MOVED!!!

Hey, everyone, I've MOVED!!!

If you want to keep following my blog (assuming you're following it at all right now), go to The Dranther Lair.

See ya there!

I went into McDonald's, and I thought it was McDonald's...

I went into a house and it wasn't a house—
Slow white petals from the may-tree fall;
But it hasn't got a blackbird,
A blackbird,
A blackbird,
It isn't like a house at all.

I don't know where I'd be today without A. A. Milne's poetry. The word "bask" would have probably come into my vocabulary at a much later time than it did (and thus enter my conversations far less than it does) were it not for the poor old shipwrecked sailor "Who had so many things which he wanted to do That, whenever he thought it was time to begin, He couldn't because of the state he was in" (and who, by the way, is uncomfortably similar to myself ... though that's the point of the poem, isn't it? if one could be so bold as to insist that a Milne poem is intended to make a point...). I love rice pudding, which can quite possibly be attributed to the vehemence with which Mary Jane (and Casey in Candleshoe) despise the dish. And I may have never known that "Jack" is a nickname for "John" (did you know that?) were it not for King John's lesson in humility as his letters to Father Christmas become increasingly desperate in his quest to receive his "big, red, india-rubber ball". The list of things I learned through exposure to Milne stretches on ... he taught me to distinguish between geraniums (red), delphiniums (blue), and chrysanthemums (yellow and white) — and how to spell the convoluted names of all three specimens at an age when reading each Boxcar Children book was a journey of several days — he taught me that the Queen can declare one's hands "purfickly clean" ... it may be thanks to Milne that I always do like a little bit of butter on my bread ... and who could ever forget (Now, then, very softly) J. J. M. M. W. G. Du P., who Took great C/o his M***** Though he was only 3? At the oddest times I'll remember a snatch of one of his poems that is somehow precisely applicable to my situation in life, even though I am neither Very Young nor any longer Six.

Tonight I encountered one such situation.

For several months, while my car was out of commission (due to a thrown rod that suddenly placed my poor vehicle in dire need of a new engine and radiator ... and my funds were insufficient to fulfill that need), I relied largely on the Tulsa Transit bus system to carry me to and from work.

Acknowledgement here is appropriate for those wonderful people to whom I am greatly indebted for providing me, at the collective cost of much of their own time and convenience, with rides to and from bus stops — rides that were not necessary but were incredibly helpful.

As my route home at night consists of two separate busses, with an eighty-minute layover between them, many of my evenings from 9:00-10:00 PM were spent at the McDonald's near 71st and Yale, where I would read, solve Sudoku puzzles, listen to music, perhaps try to catch a nap, and nearly every night order my signature Mocha Frappé (medium, with an extra shot of espresso, an extra shot of hazelnut, and whipped cream but NO chocolate syrup). Within a couple weeks, I was a familiar face to the evening staff at that McDonald's, and one or two of the employees would even go so far as to begin preparing my Frappé as soon as I walked in the door ... a couple of times they even gave it to me free of charge. I felt welcomed.

I regret to say that I cannot recall the names of any of those employees, though I know their faces at a glance. I held friendly conversation with the night manager; I once managed to order my Frappé in Spanish for the benefit — and to the delight — of a young lady whose English is still slow (I did have to ask her the Spanish word for "syrup" [miel]); I chatted about a variety of subjects with the exuberant young man who once made me an unsolicited (but welcome) second Frappé just for the fun of making it, and whose name is on the tip of my tongue but sadly still escapes me.

Once my car was finally repaired, I no longer needed to take the bus and therefore no longer had a reason to stop at that McDonald's on the way home. However, I did stop by a couple of weeks later, just for old time's sake, and I saw the face of my just-barely-nameless friend light up when I walked through the door; he immediately asked if I wanted my usual and gave it to me free of charge. It was like returning home after a long vacation.

After that night, the McDonald's largely faded from my mind as the other inevitable demands and concerns of life pressed upon me. Tonight, for the first time in a couple of months, I dropped by that McDonald's again on the way home; walking through the door brought back a host of vague memories characterized mainly by feelings of ... sentimentality ... and I was slightly amused to consider the seeming impossibility of a cold, plastic, fast-food environment arousing such warm, homey feelings. With an almost-foolish smile, I strode to the counter ... and as I realized that I knew none of the faces behind it, the smile faded. The unfamiliar manager-on-duty regarded me calmly but distantly as he waited for me to make my order, and the workers at the drive-thru window, whom I had never seen before, barely glanced at me.

