Tuesday, December 31, 2013

An Angry White New Year's Eve

There's no fanfare or public relations work to do tonight. I'm not gonna even post a link to this one on Facebook. It may even be deleted by morning if I care enough to take a second look. I'm tired of defending myself against the world anyway and of having to answer all of the smart alecky devil's advocates, many of who should really know better anyway. I don't need to be the one to tell them.

Sometimes, you just need to get it out of your system.

If the Angry White Loner were truly angry and a loner, he might lament the fact that it's New Year's Eve. Again. There are parties to attend, but at this point, they feel only like an obligation. One is a Church dance for single adults of the younger set, from whom the AWL has been cast out as a leper and unclean, while another is for the old set, who have been assimilated by the Borg, and, I daresay, there are very few who have met each other more than once in a year's time. The third option is the marrieds party, which, you might guess, is for the married friends.

The AWL would just be a third wheel. Or fifth wheel. He forgets which one it's supposed to be. But you get the picture.

He also set a new personal "best," if you can call it that, this month, batting .000 in the dating department. That's 0-for-9. He tried to get a date nine times and was told no, thanks, nine times. One of the girls he asked out four times, four weeks in a row, before she finally remembered that she had a boyfriend. Or she made one up. Same effect, either way.


He tells himself to brush himself off and keep trying, but rejection still hurts. If you care even a little bit, it has to. Nothing risked, nothing gained. All of those slammed doors on the mission pale in comparison.

Not that he is bitter. Haha!

Ergo, he's in a room full of people, yet all alone at the same time. It's not from a lack of trying, he reminded himself more than once tonight. That one thought is a small consolation. The only consolation. There is that cute girl who wants to get to know him better on the online dating site, but she lives in Alaska. Nope, nobody in the immediate, 1,000-mile radius tonight.

Nobody cares. They go through the motions of caring, but they don't. None of the ones he cares for and wants to care for him in the same way, at any rate. That's the Catch-22 of it all. They all say they want a sense of humor and kindness and all of that gooey stuff, and end up picking the jerks anyway. Or, they pick no one. 'Cause there's only one Captain Moroni, and it certainly ain't you.

There are men out there on death row, for crying out loud, who have women madly in love with them. Convicted murderers, rapists, kidnappers, spousal abusers, child molesters, etc. Yes, the AWL is aware he has brought up this tidbit before. It never helps nor changes anything. But it still bothers him.

Another thing that bothers him: Angry White Close Relative and he had a conversation today. AWCR brought up the word that has crossed his mind several times before on sleepless nights but that no one has mentioned to him face to face until today: alone. That death knell of words. That's how you're going to end up, it was strongly implied. Maybe it was said right out loud. He doesn't really remember because he was stunned to hear it said out loud at long last. Either way, the message got across.

You had someone who cared about you not long ago, AWCR reminds him. She made you quite happy, didn't she? He can't believe he's doing it, but he cites Jane Austen.

"'Quite happy' is not enough. 'Quite happy' is not the ending I want to write for my story."

One in 500, he calculated not long ago. That's how many out there are still trying. Out of 30,000 people in this county alone, 29,000 seem to have given up. Completely. Either that, or they're hiding under some very large rocks out there somewhere. They fill up their lives with books and movies and Farmville and the badge of busyness and a thousand other things except for the most important thing they could be doing. As far as caring goes, they have declared themselves immune, exempt, and forfeit. He recognizes he feels passive-aggressive about it all, and though it's often been his defense mechanism, it's something he knows needs to work on in 2014. But he still notices it.

This is why people hate the holidays. This is why they get S.A.D. during this time of year.

Well, at least there's 101 Dalmatians on Netflix to keep him company. And that will have to be enough for tonight. Not the animated one; the live action one, with Dr. House and Mr. Weasley as the henchmen.

Yep, that's what the Angry White Loner would write only if he were truly angry and a loner. Which he clearly isn't.

Not in the least.

. . . Wait, the Lakers lost tonight?! And Disney's Robin Hood is on Netflix, too?! This day just got 10,000 percent better.

Monday, December 30, 2013

Everything Old Is New Again

The Angry White Loner's last post generated several more views than any other post he had previously made to that point. According to the view count, this particular post actually made it into triple digits, which is a rare thing for the AWL but still means more viewers than who, on average, tune into CNN or MSNBC programming.

In addition, I've received a lot of feedback about the post in my day-to-day conversations and on social media sites like Facebook. Most of it has been positive and civil, even from people who have disagreed with me, while some of it was less than civil and, unfortunately, has led to further debate and discussion.

In summary, if I may paraphrase Vizzini's assertion from The Princess Bride, the Three Classic Blunders must now be:

1) Never get involved in a land war in Asia.

2) Never go against a Sicilian when death is on the line.

3) Never get into a debate about religion or politics on an Internet discussion board.

That doesn't mean I intend to stop standing up for the things I believe in, nor does it mean I will stick my head in the sand like an ostrich when it comes to current events. But it does mean that I will try harder to both avoid casting "pearls before swine" and to avoid contention, because I think it's possible to do so in the process. With the New Year right around the corner, it's a resolution I am making and will try my darndest to stick to in 2014.

One overarching thought has occurred to me through it all, and it is simply this: Everything old is new again.

As a wise friend reminded me that, since the beginning of time and throughout the scriptures, people have ridiculed and discarded the counsel of the prophets of God in every dispensation of time, as well as in our own. That hasn't changed and, apparently, won't change anytime soon. It has happened before, and it shouldn't surprise us that it is happening again.

One less-than-courteous poster asked me bluntly, "Who are you to impose your religious dogma on other people and to deny them their Constitutional rights?" (There is no such "right" as gay marriage in the Constitution, but that is a discussion for another day, I suppose.) I must admit that it reminded me of King Noah responding to Abinadi's sermon in Mosiah 11:27:

"Who is Abinadi, that I and my people should be judged of him, or who is the Lord, that shall bring upon my people such great affliction?"

The flip side? Though the prophets have always been ridiculed and their counsel discarded, their words have always been fulfilled, and those who have ridiculed them and discarded their counsel have been destroyed, whether spiritually, morally, or physically.

Monday, December 23, 2013

Why It Matters

On Friday, a federal judge overturned Utah's Proposition 3, passed in 2004, which defined marriage, under Utah state law, as a contract entered into between only a man and a woman. I just read in tonight's paper that, in the three days since, more than 700 gay marriages have already taken place across the state.

This is all happening so fastmuch faster than I was prepared for. I didn't think we'd have to cross that bridge here in Utah for a few more years at the earliest.

And yet, here we are. "Tomorrow" has come. Some rejoice in that fact. I have been somewhat surprised to see more than a few of my LDS friends join in their jubilation.

