, it’ll all become clear.

Like Bergamot Orange, only better.

I am not what you would call an athletic person.

I rarely play sports. The most involved I get with anything that requires me to stretch and exercise my muscles would be running, which I only do when it rains, I’m late for work, or if I’ve eaten too much curry and the men’s room is a considerable distance.

Even then I don’t run that often. So it came as no surprise that I almost had a seizure playing badminton the other night.

OK, so “seizure” is a bit much. But it sure felt wrong. When your sweat transforms your t-shirt into cling wrap and you’re gasping for air like someone sealed you in a giant ziplock bag, something is amiss, no?

I must admit, I strolled onto the court feeling fairly confident. I mean, come on, it’s badminton – how hard can it be? You just hit the shuttlecock back and forth until it falls to the floor, gets stuck in the net, or smacks you in the face because you thought you could hit it with a fancy forward swing but, uh, you thought wrong (aka “epic badminton fail”).

Look, ice hockey it is not. The thing is, a sport is a sport and at some point will require you to do the unthinkable, like move your arms, bend your knees, or explain that sweat in your eyes always messes with your contact lenses. I was hoping there wouldn’t be much of that, like perhaps I could hit incoming shuttlecocks with sheer mind power instead of actually having to use a racket, imagination, and some ol’ fashioned human strength.

Again, wrong.

I played my friend and comrade in the Lord (who also happens to be my boss), a big-framed Finnish software developer who looks like Philip Seymour Hoffman except that instead of starring in Oscar-quality films he makes world-class software for a living. He’s the kind of guy who, when thinking, frowns hard and tucks his chin firmly between his thumb and index finger. He speaks with a sophisticated European drawl and regularly dispenses professorially profound observations on technology and theology, his twin passions, while peering over steel-rimmed glasses and sipping ridiculously strong coffee.

He’s also something of an expert at badminton (as far as I could tell anyway) and approached the game with such stoic calculation, such efficient, self-assured Finnishness, I felt I was playing a James Bond villain who kills his enemies by making them sweat to death on court (“Do you expect me to lose?” “No Mr. Bond, I expect you to die!”) He basically stood in one place, effortlessly returning my volleys, while all I could do was scramble to and fro to pick up flaming shuttlecocks before they melted through the floor.

At one point, after stooping for the nth time to retrieve a smoldering projectile, I stretched, recalibrated my spine, and let out a parched sigh that reverberated throughout the court like an unholy echo from the bowels of hell. I then turned to my friend to see him sniff. That’s right, he sniffed. No cracking of the neck, no wiping of the brow with his forearm. He wasn’t even sweating. He just sniffed and stared at me, waiting for my serve.

Needless to say, I lost the game. We didn’t actually score it but from the way I dragged my sorry backside off the floor (and the way my friend stayed on to play a few more games in quick succession), I knew who the better man was.

May I give a few suggestions to anyone like me whose gut is the size of an American football, has zero legs muscles, and thinks he can totally kill at a round of badminton when all he’s ever mastered is Scrabble?

Learn how to do CPR on yourself.

And it helps to play someone just as clueless at sports as you are. If your opponent is calm, extremely intelligent, and grew up in a country that feeds this to their kids, steer clear!

Now if I can just learn how to breathe without swallowing my tongue, things might be better next match.

I can’t wait to have my own car.

A year ago I was singing a different tune.

A year ago I was a learning driver, a very reluctant motorist thrust into the pilot’s seat by the sheer will of my wife who, tired of being the family leadfoot, insisted I learn how to drive or have something akin to invasive surgery without anesthetic. My response, after acknowledging it’d be a lot easier for her if I relieved her of driving duties and took to the anarchic streets of Manila instead, was to mope around every day for the next few months hoping she’d have amnesia and forget the idea altogether.

She didn’t. Not after she endured a pregnancy that had her driving herself to her OB-GYN on a regular basis, halfway across treacherous and heat-drenched Manila, even as she entered her eight month of conception and battled contractions with every step on the gas.

So I finally learned how to drive.

Or, to be more precise, I learned how to dodge maniac drivers, avoid lunging jaywalkers, evade corrupt traffic enforcers, and prevent myself from slashing my wrists every time I got mired in traffic, which is pretty much run of the mill here in the Philippines and far more common that I care to admit.

Anyway, to celebrate my newfound ability after 32 years of being a non-driver I’m eager to get my own car (instead of borrowing the mom-in-law’s wheels every time we go to church or do the groceries).

I can’t help but think of 2 Timothy 4:7-8. We run the race to win the prize, right? We sprint with all our might, darting our spiritual course, hurdling obstacles, shirking opposition. We twist, we turn, we ache, we burn, we live out our salvation in Jesus. And the reward? A crown of righteousness and eternal company with the good Lord Himself.

