Angry No More

"I don't wanna be angry no more
You know I could never stand for this."
 -Rob Thomas, "Lonely No More"

It's been a month since the Angry White Loner's last blog post. Did you miss him/me?

Life goes forward in cycles. The coming of the Christmas season is a reminder of this. So it goes for all of us. Including Angry White Loners.

This blog started out, admittedly, as an inside joke that only a few of you were part of. To this day, I still get questions as to what the title Angry White Loner refers to and why I would ever choose such a name for a blog.

I'm clearly none of those three things. Well, two of those three things.

Believe it or not, I wrote a blog post for the folks at LDS Living magazine recently, and they wondered the same thing. They, in fact, suggested I create a new blog with a different name were I to continue to write posts for them. Can you believe that?

Whatever your view(s) on the issue, I believe that this blog has been a very good thing for me, and hopefully it hasn't be torture for the many of you who have read it and have given your (mostly positive) feedback on it.

But it has also outlived its usefulness, I think. It's time. I don't want to be the Angry White Loner anymore.

Doctor Who fans, aka Whovians, of which the AWL has joined the ranks in the past year, know that the good Doctor regenerates from time to time. While he is still the same person inside, he is physically altered, and each regeneration brings out a different side of his personality. Or of the actor who plays him.

Think of this change as that sort or thing: a regeneration. The Angry White Loner will be back; possibly soon, possibly later on. Who can say for sure?

The Angry White Loner has actually been yours truly's third blog. In case you were unaware, you can read past posts/rants at:

http://theepistleofjon.blogspot.com/ (2008-2014)
http://angrywhiteloner.blogspot.com/ (2013-2014)
http://gobblewonker.blogspot.com/ (2014)

In fact, if you have a suggestion of a title for my fourth blog, please post it in the comments section. The suggestion with the most "likes" will become the title of my new blog.

Maybe.

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.

North Star: Choosing Happiness

"Love is like the Polar Star. In a changing world, it is a constant. It is of the very essence of the gospel. . . . Great beyond comprehension is the love of God."
 -Gordon B. Hinckley

A good friend, also one of my home teachers from my YSA ward days, invited me to attend a fireside last night for the North Star International group. I'm so glad I went.

As described on its Facebook page, North Star is "a place of community for Latter-day Saints dealing with issues surrounding homosexual attraction who desire to live in harmony with the teachings of Jesus Christ and the doctrines and values of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints." Another stated purpose is "to empower individuals to help educate themselves, their family, friends, and Church leaders as they strive to become integrated more fully and lovingly into the Church community."

I'm grateful to be one of those friends, and I proudly stand as one of their supporters. Also, as one of their admirers.

This fireside featured possibly the greatest display of congregational singing I have ever witnessed. They sang loudly, but they also sang with the voices of angels. As they sang, "So long thy pow'r hath blest me, sure it still will lead me on o'er moor and fen, o'er crag, and torrent, till the night is gone," and then, later, "O Savior, if thou wilt be my guide, tho dark and rugged the way, my voice shall echo the message sweet: I'll say what you want me to say," the words were not just words on a page but also a testimony of their very lives.

In addition, I was impressed by the number of hugs I saw people giving each other throughout the evening. I don't think I've seen that much hugging take place since the last time I was at sacrament meeting in Peru. Hugs are very much a part of their culture, too.

Truth be told, it's one of the things I miss most about that place and those people.

"There's so much love in this room," I overheard one person say. There was indeed.

Oh yeah. There were actual speakers at this fireside, too. The husband and wife (the husband has lived with same-gender attraction, though they've been married 9+ years now) who spoke talked of the most important commandment being that of loving God, and, in turn, He will love us back. It is the whole purpose for existing in the first place. All that seems unfair in life can be made right through the Atonement. We don't really know what we believe until we are tested. What you truly value and what you want out of life is far more important than seeking gratification. Purpose can be found in the service of others.

The wife spoke of an important lesson Eustace learns about being cleansed of his dragon scales by Aslan (i.e. the Lord) in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, which gave her an extra gold star in my book. (The Narnia series remains my favorite.) The husband also spoke extensively on Victor Frankl's book Man's Search for Meaning and reminded everyone of an important lesson: The last and most important of humanity's freedoms is the freedom to choose what our attitudes will be in any given set of circumstances. Whatever trial or challenge any of us faces, we always have a choice.

Frankl knew something about that because, well, he survived Auschwitz concentration camp.

Speaking of dealing with difficult circumstances, the world would tell the members of North Star that there's no possible way they could be happy following this path that they have chosen.

Well, it ain't necessarily so, folks. It's bubkes, actually.

Last night, I met some of the pleasantest, happiest, and friendliest new people I have met in a long time. There wasn't a frowny face in the bunch. They are proud to be disciples of Jesus Christ, and it is a choice that brings them true joy and gives them hope and purpose. It shows in the way they act, and it radiates in their countenances. They choose to love God by keeping His commandments (see John 14:15) and loving their fellow man—in that order—and that is what makes all of the difference.

They know it, they live it, and they love it.