In the slight shock of seeing such an unexpected turnover in employees (ALL of the workers I knew were supplanted in such a short period?), I fumbled slightly with my order, but rattled off the recipe for my signature Frappé with constant searching glances for any hint of recognition. I saw none. Perhaps the people I knew are all working shifts earlier in the day ... or simply no longer working Thursday nights ... perhaps they have moved on to more distinguished jobs than "fast-food cook at McDonald's". All of the employees I met there had bright personalities, almost tangible aspiration, and warmly professional demeanors, instilling in me even as I grew fond of them a certainty that they would sooner or later move on to some higher calling. Yet what higher calling is there than to brighten, for however brief a moment or for however long a memory, the lives of the people whose paths we cross — perhaps once in a lifetime, or perhaps many times with an abrupt and final end? I was surprised at how disappointed I felt to lose that welcoming sensation of almost-camaraderie with those five or six friendly McDonald's evening shift employees.

The employees present tonight prepared my Frappé and I paid for it, and though one person seemed vaguely familiar (he might have been one of the people I knew, with a different hairstyle), I caught his eye several times and never saw the slightest spark of recognition. The place was keenly familiar, but the spirit I had come to take for granted had disappeared. Downcast, I carried my treat back to my car as a line from Milne's poem ran through my head:

"I went into a house, and I thought it was a house...."

Quivering

All my life, but most especially over this last year, I have been amazed to discover what incredibly wonderful parents God has blessed me with. Some very dear friends of mine, who appear to be members of perfectly "normal" conservative Christian families, battle every day with trauma and scars from their upbringing. And I'm not talking about children of "broken homes". I'm talking about families who truly and earnestly seek to follow God's direction in raising their children.

How much damage can be caused by a slight calibration error in a projectile weapon? What if the calibration is application of Scripture to life, and that projectile weapon is the well-being of your son or daughter? I hurt for the agony of my friends. I grieve for the despair of the parents who look on as things begin to crumble and wonder what they did wrong when all they ever sought was God's will in their families. My heart breaks for them ... but it bleeds for those sons and daughters whose lives will be scarred by this unintentional torture lovingly administered by their own parents.

Recently a friend pointed me to the Quivering Daughters blog (look through their FAQ to get a general idea of the blog's aim). It is in some ways relieving and in other ways more painful to realize that these few lives I've touched personally are not alone in their sorrow. It's staggering — grievous — depressing! — to see how widely these ideas and practices reach, and how thoroughly devastating misguided love can be. O Lord, the things done in Your name! — and by people whose motives are pure!

I'm glad God knows what He's doing with our lives, because this confusion leaves me reeling.

By the way, please don't ask me to whom this article might refer. I have some specific people in mind, but the truths here are general. If you think they might apply to you, they might. If they don't, they don't. My intent is not to point fingers, but to raise awareness of these situations and of this wonderful resource — and perhaps to raise a few eyebrows as well.

It's been a long, long time....

...and a lot has happened. I devoted much of my life and nearly all of my free time to two very special people, and as of this present writing they are both completely gone from my life — the first by my choice, incomprehensible to her; the second by her choice, stunning me but not leaving me entirely without hope.

And during this period of time I've devoted almost nothing of my life and next to no time to the one most important Person of all.

During my last conversation with the second friend, I lamented, "Everything, everything I've fought and worked and prayed for the hardest, I have lost." She responded, "Maybe you're working for the wrong thing."

Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart.

Only when I can truly let everything else go and rest completely and solely in Him can I be truly satisfied. And only then can I hope to have restored what I've lost.

All the things I took from thee, I did but take
Not for thy harms,
But just that thou mights seek it in My arms.
All which thy child's mistake fancies as lost,
I have stored for thee at home:
Rise, clasp my hand,
And come!

Wait for me, my Lamb. When the lion within is subdued, I'll be a true Lion, strong and free to protect and love you as I ought.

God keep us both.

Best night in ... a long time....

My fall will be for you
My love will be in you
If you be the one to
Cut me I'll bleed forever
— Ghost Love Score