As a result, many conversations have taken place, some more heated than others, over the past few days. Personally, I have engaged in discussions about the issue with family, friends, and even a few mere acquaintances, both in person and on Facebook discussion boards.

Earlier today, one friend posted a link on my wall that read, in part:

"Should a particular religion’s faith document (referencing the Proclamation on the Family) become law for everyone? Is the Bible the Constitution? Churches can still believe and practice what they want and not impose those beliefs on secular law. And do you really want to make legal or illegal everything the Bible endorses or opposes? Do you really want to go there?"
To paraphrase: "Why do you care, Angry White Loner, whether a man chooses to marry a man or a woman chooses to marry a woman? It's all about love, not hate. What does it matter to you whom another person chooses to love? How dare you impose your hateful, ignorant, outdated, homophobic religious beliefs on society."
I've pondered a great deal over both these questions and the possible answers over the course of the weekend. (Having strep throat tends to leave you with a lot of time to think about a lot of things.) And I've come up with two main points to sum up why this issue does matter a great deal to me personally and why it should matter to us all.
1) Two months ago, in the October 2013 general conference of the Church, Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said:
"Each day is a day of decision, and our decisions determine our destiny. One day each of us will stand before the Lord in judgment. We will each have a personal interview with Jesus Christ. We will account for decisions that we made about our bodies, our spiritual attributes, and how we honored God’s pattern for marriage and family" (emphasis added).

Though the world may not care what I, personally, believe on the matter, and may discount my opinion as someone unqualified to opine, the Lord cares what each and every one of us thinks on the matter and whom or what ideals we choose to follow in this lifetime. The day will come when we will have to account for it, face to face. And His opinion of us matters. He will want to know where and with whom we stood when all of this was going on.
2) Because of my nieces and nephews, it matters. A lot.
That thought occurred to me yesterday while I got to spend some time with them (at arm's length, of course, because I'm currently under the weather) at our bi-monthly family dinner.
I care for all nine of them a great deal. Hopefully, more will join us in the next few years. If and when I have kids, I will feel the same way about them, too. Next to their parents, grandparents, siblings, and other aunts/uncles, I care for them more than anyone else on this Earth. I want them to be happy and healthy and to succeed and grow and to live up to their potential. I also worry about what the future may bring them, though it is with cautious optimism. I hear a lot of optimism from President Monson and the other General Authorities when they speak.
As a family, collectively speaking, we are teaching these children that "marriage between a man and a woman is essential to His eternal plan" and that "children are entitled to birth within the bonds of matrimony, and to be reared by a father and a mother." Following this teaching is the only pathway to true, lasting happiness and a fullness of joy, both in this life and in the eternities. The God we believe in is a God of pure, perfect love, not of hate, and one who wants us to return to live with Him—though we have to do our part.

Already, however, the world is telling these children, either directly or indirectly, that this doctrine, as it is found in the Proclamation and in the mouths of 15 modern-day prophets, seers, and revelators, is outdated, stupid, wrong, changeable, hateful, discriminatory, bigoted, and other, worse adjectives that I won't mention here.
I cringe at the thought of this happening, though I know, sadly, one day, it will. I want to protect them from these detractors who are, in reality, the hateful, spiteful ones. I will fight with everything I possess to prevent it from happening. I will try to be the best example I can be of someone who honors God's pattern for marriage and family. Never, however, will I resort to bullying, fear mongering, unkindness, shunning, or any other tactic unbecoming of a follower of Christ to do so.

On a different friend's wall, I read this other thought:

“Right is right even if no one is doing it; wrong is wrong even if everyone is doing it.”
― Augustine of Hippo
Family and friends, the wheat is being sifted from the tareseven within the membership of the Church itselfand the five wise virgins are filling their lamps with oil, while the five foolish ones are being "tossed to and fro, and carried about with every wind of doctrine" (Ephesians 4:14). Nevertheless, the way to go is clear, if we will but hold to the rod and "not be deceived" (D&C 52:14) by false prophets, secret combinations, and other wolves in sheep's clothing.

Friday, December 20, 2013

I Should Be So Lucky

Luck . . .

It seems like it's never on my side. If I drop a piece of buttered toast, and this happens more often than I'd like to admit, it usually lands butter-side down. I also enter my fair share of contests, drawings, and games of chance but never win any.

Until Wednesday, that is. And it happened twice.

On Wednesday afternoon, I checked in for my usual bi-weekly plasma donation appointment, because that's just the kind of giving and chivalrous guy I am, to learn that I had won a random drawing for a $75 Visa gift card to spend on anything I wished.

Wednesday was also, coincidentally, my niece Kylee's 16th birthday, so I used part of the funds on the card to take her out to lunch and to buy her a gift card of her own at the mall. Like I said, giving and chivalrous guy and all that.

Later Wednesday night, some friends and I made our monthly visit to the Nickelmania arcade out in Midvale. I *ahem* used some of the funds from my aforementioned gift card to pay for my entrance fee, as well as a bag full of nickels to spend. Among other classic arcade favorites, I tackled The Simpsons Game as Homer, beating the game alone from start to finish.

Yes, sometimes, the Angry White Loner does things to remind himself about the loner part of his name.

Anyway, I finished off Mr. Burns at about 10:55 p.m., just five minutes prior to closing time at Nickelmania. And I still had a bag of nickels, more than half full, in my possession.

I then moved over to one of the games of chance at said location, one that requires three nickels per turn and which then allows you to push a button to drop a bouncy ball, which lands in one of several open holes and wins you a certain number of tickets. In four minutes' time, I managed to dispense of most of my remaining nickels and won forty or so tickets in the process.

Down to my final two nickels, and needing three nickels to take a final turn, I remembered that I still had an extra nickel in my wallet, and I played one final turn. At 10:59 p.m., just seconds before closing time, the ball bounced into the Monster Jackpot, giving me a whopping 1,260 additional tickets.


My good fortune gave me enough tickets to buy a safe piggy bank gift for my friend Modern-Day Muse, whose birthday also fell on Wednesday. Close to 1,000 other tickets were left over to save for my next visit to Nickelmania. 'Cause there ain't no swag like Nickelmania swag.

All told, I may have used up my decade's-worth quota for good luck in one 24-hour period. If that's the case, then so be it.

I'd rather be lucky than good.

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Single All the Way

Single male, single male,
Single all the way!
Oh what fun it is to ride
Alone!
In a one-horse open sleigh!
   -Unknown

The Christmas season, in addition to the manger scenes and Santa Claus and the Grinch and all of that good stuff, is certainly also full of love, love, love everywhere, isn't it? From every Hallmark Channel movie to every song about getting hitched by a snowman named Parson Brown or staying indoors while it snows because "it's cold outside," you can't escape it.