Nothing could be better than to endure the race of faith, make it across the finish line, and collapse in the arms of the Savior who embraces us with joy and pride.

The car I’m aiming for, it’s not a brand new, top of the line, gas-guzzling, wallet-busting vehicle with 20 cup holders and a television screen in the back of each seat. It’s a simple deal with good air-conditioning, a reliable engine, and comfortable seating for a family of four. Lord-willing it’ll be easy on the budget and will last a good many years.

But what I’m really excited about is being able to avoid the daily mixture of tropical heat and intense urban pollution that so plagues my city. I’m also excited to give a lift to my friends every now and again and not be the one always in need of a ride.

I endured my training (which, in the Philippines, means braving the mean streets until you’ve mastered the skill and haven’t killed anyone, yourself included, in the process) and now I eagerly await my prize.

The race of faith is a lot more complex than having extended driving lessons and is fraught with greater challenges and temptations. Heaven will be much, much sweeter than buying a second hand car (Psalm 16:11).

But life has its teaching moments and today, as I ponder a possible car purchase, I’m reminded just how lovely heaven will be for those who endure in Christ to the end.

I seriously love our new coffee machine.

My wife and I recently bought a Braun Coffee Maker so we could start consuming a huge cask of ground coffee sent by my mother-in-law from the US. We didn’t want to let the coffee go to waste and had always wanted to ditch instant coffee anyway. So we invested in a simple unit and began brewing.

So far, so addicted. I’ve always enjoyed coffee but to now wake up to the pleasant aroma of freshly brewed coffee hanging in the clear morning air, well it’s pure joy.

To be able to warm the house with a pot of coffee in the afternoon while the world outside endures a cold and relentless downpour is also a real treat.

Reading a good book over a swirling mug of steaming coffee is further proof we made a decent and crucial investment.

I’m loving every minute.

I’m also wary of the shakes.

Not that my increased coffee intake has suddenly turned me into a sunken-eyed, trembling madman (homeschooling my son takes care of that). It’s just that whenever I amplify my flirtations with coffee I always undergo a heightened sense of awareness that seriously impedes my ability to function like a normal human being.

In other words, coffee plays on my nerves.

I can remember several occasions when this hasn’t been a good thing.

One was when I was shaving.

I was at the kitchen sink and had laid aside a small stand mirror to rinse my razor. Now anyone who knows me is aware that I abhor rats and anything else that crawls rapidly and without remorse. You’ll also know that I once lived in a house that had a serious rat and cockroach problem.

I was at the sink when I saw some quick movement in the mirror, something that resembled a lumbering rodent headed in my direction.

Naturally, I freaked. After a few seconds flailing about the kitchen like a donkey having a spasm, I realized that the “rodent” in the mirror was merely a quick reflection of my arm.

How sad.

My current caffeine intake, although elevated, has so far produced little in the way of similarly erratic behavior. But I do feel it’s fast approaching a level where paranoia is a virtue and regular gesticulation is the mark of a true coffee hero.

I’m sort of code yellow at the moment, approaching code red, if you know what I mean. I’m more prone to fiendish outbursts whenever my son jumps out from behind me, more liable to type a hundred mistakes a minute when speed typing (or whatever you call rapid typing with four fingers while salivating over the keyboard).

I don’t want to regulate my coffee, although that’s probably the best thing to do at this point.

It’s a good thing there are no rodents where I now live.

My 9-year-old son made this. Three of them. They’re scattered strategically throughout the house; we can’t miss them. This one resides on my desk. How he thinks he’ll raise PhP11,000 using these tiny containers is beyond me. But I think it’s really cute. I’ll let him try and raise cash this way for a bit before reminding him that saving up his weekly allowance instead of blowing it on junk food might help his cause. We’ll see what happens.

For anyone who’s had trouble setting up an Outlook 2007 email account, I have some great news: I’ve cracked the code.

Well, my wife did actually, and before anything else I’d like to sing her praises.

You see, I’m like a knight out of Army of Darkness (the best of the Evil Dead trilogy, won’t you agree?) The car falls out of the sky and I attack it with my sword thinking it’s some kind of iron dragon.

Meanwhile, my wife is Bruce Campbell’s Ash, the self-sufficient technomaniac who can make a mechanical hand out of metal. She’s watching me freak out because Outlook 2007, my personal iron dragon, refuses to send email to anyone outside my company (although it has no qualms about receiving email from anywhere).

