"More coffee, hun?"

I�ve had many memories at Waffle House. But I�m guessing some of you have never even been to one before. For those who don't know, it's a 24 hour grease-pit. A southern staple of grits and hospitality. It originally began in a little suburb outside of Atlanta Georgia in 1955 and now reaches as far north as Pennsylvania / Rhode Island and stretches west to Arizona / Colorado. Sorry Portland, but Waffle House might be my favorite cup of coffee. The coffee is not good, it�s bland. But the atmosphere is ironically endearing in that white-trash sort of way. A classic American icon if you ask me.

With three of us at the table my friend looks at my other friend and says, �translate this for me, I�ve been wondering about this for a while.�

He glanced across my friend�s brand new MacBook Pro and starts translating arcane Greek sentences from the ancient Nicene Creed devised by the Romans in 325AD. This is a bedrock, if not the bedrock document securing the survival and health of Christendom.

From across the table I hear, f?? ?? f?t??, Te?? ???????? ?? Te?? ????????, ?e??????ta ?? p??????ta, ?�???s??? t? ?at??, d?' ?? t? p??ta ????et? . . . God from God, Light from Light . . .

In Waffle House, mind you, he starts telling us about the annoying propensity to which the Grecians utilized reflexive participles. A literary faux-pas if you ask him. I start laughing at the insanity of it all. I mean, a Waffle House is no place for a MacBook. Let alone an opinionated lecture on an archaic language. My life doesn 't make sense and I'm beginning to be okay with that.

And right before this happened on the same MacBook we purchased plane tickets from Shanghai to Xiamen (pronounced Shaw-Men) a paradise city located on the southern shores of China where we will be living and teaching English next week. A United States Passport and a Chase MasterCard were on the table trying to avoid coffee stains. Ten minutes before all this my friend was quoting Shakespearian Sonnets from his iPhone. This had to be the most sophisticated table in all of Waffle House history.

As we were laughing at this juxtaposition our waitress yelled across the room, �Good morning Duke!�

I looked up at Duke. Duke was more probably a local trucker. He had a Harley Davison hat with flames coming off the bill. A cigarette hung from his mouth and tattoos lined his arms. His black Sturgis t-shirt was tucked into his Brett Favre Wranglers but on his feet he did not have boots . . . on his feet he had flannel house shoes.

Duke garbled, �Good morning darlin.�

I later got in my car and followed my friend back to his house so he could use my car the next day. He was driving his mothers car at the time. And I passed a cop and panicked because my speedometer light is out in my hubcap-less 95� red Buick Skylark. I didn�t know how fast I was going. It was five in the morning. The story started swirling in my head, �Officer, we were just at Waffle House buying a plane ticket to China because we�ll be over there next week and my friend needs to use my car because he�s taking his mothers car back to her so she can go to work in a little bit. He needs to go to this bookstore in Fayetteville and buy himself a dry erase book with the 500 hundred most used Chinese characters in it. He�s really smart, he knows a lot about Koine Greek and Shakespeare and all...you know he's a good guy.�

And I�m sure he would have said something like, �Sir, I�ve heard a lot of stories in my day. Step out of your car.�

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Posted in: Eric Allen,Juxtaposition,Story,Waffle House

A repurposed Parable

Sarah, allow me to build upon your words.

Not long before I left Portland I found myself reading a small book in Powell�s dubbed Flight of the Hummingbird: A Parable for the Environment, a fun little book. After the parable it contained insights and advice from the Dalai Lama and Wangari Maathai, an environmental activist and leader from Kenya.

I don�t remember all that the Dalai Lama and Wangari Maathai had to say (don�t get me wrong, it was charming and to the point), but I do remember, almost verbatim, the parable about the hummingbird and the environment. Parables are funny little creatures sometimes. They stick to you like ticks stick to socks after a walk in the woods.

I got excited when I found the parable in video form. I, like Sarah, want to inspire change and not merely guilt. Here is the repurposed parable:

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Posted in: Earth,Eric Allen,Parable,recycling

Portland Wins yet another Beer Game

I�m not a beer snob by any stretch of the imagination. The word �connoisseur� would get me laughed out of most circles. And get this, I wasn�t even allowed to drink in college. I attended a Bible college in the Midwest (it's a great school). But I love beer. And I'm finished with school so occasionally I enjoy a good one (okay, �occasionally� was a bad word choice).

I almost titled this �Portland Ruins yet another Mid-Western Beer Drinker.� And I very well could have because that�s what it did. The greatest city in the Northwest ruined me. And I'm here tell about it. It�s a tragic tale. It really is.

I recently moved from Portland back home to Missouri. A drastic and brave move if you ask me. This place is a real bore sometimes. Not much is shaking in the Midwest. Portland looms large in my heart. But this is home and I�ll embrace it nonetheless (at least for a few more weeks�I�m leaving for China very soon if all the paper work goes through). But this place is special to me. It holds all the familiar quirks and smells that I�m used to. I can�t abandon it just yet.

Out on the town I leaned in and asked the hearty blonde haired waitress with exaggerated curls and spritz perfume what she had on her beer menu and she replied most mysteriously, �Bud Light, Budweiser, Miller Lite, Miller High Life, Miller Genuine Draft, Busch, Busch Light, Coors, Coors Light, Pabst etc� I scratched my head and asked, �Corona?� She shook her head and said, �No.�

I don�t remember what I drank that night, and no not because I drank too much, but because it was awful. I am baffled. I really am. How did frat-boy light-beer win the Midwest beer game? I don't like it.

I am beginning to understand why most Christians in the Midwest demonize beer. Chalk it up, it's a taboo 'round them here parts. But it can't be because beer is evil. No, that�s foolishness. Drunkenness is evil. I believe we've ostracized beer in the Midwest because the only names that are known around here sound so much like Bud Light and Coors Light. If this is the case then I don�t blame you (Midwest) for your beer hating. I mean, you don�t know the other names. The better names. Here are a few . . . take notes: Deschutes, Widmer�s, BridgePort, McMenamins, Rogue, Full Sail, Henry Weinhard's.

And I haven�t even scratched the surface. I told you I wasn�t a snob. Somebody else please fill-in the blanks. But I promise you won�t hate beer anymore. Or at least you�ll hate the right beer for the right reasons. Proper hate is good. I'll let you hate Busch Light if you like Deschutes Black Butte Porter.

I cannot go back. I can�t possibly nurse a Miller Lite. And like that . . . Portland wins again.

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Posted in: Beer,Eric Allen,Midwest,Portland