Then there's the mistletoe, which contributes to a good deal of snogging and Eskimo kissing and I-don't-know-what-other gooiness between twitterpated folks each and every December. The Angry White Loner has never kissed or been kissed under a mistletoe, but it remains high atop his Bucket List (wink, wink).

For crying out loud, even the once-mean-and-nasty Grinch finds a woman friend in the live-action How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

My point, and I guess I have one, is that the Christmas holiday can be a good deal of fun for people in love but also acute torture for single folkssomething akin to either being strapped to a chair and forced to listen to a continuous loop of Rebecca Black's "Friday" or having your chest hairs plucked out with an old pair of pliers.

It's enough to make making out with the family dog, which is something my family's dog is more than willing to do, look like a good alternative to being all alone on Christmas Eve (or at midnight on New Year's, for that matter).

One of my friends, now married, had a good deal of fun his "family" Christmas card when he was still a single man. Usually, this "family" photo consisted of him sitting alone on a bench . . . and that's about it.

I want to be like him when I grow up.

So, my message is: If you've got someone to hold onto as it snows buckets outside during this holiday season, that's fantastic. More power to you! We all want to be where you are. But also: Be kind to your single friends. It's a tough time of year for them. It doesn't get any easier with Valentine's Day approaching in February, either. Don't rub their faces in it.

Also: I have mistletoe socks, and I'm not afraid to use them.
 

Thursday, December 5, 2013

Giving and Receiving

I attended a very thought-provoking institute class last night. Our discussion revolved around the idea of giving vs. receiving. It's a timely topic because, well, I think it relates directly to the spirit of the Christmas season in which we now find ourselves.

For me, the pendulum has swung both ways on giving and receiving over the years. Hopefully, experience and time have taught me a few things about it.

When I was growing up, Christmas, to me, was all about receiving. I eagerly awaited the arrival of the JC Penney catalogue, devouring the pages of the toy section and wishing for the newest and most popular LEGO, He-Man, G.I. Joe, Voltron, and Transformers sets, then spending many sleepless nights and restless days each December, awaiting Santa's arrival and (admittedly) also trying to spy on my mom's secret cache of presents, usually hidden somewhere in the basement.

Fortunately, it was a phase I grew out of as the years passed. When I became an adultnotice that I do not use the phrase "grew up," as I may be in that process for many years yetChristmas shifted to being all about giving rather than receiving. My mission certainly helped a lot with that, as I had the blessing and the privilege of giving two years of my life to the full-time service of my fellow man. Since that time, it's certainly still nice and appreciated to get gifts from family members and friends, to be sure, but perhaps my favorite thing about the holiday now is observing the looks on my nieces' and nephews' faces as they open their gifts.

In a very real sense, the whole process has gone full circle.

As far as giving and receiving goes for all other kinds of gifts, our teacher correctly pointed out, I think, that it is both blessed to give and to receive. Who among us hasn't prayed about and sacrificed for and labored for a present that, to you, was a significant gesture of love from the bottom of your heart, only to be disappointed and heartbroken when the person the gift was intended for either didn't accept it or treated it as a thing of naught? I'm sure we all have at one point or another.

Many dating experiences certainly apply here. But that is a post for another day.

In other words, a gift both has to be given and received, and it is as much of a virtue to receive a gift as it is to give one. Such is the case with the Atonement of Jesus Christ, which cost the best blood of the history of humankindthe greatest gift ever given, along with the gift of life itself and the bestowal of free agency. Each of us has to make the individual decision whether or not to receive this gift.

At any rate, that's what I got out of it. Now, I must be off. I suddenly have a hankering to dig out my old Optimus Prime action figure.

Sunday, December 1, 2013

Sacrament Meeting Sniper

One of the few podcasts I follow is a locally produced broadcast about LDS people and culture. It is called "The Cultural Hall." I first discovered this podcast a couple of years ago when I learned that my friend and Improvables colleague The Artist Formerly Known as the Anxious White Virgin was a regular contributor.

Each time guests are interviewed on "The Cultural Hall," they are asked, among other things, what their current callings are in their wards/branches and also what their ideal calling would beeven if they had to make up a calling that doesn't currently exist.

Not that I'd ever do anything noteworthy enough to be a guest on "The Cultural Hall," but I think today I figured out what my answer would be to the made-up calling question. I would be a sacrament meeting sniper.

Don't get me wrong; I'm fully aware of the whole "Thou shalt not kill" commandment, and I intend to keep it. I also wouldn't aim (see what I did there?) to maim or injure others in the process of carrying out my calling.

No, I would certainly not be the kind of sniper who would use any kind of deadly force. Instead, I would hide out in some sort of carved-out nook or cranny in the back of the gym and, using a silencer so as not to disrupt the meeting nor to distract others in any way, would carefully shoot tranquilizers only at those people who tend to inordinately monopolize others' attention or time. These tranquilizers would pack enough punch to render my victims unconscious for the remainder of the meeting but otherwise perfectly fine physically and mentally upon reawakening.

Anyone saying the opening or closing prayer and going on for longer than 30 seconds? Tranquilized. Any speaker saying anything like "I know that we're out of time, but I have just three more stories to share"? Shot in the neck, and I'm to blame. Any twitterpated young couple displaying their affection for one another in an inappropriately "laying on of hands" or "gift of tongues" manner? Tranquilized with multiple shots.

I also might go so far as to seek out this couple's car in the parking lot and set it on fire. That's what Orrin Porter Rockwell, the Sacrament Meeting Sniper of his day, would have done.

You know who else would get tranq'd? That one person in the wardyou know who he or she is, because every ward and/or ward choir has onewho thinks he/she needs to sing the hymns far more loudly than everyone else, usually employing what I call loco on vibrato, aka the Captain Caveman form of singing I referred to in another post here back in October.

At any rate, that's what I would do if I could make up a calling that doesn't currently exist. But I'm far too nice of a person to actually go out and do that.

Thursday, November 28, 2013

The Turkey Trot

Not to toot my own horn or anything, but (honk! honk!) I participated in my first 5K race today.

It was also the Angry White Parents' and the Angry White Sister's first 5K. We did it together, and it turned out to be more fun and more worthwhile than I had imagined it would be. Kudos to my sister for convincing me to do it, 'cause I can be a tough nut to crack sometimes.

Our 3.1-mile race, the Family 5K (there was also a 1K race for kids and a 10K race for masochists/actual athletes), was really a race only in name, as together we walked the entire length. It was never about competition, just finishing. Soon after crossing the starting line, AWS and I realized that we were prepared to walk much faster than the parental units, so instead we slowed down to walk alongside them.

In the end, the Family 5K was more about the "family" part than about the "5K." After 66 minutes on the road, which included the Angry White Loner getting in "Biggest Loser" trainer mode on his mom and encouraging her to press forward during what was for her a grueling final mile, the four of us crossed the finish line together. For their age bracket, the parents did a great job.