Nightwish is my favorite band in the world, and though they've toured the US before (they're originally from Finland), this is the first time they've played in Oklahoma. I rode down to the concert with three friends. We left late and hit huge traffic jams on the way, then got lost for about fifteen minutes, but made it there just in time for the opening band, Volbeat (which I think is also from Finland). I was still sore from wildly dancing and headbanging to Birthday Massacre two days before, so I didn't dance to Volbeat's music (though my feet really wanted to), but I DID buy a Monster energy drink in anticipation of what was to come. After Volbeat finished, I pushed through the crowd, trailing my three friends, until we met solid opposition and were standing about ten feet from the stage, pretty far to the left side but still with a good view. At 10:00 I guzzled the Monster (sharing a little with a friend who is already so ADHD that decaf coffee is as good as espresso ... in all seriousness). At 10:10 people were coming and going through the stage doors, and we saw glimpses of Marco, Empuu, and Tuomas. At 10:20 Jukka appeared onstage, soon followed by Marco, Empuu, Tuomas, and Anette in no particular order and with little ceremony other than Tuomas's signature Hans Zimmer opening theme and a vivid display of lights. They immediately dove into their opening song, 7 Days to the Wolves, followed without pause by Nemo. Though most of the songs in this concert came from their latest two albums (Once and Dark Passion Play), they did go back to their third latest release and sing Bless the Child. Dark Chest of Wonders came next, followed by Amaranth (to the extreme joy of one of my friends — it's her favorite of all their songs). They took a short break and set a couple stools on the stage, preparing for the wistful The Islander, lit by a cool spectrum of marine colors. Next they sang While You Lips are Still Red, which was a nice surprise — it's one of my absolute favorites, and since it was only released on an EP of demos for their latest album, I had not expected them to play it. Finally they went back to the harder stuff, belting out Romanticide with even more feeling than in the studio version, and finishing with the song everyone had been waiting for — the quarter-hour Poet and the Pendulum. As soon as they left the stage, the crowd began roaring, and a tall man with a huge voice standing front and center led them all to chant "ONE MORE! ONE MORE!" — and then "GHOST LOVE SCORE! GHOST LOVE SCORE!" My heart raced with anticipation; that's another of my absolute favorites. Nightwish returned for their encore ... and to everyone's excitement, they played Ghost Love Score. That was followed by Wish I Had An Angel, after which Tuomas's signature Hans Zimmer exit music played and they all took a bow or three before leaving for the last time.

During the entire show, I had been screaming my excitement at each song, screaming out the lyrics to the songs as well as I could, not caring whether I was on key, jumping six inches off the ground in my 5-pound combat boots, shaking a "rock fist" to the beat, headbanging, waving, whatever I felt like doing and was able to do without injuring any innocent bystanders. My friends were bystanders, but apparently not innocent; I jumped on the toes of the one behind me three times. Even with the help of the energy drink, by the time they got to The Poet and the Pendulum, I was exhausted — though with the encore I suddenly realized I had more energy than I thought. Pretty much the entire last half of the concert I did on nothing but adrenaline... but I had a lot of that. My favorite band in the world, all the way from Finland, standing directly, almost tangibly, in front of me ... Tuomas, one of the most amazing people on earth, playing his triple keyboard directly across from where I was standing, and making eye contact with me multiple times ... I didn't care that my legs screamed in protest every time I jumped, or that every time I threw the rock fist my arm wanted to go with it; I didn't care that every time I banged my head sweat flew everywhere ... this was literally a dream come true.

During the concert (apologies for the quality — cell phone camera in low light)









After it was over ... "exhausted" is too gentle of a word

The Tree

He is like a tree planted by streams of water
that yields its fruit in its season,
and its leaf does not wither.
In all that he does, he prospers.

— Psalm 1:3 (ESV)

Let me tell you a story.

There is a tree, much like the tree in this Psalm, which has been growing beside a nourishing stream for many years. It is tall and strong, an example many other trees look up to, and a home and fortress to many woodland creatures.

Every autumn, this tree sheds its leaves. In recent years, some of its branches have stretched far over the stream, and the leaves it sheds have been falling into the small channel, choking it. Not all of the leaves get washed away each year, and over time the waters in the stream trickled down to a halt. The stream no longer flows past the tree, having overflowed the banks and cut a new path in a different direction, and without the water and the minerals it carries, the tree has withered and has slowly begun to die. It is no longer growing, nor does it bear fruit or leaves. Yet even a dead tree remains for a long time, particularly a tree as hardy, as solidly rooted, and as sturdy as this tree. Most of the other trees in the forest don't realize the tree is dying, and continue to look up to it and be inspired by the example it sets. The woodland creatures still find shelter in its strong branches and in the shade of its powerful trunk.

Right now the tree is dormant, as most trees are in winter time — it's neither growing nor producing, but is still alive. However, if the stream is not soon allowed to clear itself of the debris, the tree will die and begin to weaken and rot. I know this tree personally, and have spoken with it many times on this exact subject. The tree is very thirsty, but is unwilling to stop shedding its leaves into the stream.

Please pray for my friend the tree.

Out of respect for the tree's privacy, I don't want to use its real name; if you know or think you know this person, please also respect their privacy and avoid using names in any comments you might leave.

Legend come to Life

This is the speech I gave for my Speech class assignment earlier this evening. Enjoy!

The concept of vampires — undead, virtually indestructible humans who survive by drinking blood — has been around for centuries, existing in some form in nearly every major culture of the world. Though descriptions and explanations vary with time and physical location, all share many similarities. The historical persistence and geographic scope of this legendary creature cannot be ignored. I have spent the last couple of weeks piecing together information from a variety of sources, online and offline, and am here tonight to inform you about the facts behind the legends of vampires and give you a glimpse at the unique characteristics of these intriguing creatures. I will start by explaining the vampire's essential characteristic — apparent indestructibility. From there I will move on to discuss their longevity, their aversion to silver, gold, and other heavy metals, and their nocturnal habits; I will close with a brief look at their most well-known characteristic — blood-drinking. Now open your minds and prepare to meet one of the strangest and most intriguing creatures to walk the face of the earth.