So I’m sat here, jabbing at Outlook like it’s the most alien thing in the world, and my wife finally decides to give me the time of day. At this point I’ve done everything I can to make Outlook work (haha, joke’s on me). I’ve even tried configuring Outlook to use my ISP’s smtp, in this case the smtp of PLDT MyDSL. I feel like I’ve accomplished something, but it’s still all funky. So the wife steps in.

She shows me it’s not rocket science by doing some quick online research and finding Gmail’s smtp. She then follows the instructions on how to configure Outlook and boom, we’re all set. What took me a couple of days to agonize over took her less than 5 minutes to resolve.

I do a test email, witness magic, and say something about how rich we’d be if my wife charged inordinate amounts of money as a tech consultant to hapless guys like me, of which I’m sure there are thousands.

So fellow Outlook 2007 users-who-don’t-have-it-in-you-to-do-some-simple-research-and-follow-clear-instructions, don’t despair. If keying in your local ISP’s smtp still doesn’t let you send emails, using Gmail’s smtp is a brilliant alternative.

And if you’re a fan of the Evil Dead Trilogy, Sam Raimi’s got some good ol’ horror coming our way this May.

Written while I was still single and living in a small house that had a pest problem.

Pursuant to Public Information Act 421

Excerpts of correspondence between the terrorist factions Rogue Antiestablishment Territorial Scum (R.A.T.S.) and Radical Order of Area Contaminators and Hierarchy of Effluence Stink (R.O.A.C.H.E.S.) currently operating in the district of Lot 10-Veraville Town Homes, otherwise known as my house.

Day 57

R.A.T.S.: The extensive floor plans you provided us have proved to be very useful as is your dossier regarding the Enemy’s living arrangements. We couldn’t care much for your observations regarding the fragrance of his foot coverings – that is your territory, dear fellows, use the information to your advantage. The rest of your report is of immense aid to us, however, and we are especially delighted to learn that the Enemy rarely inhabits the lower sections of his palace during evenings. We have concluded that a night time operation is in order so as to maximize this advantage and reach our objectives in the shortest time possible.

R.O.A.C.H.E.S.: Many lives were sacrificed to attain those plans. Battalion 3006 suffered immense casualties at the hands (or should we say feet) of the Infidel. We pray for victory in your upcoming undertaking. Our operatives are on standby should you need any further surveillance. And please be reminded of our sentries posted at the Pit of Refuse which, as noted in the dossier, is to the west of your entry point. Please see to it that no harm comes to them.

Day 62

R.A.T.S.: Operation “Kitchen Scout” has been a mighty success. Acting on your comprehensive dossier our top agents have managed to infiltrate the Enemy’s residential palace by way of the back door and have identified a safe route from our entry point to the Food Platform and back. We have also discovered a major Used Garment deposit tucked under a second platform and will utilize it as a rendezvous for successive missions.

R.O.A.C.H.E.S.: We are pleased to hear that you have finally penetrated the Infidel’s quarters. We advise caution, however, as he is wary of sudden movement and is known for instant retaliation. Should you encounter him during your mission we recommend instant withdrawal of troops. Our operatives fall victim to him everyday. But no matter; we are blessed with an unparalleled reproduction and training facility where soldiers are constantly formed and readied for battle. If your mission allows you, drop by the Drainage Area adjacent to the Pit of Refuse – there you will find our secret, state-of-the-art Breeding Clinic.

Day 64

R.A.T.S.: Thank you for your continued insights. As you know Operation “Kitchen Attack” is well underway and though our movement is guarded we have achieved many victories. Two of our agents have managed to sample a large quantity of dough and have also brought back to base a sheet of soiled packaging. Our chemical experts have confirmed that the dark brown substance is of high nutrition and intensely saccharine. The downside is that after ingesting the substance many of our operatives become edgy and begin to squeal a lot. We approach Phase II of “Kitchen Attack” with reduced numbers as many of us have had to remain underground to recover from these dire side affects.

R.O.A.C.H.E.S.: The substance you referred to in your last report has been a staple of our regiment for many years now. The Infidel unwittingly supplies us with a great life source! It will be to his downfall. And yes, it is a highly stimulating ration that almost always enhances our ability to stay awake throughout our campaigns.

A word of caution though: the Infidel also possesses a stockpile of a similar looking brown substance that is kept in a marked container on the shelf. It is shipped into what we refer to as the Infidel’s “Morning Drum” where it is mixed with hot water and another substance that we know as “Sweet Crystals”. The Infidel consumes this mixture on a regular basis. We think it is the key to his longevity.