Something else I really appreciated about this race was the sense of community involved in the whole process. Not only did we get to walk through the streets of our beloved hometown Bountiful, but all other race participants were nothing but polite and friendly to us, as many of them ended up passing us. In addition, complete strangers standing at mile markers or handing out water or just standing on street corners to watch cheered us on and offered encouragement along the way.

It was really a great way to spend a Thanksgiving morning, and I look forward to taking part again the future. The turkey, yams, pumpkin pie, etc. that followed were not too shabby, either.

Monday, November 25, 2013

YOLO Guy Takes a Chance

Over the weekend, I went to a singles dance. Because, like the disco song says, there are times when you've just gotta boogie-oogie-oogie till you just can't boogie no more.

It had been far too long since the Angry White Loner had last attended a dance. As a result, admittedly, he found himself being a wallflower for the first hour or so he was there, talking to friends and acquaintances on the sidelines and doing a whole lot of people watching in the meantime.

I love to people watch. You can sure learn a lot about others by doing itespecially at a dance. During my period of wallflowering, one of the individuals I observed was what I can only assume was a rather shy guy sitting in the corner, wearing a YOLO ("you only live once") t-shirt.

Eventually, yours truly made it out onto the dance floor and wowed the ladies with his mad skillz. No surprise there.

YOLO Guy, however, remained seated for most of the rest of the evening. That is, he remained seated until the moment the DJ announced the final song of the night.

At this moment, YOLO Guy decided that enough was enough and it was finally time to take advice from his own t-shirt, because, after all, you only live once. (Unless you're a Buddhist. Or Shirley Maclaine.) He asked a girl to dance, and he finally made it out there, in spite of his shyness.

The moral of the story is: It's never too late. Also, the people who overcome their fears are the ones who do something about it and don't let themselves be held hostage by them.

Kudos to you, YOLO Guy. It took you a while, but, as they say, it's better late than never. For some people, it's enough of a victory to overcome shyness just by showing up to a dance, let alone getting out there and dancing.

Monday, November 18, 2013

Daily Gratitude: Two-ply Toilet Paper

'Tis the season for being grateful and for the giving of thanks. In fact, I am pretty sure there is a holiday right around the corner, one for which we are supposed to be grateful and to give thanks for all the things for which we are grateful and thankful. If memory serves right.

It's not uncommon to scroll through my news feed on Facebook these days and to read what others call their daily gratitude poststhe simple and the most important things in life for which they are appreciative.

As for the Angry White Loner, when it comes to gratitude, he thinks of two-ply toilet paper. Yes, really.

That's a pretty lame thing to be thankful for, some of you may think. And you would be right, assuming all of the world out there had things as good as we do here in the United States of America.

In case you haven't been to the Third World, I will let you in on a little secret: They don't have things as good as we do. Not even close.

Sure, France has its Eiffel Towerin fact, two of the AWL's brothers and their spouses were there just a few days ago (not that I am bitter!)Australia has its kangaroos and dingoes, and Japan has karaoke bars on pretty much every block. Beautiful things, all of them. But we truly live in a unique and a blessed land. There is no other place like it on Earth.

Why? Because of two-ply toilet paper.

Years ago, when I opened my mission call and read that I had been called to serve in the Peru Lima Central Mission, I knew exactly three things about Peru: The ruins of Machu Picchu were there, and it also had South America's highest concentration of Native Americans (Lamanites) and llamas. If you had asked me back then, I would have ventured a guess that they all rode llamas everywhere and had llamas for pets instead of dogs and cats and they all ate frequently at llama burger joints instead of McDonald's or Wendy's.

Granted, many of those preconceived notions turned out to be true. Llama tastes like chicken. And I did, in fact, make it to Machu Picchutwice.

Nevertheless, the luster and the wonder soon vanished when I had my first glimpse of one of Lima's many shantytownsThird World-like dumps where squatters live in homes literally made out of tin roofs and adobe bricks and plastic sheets and not much else, with dirt floors and no electricity in many places and unpaved roads with so much dust to kick up that I contracted conjunctivitis my first week there, along with several other bugs, and my ankles and feet became infested with fleas not once but twice. There are also frequent earthquakes and a destructive weather phenomenon, coined by Peruvian fisherman, called "El Niño."

Don't even get me started on Atahualpa's Revenge. You either know about it, or you don't.

This is where the issue of toilet paper comes in. Peruvians use toilet paper for every possible, conceivable reason. It's as valuable a commodity as towels are in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series of books. Not only do they use it for its already well-known properties, but they also use it as napkins and for taking notes and about 1,000 other things. One of the first things I learned in my first few days in the country is that you carry several sheets of toilet paper in your pockets at all times, because you never know when you will need some. If you run out, you restock. This is, in addition, because many toilets in Peru (1) don't have actual toilet seats to sit on and (2) are not stocked with any toilet paper at all.

The problem with Peruvian toilet paper? In two years, I never saw a single sheet of two-ply paper. One-hundred percent of it is single ply. I missed two-ply toilet paper. A lot. I also missed peanut butter, root beer, Dr Pepper, and hot showers.

And so, this Thanksgiving, that's what I'm feeling grateful for. Among many other things.

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

Fear and Loathing at the Grocery Store

Today, let's talk pet peeves.

Scenario #1: You're in your car, roaming the lanes in the parking lot at the grocery store, trying to find an empty spot to pull into. Invariably, shoppers with carts full of groceries also wander into the same lane, heading back to their cars.

The Angry White Loner is all for car/pedestrian sharing of these parking lot lanes. The problem is that, more often than not, these shoppers tend to walk right in the middle of the lane rather than moving over to one side or the other so that you and your car can pass them, taking their own sweet time doing so and either (1) are lost in their own little worlds, talking on their cell phones or corralling their bratty children or whatever it may be, or (2) they know very well that they're blocking your path, and they are openly taunting you as you follow, with mere inches separating your front bumper and their calves.

*Sigh*

This is one of those rare times when the AWL feels compelled to not break, but sort of bend, the traditional Christian/Judeo ethic of "Thou shalt not kill." He feels like he is just one "accidental" pedal press on the accelerator, instead of the brake, from gunning it and pulling an Amanda Bynes on one of these pedestrians. Odds are that the oblivious pedestrian would hardly feel it and would, after being run over, continue talking on his or her cell phone as if nothing had happened.

Scenario #2: You're finally inside the grocery store, waiting in a long line to pay for your purchases and then make your way back into the parking lot to take your own turn slowly walking in front of someone else's car. Because turnabout is fair play.