First, the most significant aspect of a vampire is its apparent indestructibility. There are few ways to actually kill a vampire because their bodies are equipped with amazing regenerative qualities. Because they lack a cell growth inhibitor gene that most humans are born with, vampires are imbued with a cellular regenerative speed many times that of a normal human; damage to any tissue, organ, or bone heals quickly — even a lacerated heart or damaged brain can be fully restored within hours. Furthermore, vampires are equipped with stem cell sites located throughout the body. Stem cells are unique in their ability to specialize as any type of cell — bone, muscle, liver, eye, and so forth. This ensures that even amputated limbs and damaged or missing organs can be easily restored — an ability scientists have been trying for years to duplicate, with limited success. Indeed, the single most effective way to kill a vampire is decapitation — when the brain can no longer signal the body to function or in turn receive nourishment from it, both die.

The second remarkable characteristic of vampires is their incredible longevity. Vampires do not die of natural causes. They recover quickly from wounds, physical stress, and fatigue that would kill a normal person, and a hyperactive immune system prevents them from falling prey to almost any disease. Vampires do not exhibit the physical characteristics of aging that most humans are subjected to; the constant rebuilding of their cellular structures prevents their bodies from weakening or decaying. Though most legends hold that vampires are dead humans raised back to life in an unnatural form, the simpler truth is that while vampires may appear to die and may appear to rise from the dead, they are merely very difficult to kill.

This brings me to my third topic, the effect of silver on vampires. Though their regenerative abilities protect them or at the very least help them to recover quickly from the effects of most physical harm, heavy metals such as silver, gold, mercury, and lead can cause serious damage to vampires — as to humans. The chemical structure of these and other heavy metals denatures and effectively destroys most proteins on contact, making them dangerous to humans and vampires alike. Silver is legendary for its resemblance to moonlight, so combining fact with superstition placed an undue emphasis on this as a substance deadly to vampires. However, any heavy metal will do the job. A wound infected with one of these substances will heal at a remarkably slower rate than a normal wound, as the metal continues to disrupt the protein structures until the body is able to remove the toxin. Obviously this confirms the well-known belief that a silver bullet through the heart will kill a vampire — the muscle cannot repair itself quickly enough to prevent cardiac arrest and death.

The fourth interesting aspect of vampires is their nocturnality. Their habit of hunting at night and sleeping, hidden from the sun, during the day is an element of nearly every vampire legend in existence. The reasons for this, however, are not as mysterious as many would like to believe, but are actually very simple. Because of the high cell turnover rate in all parts of the body, including the skin, vampires are highly susceptible to sunburn — the cells do not persist long enough to create the protective melanin that shields them from ultraviolet radiation. Thus the idea that vampires "burn up" in sunlight is, in a way, accurate. Furthermore, vampires have excellent night vision, far superior to all but the most exceptional humans. Sight is enabled when light strikes the retina and excites the rod and cone cells. When this happens, the cells change shape, breaking off a chemical group and sending an electrical impulse to the brain. After a few moments, a reverse chemical reaction causes the cell to change back to normal and the process can start over again. Vampires' extraordinarily high metabolism empowered by their rapid cell development accelerates these reactions, increasing to sometimes incomprehensible amounts the perception and quality of their vision even in near pitch darkness. Not only is the sun damaging to their skin, its light is painfully bright to their eyes.

The fifth and final characteristic of vampires I'd like to discuss is that for which they are most notorious — their repulsive habit of drinking blood. Most legends hold that because vampires are mere animated corpses and therefore have no circulation of their own, they must drink blood in order to survive. However, as I have already demonstrated, vampires are in fact very much alive — perhaps more alive in some ways than humans. Why, then, does their diet solely consist of blood? Unfortunately, this topic is one for which little data has been gathered. Perhaps the liquid form of blood provides their essential nutrients in a state better adapted for rapid absorption into the bloodstream than more solid forms like meat and vegetation. However, their increased metabolism requires a much higher caloric intake level than that of the average human, and blood simply cannot provide those calories. Might they gain their energy from a yet undiscovered source? While much can be learned or guessed about these incredible creatures, there is still a vast amount that we do not know.

In conclusion, tonight I have informed you about the facts underlying vampire mythology. I began by introducing the idea of accelerated cellular regeneration and explaining how that contributes to their apparent indestructibility. In light of this idea, I discussed their longevity, their aversion to silver and other heavy metals, and their nocturnal habits, and closed with a few thoughts on their well-known habit of drinking blood. I hope that you now have a better understanding of the truth behind the legends of the vampire. Every legend is grounded in reality, and few people are aware of how dangerously real vampires are.