One of our agents attempted to test the substance during a recent mission into the Infidel’s “Morning Drum” left in the “Bay of Waste”, this delightful area that is an apparent depot for used containers. Unfortunately our agent but became highly agitated upon ingesting the substance. We had no option but to leave him flying incoherently around the palace, slamming his body into the walls. We had hoped to salvage him at some stage and get him out of harm’s way but could only watch in sorrow as the Infidel claimed his life with a strange weapon best described as a thick sheet of human reading material rolled into a tube.

However, the crazed excitement our agent caused the Infidel was inspiring to observe; he seemed extremely agitated and upset by the rash, albeit embarrassing demonstration by our poor brother. We therefore treat our agent’s demise as a victory and are now working on ways to use that particular substance to our benefit.

Day 69

R.A.T.S.: We have come across a rather annoying turn of events. The Enemy has learned of our activities and has shielded our entry point with a slab of hardened pulp. Operation “Provision Raid” has been put on hold while our engineers bore through this obstacle.

It must be admitted that this is entirely our fault – one of our agents accidentally tipped over a series of empty canisters under the Drainage Area you suggested we visit. Thus the Enemy was alerted to our presence.

We did manage to glimpse your Breeding Facility, however, and commend you on the extent of your reproduction programs. Perhaps you would be so kind as to one day train us in this vital area – we would very much like to step up the production of our reinforcements.

In the meantime can you provide us with a set of eyes inside the palace so we can be prepared for any further adjustments when we resume our mission?

Day 73

R.O.A.C.H.E.S.: Enclosed is our report on the current state of affairs within the palace. As you have been busy drilling through the entry blockage our soldiers have discovered a stash of black plastic and what appears to be a large yellow papyrus of some description. Our intelligence suggests that this is a defense mechanism of some sort. We advise you to be on Code Red alert when you finally resume operations.

Day 75

R.A.T.S.: We are pleased to report that Operation “Back Door” has come to a highly successful conclusion. The material used to block our passage was exceptionally thin and our engineers had little trouble in boring through. “Kitchen Raid” will recommence in approximately 480 minutes.

In heeding your warning regarding possible Enemy defense we have sent out a Mission Objectifier for Unaccounted Snares and Entrapments. This agile cousin of ours will report on any new hazards we might have to deal with.

R.O.A.C.H.E.S.: We congratulate you on the success of Operation “Back Door”.

We are monitoring your progress and will time a separate mission once you have reached your own objectives. We are currently mobilizing units for another concentrated excursion into the Pit of Refuse. Please be advised of our somewhat large presence.

We also wish to inform you of our ongoing daytime exercises in the Infidel’s sleeping quarters. Our special suicide operatives regularly take to inserting themselves between the Infidel’s night covers and have cost him many hours of broken sleep of which we are most proud.

Day 76

R.A.T.S.: It is a sad day for all members of the Rogue Antiestablishment Territorial Scum. It has been reported that the Mission Objectifier for Unaccounted Snares and Entrapments has fallen victim to a rather crude but effective defense mechanism duly installed by the Enemy along critical passageways in the palace. Before we could get to examine it ourselves the Enemy retrieved the mechanism, along with the agent’s body, and disposed of them at an undisclosed location outside.

Furthermore the agent’s capture has led to a blockage reinforcement of our main entry point. Our engineers were on the scene at once but have determined that the new obstruction is much denser than the previous one installed and it would take a considerable effort to break through it.

Therefore we formally announce a temporary suspension of Operation “Kitchen Raid”. We will now focus our energies on the neighboring household and hope that the opposition there will not be as clever. Feel free to continue your own activities. We continue to welcome your support although, by nature of our design, we cannot pledge our unconditional loyalty to your cause. We hope you understand.

R.O.A.C.H.E.S.: It is unfortunate that your special operative came to such demise. But it is worth remembering that many of our soldiers have succumbed to a similar fate.

The defense mechanism you referred to is a common trap primarily designed to capture Fellows of the Legion of Internal Exploration and Soaring. This is the yellow papyrus we discovered amongst the Infidel’s armory. FYI it is designed to adhere to its victims thus rendering them immobile until certain death. It is advised that you archive this information for future reference.

As for us we shall continue our day and night operations as is the norm. Thousands of fresh recruits sign up daily in our cause against the Infidel and we intend to continue our conflict until he bows and retreats in shame. His arrogance seems to be growing as our intelligence suggests that he has acquired Weapons of Mass Destruction to use against us in our struggle. These are in the form of large shiny canisters that emit deadly fumes when employed. We are undeterred, of course, and hope to build our own WMD once we’ve acquired sufficient knowledge.

Brothers, we shall keep you informed of our victories. Do not let these setbacks deter you from your goals. We shall triumph yet.