Suddenly, a new cashier appears at the previously closed register in the next lane and announces that it is now "open." And, like clockwork, most of the people behind you, without saying a word or apologizing for butting ahead, scramble over to this now-open lane and check out ahead of you in a "me-first" gesture of utter obliviousness.

*Double-sigh*

Thankfully, common courtesy is not lost on most people. The people in these two scenarios are the exceptions and not the rule.

At least, once I finish cleaning up the parking lot in my car, they will be in the minority.

Saturday, November 9, 2013

Skanky Lyrics

I was at the Karaoke Café not long ago, enjoying a fun evening of karaoke---you know, like all of the cool kids do---when a father and his young daughter stepped up to sing a duet. Their song choice was, in my mind, somewhat unusual.

It was Lady Antebellum's "Need You Now." This was a disturbing choice for a father/daughter duet because (1) it's a country song, obviously, and (2) it's basically what I call "The Drunk Dialing/Booty Call Song" about two lonely people, plastered with whiskey, talking on the phone at 1:15 a.m. because they "need (each other) now."

Being completely snockered is a perfect frame of mind in which to express your deeply felt romantic feelings for someone else, isn't it?

Unless I failed to capture the deeper meaning of this masterpiece of modern music, that's what the song is about. In the Angry White Loner's view, it's not exactly this millennium's version of "Butterfly Kisses" for a daddy/daughter duet.

This incident aside, there was also the wedding reception I attended recently. The happy couple had a video playing in the chapel foyer that showed many photographs from their growing up years, all set to catchy romantic tunes---a rather common sight at wedding receptions here in Utah.

The only problem? One of these tunes, Plain White T's "Rhythm of Love," wasn't so much romantic as it was a song about a couple having a one-night stand.

Heavenly stuff!

Don't get the AWL wrong, sports fans; he loves music and singing just as much as the next person. It's just that he sometimes wonders whether people actually listen to the lyrics of the songs that they sing and play over and over again. For him, skanky lyrics tend to ruin what otherwise would be great songs.

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

The Meat Market

Recently, I chatted with an old friend whom I hadn't seen in some time. As part of our conversation, and in the middle of catching up with each other's lives, I mentioned that I have been participating in an over-30 singles' group for the past couple of years as one of the activities that has helped keep me busy since I had last seen her in our singles ward.

"I don't really like going to those things," was her response. "They're such meat markets!"

Statistically, my friend is not alone in her stance against going to these so-called "meat markets." I recently found out from one of the advisors at one of these aforementioned group activities that there are estimated to be more than 30,000 people in our age group in Davis County alone. Though that number includes inactive members, as well as, presumably, single parents with children who prevent them from participating and people who don't even know that our group exists, it nevertheless still amounts to literally thousands of other people out there somewhere.

In my time with this group, I haven't even met 1,000 new people, let alone 30,000. The number is more like a couple of hundred at most. Of that number, there are between 60 and 70 who, on average, attend our weekly institute classes.

I am certainly no math whiz, but I figure that it all amounts to about .2 percent, or one in 500, of the people who could conceivably belong to this group who actually attend on a regular basis.That's some pretty slim pickings. It's a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy in that the majority, like my friend, view it as a meat market, too, and therefore decide it is not worth their time or effort. It may be a meat market, but that's where you have to go if you want meat in your diet.

Not coincidentally, my friend also mentioned that she hadn't been on many dates lately and had found it hard to meet new people with her busy schedule.

Conclusions:

1) I am still no math whiz.

2) However you look at things, you have to go where the meat is if meat is what you want. Though the meat market is not as well stocked as it could be, some vegetarians appear to be starving.

With all of this talk of meat, I am suddenly hungry for a McRib.

Friday, November 1, 2013

Correcting God's "Mistakes"

I have been a fan of "The Simpsons" since it first went on the air in December 1989. It's a show that has aired during all of part of four decades, folks. And though the program is not as good as it once was, it can still teach some important life lessons through its unique blend of satire and humor.

Recently, I caught a rerun of an episode from a few years back that I hadn't seen before. In it, Homer visits a plastic surgery clinic that contains the subtitle "Correcting God's Mistakes" on its marquee out front.

That's certainly how the Angry White Loner views plastic surgeryas an attempt to fix God's "mistakes." That's also how he views such things as dying his hair until he no longer remembers what color it should be, getting tattoos, wearing toupees, comb-overs, excessive amounts of makeup, tanning, piercings, etc. Please don't get me wrong; I'm not saying that you are evil or wrong if you have pierced ears or dye your hair on a regular basis or have a comb-over, though the lattest certainly may not improve your chances with the ladies. That's just the Angry White Loner's reasoning behind not doing any of those things to his own body.

I relate this concept to Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin's final general conference message before passing away in 2008, a talk titled "Come What May, and Love It." Aging gracefully, as I see it, is certainly one way to accept whatever happens and to embrace it as life goes on. I certainly didn't expect to start losing my hair in my 20swho ever does?but I accept it and can roll with it.

But Angry White Loner, you say. You wear glasses. And they're sexy as all get-out. Isn't this one way of correcting a "mistake," as by natural processes,you became nearsighted sometime during the fourth or fifth grade and often cheated on eye tests until finally succumbing and getting contact lenses and, later, glasses?

That's a fair point, but this concept doesn't apply to things to make our lives "better" or "normal." No, I am referring to cosmetic choices.

Even with the many things we might change about our bodies if we only couldweight, height, eye color, hair color, complexion, immune system, handicaps, chronic illnesses, and any and all other "thorn(s) in the flesh" that Paul spoke ofwe each have, I hope, at least one or two features of which we are enormously proud. And by this I mean the good kind of proudthe kind of proud that makes us look at a photo of ourselves or in the mirror and then look up to Heavenly Father and say, "Thank you for giving me this feature!"

One such thing I can say that about is being a ginger. Though I no longer have as much hair as I once did, and even though what hair I have left on top is no longer red, I was born with red hair and had red hair for my first few birthdays. Then, by natural processes, my hair turned blond and remained so until I was 11 or 12, and then it changed colors again and became brown and then dark brown. (Odds are, it will change colors once again the older I get, assuming it doesn't all fall out.)

A few years later, when I found that I was able to grow facial hair and no longer worked at a company that required me to be clean shaven, I discovered that I could grow a rather awesome red-haired goatee and/or beard. And it's one of the things I like best about myself, physically speaking.

In summary, I suppose, the point I am trying to make is that God doesn't make junk. Our bodies are by no means perfect, but they are the creations of a perfect being. And that fact, in and of itself, makes us, in a sense, pretty amazing creations.

Sunday, October 27, 2013

Victim of Circumstance

"I never said I was a victim of circumstance."
 -Billy Joel

Sometimes, you just end up in the wrong place at the wrong time. It's an altogether unavoidable fact of life.

