Train in Vain

And now, a word about a very important issue:

Trains.

All other issues aside, I'll cast my vote tomorrow for whichever candidate will take a stand against the trains consistently blocking east-west traffic between Bountiful and West Bountiful, Woods Cross, and North Salt Lake. I've been living in North Salt Lake for the past few months, and I never cease to be amazed at how frequently this rampant abuse of power takes place.

Sometimes, the trains taunt you. You wait there for the train to pass either to the north or to the south, and then once it does, and you feel like the barriers are about to go up and let you through, it switches gears, and heads back the way it just came. Then, it changes directions again and shuffles back once more.

This charade continues on for several minutes, as people in their cars blare on their horns and unleash more curse words than in Reservoir Dogs and Trainspotting (see what I did there?) combined.

Not me, though!

Other times, the trains just sit there like Jabba the Hutt up on his dais, not moving an inch and also not caring that they're making everybody waiting in their cars even more late for trivial matters like whatever appointment they're headed to, or work, or just to get home to watch all of their DVR'd episodes of Weather Channel forecasts.

All more important things to do than sitting in an idling car, waiting for a train that will not budge.

Such was the case this morning, when I was trapped for a full 40 minutes in Woods Cross while the train sat there and did nothing. If Hollywood were to make a movie about it, it would be titled Unstartable.

In its defense, the train did, while just sitting there, accomplish far more good than the U.S. Congress has so far in the 21st century.

First-world problems, am I right?

Sadly, no candidate has yet taken a stand on this controversial issue. Maybe I'll just vote for the guy whose TV commercials air an estimated 11 times each night during "Jeopardy!", proclaiming "people before politics." He seems like a stand-up dude, even though he either conveniently forgot or doesn't want to tell anyone which political party he belongs to and doesn't want you to vote for his (allegedly) cat-murdering Republican opponent.

I'm the Angry White Loner, and I approve this message.

Flippin' Heck

A little more than a week ago, nominees for the 2014 Academy Awards were announced. Unfortunately, in the Angry White Loner's humble opinion, Hollywood tends to get these things wrong far more often than it gets them right. Harrison Ford, for example, who was absolutely amazing in the role of Brooklyn Dodgers owner Branch Rickey, was completely robbed of a Best Supporting Actor nomination for 42. Tom Hanks, likewise, certainly deserved a Best Actor nomination for the title role in Captain Phillips, which is hands-down the best film of 2013. No Best Animated Feature nomination for Monsters University, either.

But still, the Angry White Loner pays attention to things like these. One of the categories that caught my eye was Best Adapted Screenplay, because one of the nominees was Terence Winter, who wrote The Wolf of Wall Street—a script that included a staggering total of 506 F-bombs over the course of a 179-minute movie, or about one F-bomb for each 20 seconds of screen time. That's not even mentioning the graphic sexual content, which I understand is explicit and frequent.

This is what Hollywood calls award-winning filmmaking.

I mentioned something to this effect on Facebook the day that the nominations came out. People, as they are wont to do, opined on the subject. While many tended to agree with me about the objectionable content, a few brought up the fact that people swear everywhere, and filmmaking that uses a great deal of swearing is "realistic" and simply a product of our culture.

You're a prude, I felt some of them were saying in essence. You're a Prudy McPrude Pants with a Prude Casserole, with Prude Sauce on Top, Served with a Tall Glass of Prude Juice. And Prude Cake for Dessert.

Even America's (or Canada's) "sweetheart," Justin Bieber, is now making a name for himself with the potty talk. At least, according to the transcript I saw on the news following his arrest last Thursday for drag racing and driving while intoxicated (with an expired license, to boot), every fourth or fifth word out of his mouth was reportedly an F-bomb.

Which is the kind of intelligent talk we've come to expect from a genius such as him by now.

Though cursing may be realistic, it doesn't mean I want to be around it. I believe that the words we choose to use do matter, and they reflect our minds and character. And I've been around all sorts of cursing. There are plenty of other things that actually happen in the real world every day that I don't want to be around, either.

Twerking, for example.

President Hinckley, I believe, summed things up very well in the April 2007 general conference:

"Be clean in your language. There is so much of filthy, sleazy talk these days. Failure to express yourself in language that is clean marks you as one whose vocabulary is extremely limited. . . . A filthy mind expresses itself in filthy and profane language. A clean mind expresses itself in language that is positive and uplifting and in deeds that bring happiness to the heart."

If following this counsel makes me a prude, then I'm proud to be one. Cursing not only offends the ears; it is the product of a filthy, lazy, uneducated, and impatient mind, too.

Or so I've been told. Now, it's Netflix time for me. I'm going to be watching "Christmas with the California Prudes."