Case in point: On Friday night, I arrived at the theater for our weekly improv show a few minutes earlier than I normally do. Upon entering, I discovered that the children's theater group was using our usual stage, the black box, for a Halloween performance that would conclude in plenty of time for us to set things up for our own Halloween performance at 10 p.m. Dressed in my costume as Teddy Roosevelt, 26th president of the United States, I had shaved my usual goatee down to a Teddy-like mustache.

The mustache part is vitally important to the rest of my story.

Because the black box was occupied, I ventured over to and walked into the green room, planning to wait out the end of the show there while my fellow improvisers arrived. Only it wasn't the green room I had become accustomed to, per se. I was confronted by an angry parent and/or chaperone who asked me to leave at once, because the green room was being used, in her words, as a "little girls' dressing room."

Keep in mind that these people had no I idea who I was other than what may have appeared to them to be a creepy guy in a mustache.

Well, obviously, I had no idea that the green room was being used as a little girls' dressing room that evening. After all, no one had posted a sign outside indicating this fact, and it's not like we hadn't used that green room on every other Friday night for the past two years (we, in fact, had).

Incidentally, if you missed the show that followed that night, then you missed seeing what turned out to be the Greatest Halloween Improv Show of All-Time.

Not that I am biased! I guess you had to be there.

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

Right or Easy

Admittedly, I am far from being the world's biggest Harry Potter fan. I have read only one of the seven books, and I found some of the movies in the series to be rather unmemorable. Visiting the Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Florida and drinking a glass of Butterbeer ranks somewhat low among my idea of an ideal vacation. Perhaps most telling of all, I once took an online Sorting Hat quiz, and it turns out I belong in Slytherin.

Nevertheless, I will be the first to admit that the franchise contains many memorable characters who either join Harry or take the opposite side in the fight between good and evil, and it also contains some profound teachings through them.

One of these is in the fourth book/film, The Goblet of Fire. Following the death of Cedric Diggory, which allowed "actor" Robert Pattinson to go off and star in a far-less memorable movie franchise, Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore tells Harry: “Dark times lie ahead of us, and there will be a time when we must choose between what is easy and what is right.”

As it applies to us muggles, I believe that we are now living in a time in which we face two important choices, and they are certainly choices between what is right and what is easy. The distinction between the two is clear, and the divide will continue to grow as times get even darker.

Remember the friend I posted about here on the Angry White Loner a few months agothe one who was falling away from his faith and was, not coincidentally, also utterly miserable? The latest Facebook post by this friend, sadly, reflected only more of the same. He now believes that the Christian God is uncaring and unloving. I've offered to help this friend on many occasions and to take him to institute with me, but he refuses to do so and seems to continue to choose to become consumed with vitriol and skepticism.

It's very saddening to watch friends or loved ones fall away from those principles and teachings that would make them truly happy, and unfortunately I've seen it taken place now several times over the years. One of the most disappointing was one of my mission companions, someone who (at that time) once was a positive influence on me and who pushed me to become a better missionary. The saddest part of it all is that these people don't ever seem to end up in a better place but, rather, what Dumbledore would call an "easier" placeone with fewer responsibilities and expectations for themselves but also with less joy and no growth. If there's one who's truly in a better place and I have missed it, I would be happy to be proven wrong. They also, with few exceptions, seem to become the Church's most vile critics and detractors. As President Hinckley once said, "They leave the Church, but they can't leave it alone."

I believe our Heavenly Father truly loves and cares for us and wants to make us happy both temporally and eternally (see Moses 1:39). Sometimes, He has to use tough love to teach us what He wants us to learn, and it's difficult to see so much suffering in a world in which people can be affected so adversely by both other people's choices and natural disasters. But, like any parent, He wants the very best for His children.

That's just the AWL's opinion. And now, off to play LEGO Harry Potter.

Monday, October 21, 2013

The Curse of Captain Caveman

Unless you grew up in the late '70s or '80s, chances are that you don't know who Captain Caveman is.

If you don't remember this classic cartoon, you're not really missing that much. I remember watching reruns of "Captain Caveman and the Teen Angels" on Saturday mornings as a kid. Captain Caveman was a hairy dude who looked like either Robin Williams with no shirt on or Cousin Itt from "The Addams Family." (Take your pick.) This gang went around solving crimes together, just like all other teens in Hanna-Barbera cartoons.

The main thing I remember about this show was Captain Caveman's battle cry whenever he sprang into action. He didn't yell out anything like "Shazam!" or "Let's get dangerous!" but, rather, shouted out his own name, using a deafening cry that traveled up and down through multiple octaves on the musical scale: "Captain Cave-maaaaaaaaaan!"

It's been many years since I last watched an episode of "Captain Caveman," but I am still reminded of his battle cry when I hear many modern "singers" sing songs, or at least pretend to do so. These singers travel up and down multiple times on certain notes and all throughout their songs, metaphorically flexing and kissing their vocal muscles in the process, making their performance not about the song that they are singing but about their own voices.

Is there another name for this? There has to be one.

Some of the biggest offenders of this type of singing are Mariah Carey, Christina Aguilera, and nearly every contestant on "American Idol." Even Utah's own sweetheart David Archuleta, who seems like a nice kid but also sings this way, is not immune from the Curse of Captain Caveman.

It's extremely tough for me to listen to a song sung by a Captain Caveman-like singer. It makes me want to rip the radio out and throw it out the window. It's almost unbearable to hear one these singers warble and trill his or her way through "The Star-Spangled Banner" at sporting events, which I'm sure causes Francis Scott Key to turn over in his grave every time it happens. And it happens a lot.

"Just sing the freaking song!" I've heard people say.

I couldn't agree more.

Thursday, October 10, 2013

That's a Deal Breaker!

What are your deal breakers?

It's a question that got me thinking a couple of nights ago when I watched the latest episode of one of my favorite TV shows, "Studio C," and saw the music video posted here.

A deal breaker, in this sense, then, is defined as "something that makes it impossible to continue dating someone else." At least, that's how I define it.

Some of the Angry White Loner's major deal breakers include:


 -Jerks

 -Inability to be honest with me

 -Clinginess/high maintenance

 -Major baggage

 -Publicly or privately insulting or disparaging members of my family

 -Wanting anything less than a temple marriage, and/or supporting principles or causes that go directly against Church doctrine and teachings

 -Refusal to support my interests or hobbies (sometimes, this involves merely giving me time and/or space to pursue them rather than participating in them)

 -Voting Democrat

 -Preferring cats over dogs

 -Preferring country music to "good" music

 -Not liking Star Wars

 -Not liking "Weird Al" Yankovic

Just kidding about those last few. Only partly.

Sunday, October 6, 2013

*Do* Be Ridiculous!

Lately, I have finally been "getting with the times" and have slowly been coming into the 21st century. That's right, folks! I have jumped onto the "Downton Abbey" bandwagon and have been watching episodes of everyone's favorite TV show.

Because, you know, you never know when "Downton" will come up in a conversation with the cool kids. And you've gotta be prepared for when that happens.

Okay, so, if you hang out with some of the same people I hang out with, you know that's not really a necessity. At any rate, I have found "Downton Abbey" to be a decent show, as long as it's not featuring storylines involving such silly things as Ouija boards.

In an episode I watched last night, I found a line uttered by Violet Crawley (Maggie Smith), who is basically the comic relief in almost every scene in which she appears, to be particularly insightful. Her granddaughter having been called "ridiculous" by a detractor, she replies, "Life is a game in which the player must appear ridiculous."

I like this comment because I feel that being ridiculous is one of the things I do best---or, at least, it is when I am most comfortable being me.

Appearing ridiculous is certainly an important part of performing improv, something that I have been doing semiprofessionally for the past nine years now. It is not uncommon for me to have a conversation with friends who, according to their reckoning of time, have literally not had one free night to come and see perform in a show during that nine-year period and who have no idea what an improv show is like. Also, these people tend to believe that I have just made up the word improv (which is funny, because improv is all about making up things on the spot!).

"I basically make a nincompoop out of myself on stage," I tell them. To tell the truth, that may very well be the most accurate way to describe an Improvables show. There's really no other way to explain what we do each week.

Indeed, one of the ground rules of comedy is making the ridiculous to seem normal and the normal to seem ridiculous.

Off stage, however, it is also comforting to have family members and good friends with whom I can feel comfortable by being my ridiculous self. In dating, I have found that I have enjoyed myself most when I have found others who can be their silly selves along with me.

At their house, my parents have a collection of home video tapes of my siblings and me acting silly in our younger years. Even though my initial attempts at both acting and filmmaking are a somewhat of a mixed bag as I look back on them today with some degree of embarrassment, there are many good memories associated with those movies, as well.

Don't ask me if you can watch them, though. They're just one accidental arson incident away from being destroyed and lost to the world forever.

Monday, September 30, 2013

It's about Love . . . and Patience

I recently met two friends of Pure Prairie Girl's, a married couple who were high school sweethearts and who have now spent more than a decade together in wedded bliss. Unfortunately, during that same period of time, they have been unable to have children of their own.

Very soon, however, they will have finally come through all of the red tape and are preparing to adopt a baby who will become theirs as soon as he/she is born. They have an agreement with the birth mother and everything. They excitedly spoke of their plans and shared their joy about the at-long-last arrival of their delayed blessing of becoming parents.

It was an enlightening and a sobering experience for the Angry White Loner, who saw the other side of this coin of adoption a few months ago and made a post here on a similar subject on the blog back in May. In a way, this experience brought it all full circle for me.

At about the same time, the AWL finally got around to seeing the movie Prince of Egypt, notorious for Mariah Carey's/Whitney Houston's epic vocal cord battle during the closing credits, which he saw via Netflix. Took ya long enough, you might be thinking. That movie came out something like 15 years ago, didn't it?

Indeed, it did; but that is not the point here. I was reflecting on my experience of meeting this new couple as I watched the film. Moses, of course, was adopted into Egyptian royalty by the pharaoh's daughter. I already knew that part prior to seeing the movie. But another, larger, perhaps more important thought occurred to me:

I'm adopted, too.

Not literally, of course, as I definitely look physically like my father's son, hopefully share my mother's gentle nature, have my paternal grandmother's sense of humor (or so I'm told), etc. But I am adopted in that, according to a patriarchal blessing I received at age 18 and through covenants I have made, I am one with the House of Israel, a member of the tribe of Ephraim. And there are some amazing blessings promised to all those who are, literally or by adoption, of the House of Israel.

I suppose that the prevailing thought I had through all of this is that there is no real or important difference between being someone's literal offspring versus being adopted. The expectant parents I recently met are not going to love their child any less than caring and diligent parents who are able to conceive children through natural means, nor will the children grow to love their parents back with any less love or appreciation. Their many years of waiting, I'm sure, have taught them a good deal about patience and have prepared them for this moment.

The same certainly goes for the courageous young boy who spoke in my ward during yesterday's Primary program about his experience in foster care. There is are loving parents and a home for him, and all other foster kids, as well.

As someone who is both a literal son of God and of earthly "parents kind and dear," I'm grateful to belong to the families to which I belong. I have some pretty great brothers and sisters in them.

And as a credit card advertisement once touted, "Membership has its privileges."

Thursday, September 26, 2013

The One-Fingered Salute

People's behavior very rarely ceases to amaze meespecially when they are behind the steering wheels of their cars.

Within the past few days, I had two very different encounters with other drivers who were driving right behind me. The first one involved three rather grizzly looking men who were all sitting in the front of a pick-up truck in the lane behind me. From my rearview mirror, I could see that all three of them were giving me the one-fingered salute, aka flipping me off.

The thing is, I don't know why they were doing this. Generally speaking, when someone gives you the one-fingered salute, you know you've messed up. I didn't cut in front of them in traffic or anythingI was very sure of that, as I had just made a left turn and had turned into the proper lane and everything.


To try to diffuse their anger or whatever it was that prompted this gesture, I stopped at the traffic light just ahead, turned around, and showed them the Vulcan hand gesture. You know, from "Star Trek."

This, is at it turns out, did not help. At all. The truck driver saw it and immediately flipped me off again.

Okaaaaay then . . .

The second incident occurred earlier this evening, when I could see from my rearview mirror that a man (driving) and a woman (passenger seat) behind me noticed my license plate (LDSJEDI) and began to laugh. The woman took out her cell phone, as people are wont to do when they see my plates, and took a photo, while the man gave me a confident "thumbs up" gesture, which I was happy to return back to him.

To tell you the truth, it all kind of made my dayjust at the experience with the three men in the truck kind of ruined my day. I am the kind of person who tends to take these things personally.

Speaking of personal preferences, I definitely prefer it when people make my day. And not in the way that Clint Eastwood meant.

I guess what it boils down to is we all have the choice whether to be the kind of person—and driver—who makes someone else's day or the one who ruins it. I hope to be the kind of person who is the former and not the latter.

Monday, September 23, 2013

If the Gondola's a-Rockin' . . .

I went on a fun date Friday night.

*Long pause while Mom falls off of her chair, dusts herself off, and then sits back down to read.*

It started off with a short, hour-long hike near the Snowbasin ski resort and ended up with me nearly wetting my pants in public for the first time since I was seven years old.

Following said hike, my date, whom for privacy's sake I'll refer to as Pure Prairie Girl, saw a flier and noticed that we happened to be at the Snowbasin resort on the same night as a stargazing party, which was being held up at the Needles lodge overlooking the resort. On a whim, we decided to change our plans and join in on the fun.

To get to the Needles lodge, which stands at close to 10,000 feet above sea level, we would need to ride a gondola lift to the top. This little piece of information made us both a tad bit nervous, as we each have an admitted fear of heights. Nevertheless we enjoyed a 13-minute ride up to the lodge. (Yes, my OCD side came out, and I timed it just to be sure. The girl taking our lift tickets at the base of the mountain told us it would be between a 12- and a 15-minute trip, and she was correct.)

Once we were on solid ground again and our gondola riding was half done for the night, we enjoyed a good dinner and toured the lodge's bathroomsme in the men's and PPG in the women's, of course—discovering that they were the coolest-looking bathrooms I had ever seen and were nicer than most people's houses. The toilets were not stalls but we actual, separate rooms, with a doorknob and everything.

Oh yeah—there was also that whole stargazing thing. Admittedly, I know little-to-nothing about astronomy, so I was content to look through the various telescopes and be grateful that I could make out any objects at all. The nearly full moon was out, as well, adding a great deal to the experience.

Then, at last, came the gondola ride back down to the resort. PPG, the other five people in our gondola, and I had descended for no more than a minute before the ride came to a stop, presumably to assist another passenger in a wheelchair to board a different gondola back at the top. The sudden stop caused us to sway back and forth above the rocks and darkness below and much more violently than I would have preferred, making at least three or four of us—myself included—extremely nervous for the next minute, which seemed more like a half-hour in Nervous Nelly Time.

If you could have seen my face there in the darkness—and thank goodness no one, especially my date, could—it would have been sheet-white. And for a gringo, my face is already pretty white. You also might have seen my fingernails slowly boring holes into the seat below me.

After the aforementioned minute, the gondola, fortunately, ceased its rocking and came to a standstill. After another minute, we were back on our way downhill. There were no other stoppages, thank the heavens, and I nearly French-kissed the ground when we arrived.

I said nearly. Horseshoes and hand grenades, people.

Sunday, September 22, 2013

Man vs. Car

Now that the smoke has cleared and we canhopefullyforget about the bit BYU/Utah football rivalry game for another three years, I'd like to talk tonight about the time when I was hit by a car. As a pedestrian crossing the street. In Chile.

A few years ago, I went on a visit back to Peru, where I served my LDS mission a few years before that. Part of my itinerary included a brief stay in Tacna, in southern Peru, to visit one of my old companions and his family.

Tacna is so far south in Peru that it's within an hour's drive of the Chilean border. Since we were so close to another foreign country, I suggested taking a short trip there. My companion agreed, since we both spoke the language and all, and we spent three or four hours that afternoon in Arica, a city in northern Chile.

Standing atop El Cerro de Arica, I learned from a historical marker posted there that Arica actually once belonged to Peru, but it and a other cities were taken over by Chile after a 19th-century war fought between the two nations. Also, there is a rather breathtaking view of the Pacific Ocean from atop that hill.

It was on our way down from El Cerro de Arica that the aforementioned incident occurred. I will put the story in context by mentioning that although there are laws, there is no real understanding among drivers to yield to pedestrians trying to cross the street—at least, there isn't in the two South American countries I have been to. Also, this is the part of the world where old cars go to die.

A VW buga common mode of transportation for taxi drivers—hit me at a speed of somewhere (I can only estimate) 30 or 35 miles per hour. Its driver's-side mirror hit me in the elbow, and, as a result, became dislodged from the car and bounced around on the street.

Naturally, the driver did not stop to see if I was OK nor to retrieve his side-view mirror. He was probably late for his defensive driving class, near as I can tell.

Fortunately, I was not hurt too badly, though I did bring home a honey of a bruise as my souvenir from Chile.

Most importantly, though, there was that stamp on my passport.

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Sports Rivalries and the Rameumptom

Once again, folks, it's time for Holy Week.

Or, to describe it more accurately, it's the time of the year when even 50- and 60-year-old men act like bratty teenagers and get into "my dad can beat up your dad" chest-thumping shouting matches with each other over something as trivial as a sporting event.

For those who don't live in Utah or who are not familiar with the phrase, the term Holy Week refers to the seven days leading up to the annual BYU vs. University of Utah football game, which culminates in (usually) a grueling and hard-fought grudge match that leaves the winning team with a great sense of pride and bragging rights and an "in-your-face" smugness and the losing team with a sense of embarrassment and shame that lingers for the next 365 or 366 days. Or longer.

It's all really very silly. It tends to turn otherwise sensible, decent, and good people into raving lunatics and jerks. It can ruin friendships. The rules of good sportsmanship are completely forgotten. And the silliest thing about it all, at least as far as I see it, is that neither team's fans have any control whatsoever over the outcome of the game.

The sore winner's bragging can basically be summed up this way: "The team that I root for beat the team that you root for, and even though neither you nor I have any impact on the result of the game, my association with said winning team makes me, as a result, better than you. It's even better if my team beats yours in a humiliating fashion. In order for me to be happy, we win, and you lose."

The sore loser, meanwhile, finds excuses for his or her team's loss ("it was the referees' fault" or "we had an inexperienced quarterback this year," for example) and berates or makes vulgar gestures toward the other team's fans. He/she will never, ever utter the words: "The better team won today. We will do better next year."

It's most definitely a guy thing, but, over the years, I have seen more than a few females get in on the hype, too. And, of course, it happens on both sidesboth those who bleed blue and those who bleed red.

Holy Week reminds me of Chapter 31 in the Book of Alma, in which Alma, Aaron, Ammon, and a few others head out on a mission to Antionum to reclaim the apostate Zoramites and find them praying on top of something called the Rameumptom, which is translated as "the holy stand" (Alma 31:21).

Alma discovers the Zoramites praying: "We believe thou has elected us to be thy holy children . . . and thou hast elected us that we shall be saved, whilst all around us are elected to be cast by thy wrath down to hell; for the which holiness, O God, we thank thee; and we also thank thee that thou hast elected us, that we may not be led away after the foolish traditions of our brethren" (Alma 31:16-17).

Fortunately, the gospel is not "win-lose" but "win-win." We are exalted only by humbling ourselves and by helping those around us to be better, just as we try to improve ourselves day by day. In the words of U2 and Bono: "If you want to kiss the sky, better learn how to kneel."

It's okay to love your team and to want them to do well and win. I grew up in a sports-loving family, along with sports-loving parents and four sports-loving brothers who played basketball, football, soccer, softball, and about every other team sport (and a sister who came around when she met her sports-loving husband), and I've known no other way of life. I love it when my teams win and feel bad with them when they lose.

It's also possible to be an enthusiastic sports fan without climbing up on the Rameumptomin other words, without being a jerk about it.