Life's a Country Song

"Everything is great
Everything is grand
I got the whole wide world in the palm of my hand
Everything is perfect
It's falling into place
I can't seem to wipe this smile off my face
Life's a happy song, when there's someone by my side to sing along"

 -From "Life's a Happy Song," featured in The Muppets

As my friend the Modern-day Muse has written about on her blog, life can happen "all at once." There are periods of time during which "nothing much" seems to be the norm, and a string of days can feel like the movie Groundhog Day, and there are also other timeframes during which all sorts of things can turn your world upside-down in a hurry, for good or for ill.

Lately, it's been the latter for this Angry White Loner.

I broke up with the girl I've been dating. One of my best friends, whom I've known for over 30 years, basically told me to "drop dead" and to leave him alone, to not to invite him to do anything social with him anymore (no worries; I don't think he'll read this). And my car, the Aluminum Falcon, died a slow, painful, ultimate death, as I mentioned before.

 

All of these events went down within a few short days of each other.

It's been pretty much the opposite of the aforementioned Muppets song. It's been somewhat more of a country song instead: losing your girl, your friend, your truck (car), etc.

That's not to say, however, that the glass is half empty. Because it's certainly not. If you look around and count your blessings, you can see how truly blessed you are, in so many ways.

Fact: Life hands you disappointments. They can be tough blows to bear. And sometimes, they happen all at once. We all have them.

The question is: How will you respond when they occur? Will you become embittered and angry and cynical and blame others for your problems and let others' actions/inaction determine your happiness and retreat into self-loathing? Or will you consider it a lesson learned, forgive, take responsibility for your own happiness, and move on?

Will you raise the white flag in defeat, or will you bounce back and try again?

Once again, I'm going to go with the latter.

Best You Can Do Is Forgive

"Well it's all right, remember to live and let live;
Well it's all right, the best you can do is forgive."
 -The Traveling Wilburys, "End of the Line"

Currently, I travel up to Layton a couple of times a week. It's not personal; it's business.

While driving up there along I-15, I always pass under the Burton Lane Bridge in Kaysville. This is one landmark I always look forward to seeing in my travels because, much of the time, someone has spelled out a message with plastic cups in the holes of the chain-link fence.

It's a thing we do here in Utah, often to welcome home returning missionaries, to ask/answer requests for local high school dances, and such.

The Burton Lane Bridge reminds me a little bit of the movie L.A. Story, in which Steve Martin's character receives a number of messages with advice particular to his own life from a roadside sign on the L.A. Expressway. The sign ends up playing something of a major supporting role in the film.

Anyway, the message spelled out across the bridge last week consisted of only one word, but it is nevertheless a very important word:

"Forgive."

It would turn out that I would really need that specific message on this specific day. My family would, anyway.

At work, I received a phone call from Dad in which he informed me that Mom had, unfortunately, tripped over a piece of twine or string that was left hanging over the sidewalk at a neighbor's while out for a walk. She had been hurt very badly in the process. It turned out to be not one but two broken elbows, leaving Mom wearing a cast on each arm for the next several weeks. Said injury will also require her to be attended by someone else at nearly every waking hour, as she now needs help eating, scratching itches, and doing several other ordinary tasks that you and I often take for granted on a daily basis.

"Mommy is a mummy," Dad said.

This is the kind of accident that can turn some neighbors from friends into mortal enemies. Again, it was all a result of a neighbor carelessly leaving string or twine hanging over a public sidewalk.

Mom decided to take the high road. (Like moms do.) She visited this neighbor, a member of the parents' LDS ward, upon returning home from the hospital to let the neighbor know what had happened, one intent being to hopefully help prevent additional injury to other neighbors. Another intent was to forgive, to not hold any kind of a grudge. (Of course, it also doesn't mean said neighbor's insurance might not still have to cover some medical expenses.)

Neighbor lady's husband was away on a business trip, but neighbor lady took full responsibility, burst into tears, and apologized profusely. I think we may be able to save this friendship after all.

Forgiveness is always a good option. It's really the best one.

Pretty in Pink

Yesterday, I went out to lunch for corn dogs. Because, well . . . corn dogs.

'Nuff said.

Upon sitting down to eat my meal, I noticed that there was a man seated in my vicinity whom I can describe only as "pretty in pink," as in the '80s song/movie. Decked out in a bright pink shirt, a bright pink hat, bright pink shorts, he also carried a cell phone with a bright pink cover on it and was accompanied by a bicycle with a bright pink seat and pink handlebars.

It was a lot of bright pink for any human being, especially a guy with more facial hair than your own Angry White Loner.

My first inclination, admittedly, was to take a photo of this man with my camera. Because there's no way anybody else would believe I had seen someone go out in public dressed this way.

Fortunately, a second, better thought occurred to me soon after:

That man is a child of God.

On second thought, it's often a good idea to listen to and to be guided by those second thoughts that occur following those "natural man" initial impressions.

No other editorializing by me this time, folks. I'll simply leave it at that.

Tell 'Em Big Baby Sent Ya!

Have you ever looked fear in the face and said, "I just don't care"?
 -P!nk

I used to be somewhat more adventurous of a person than I now am. I don't know when exactly it was that I turned into a fuddy-duddy, but it happened a few years ago. I woke up one morning, and there he was: a bona fide fuddy-duddy, staring back at me in the mirror.

You'll all get older someday, too. That's both a threat and a promise.

I think that it is a good idea, nonetheless, to occasionally take a look back at some of those things that used to be part of your routine and wonder why you don't do some of those things anymore, maybe even to do some new things that might scare you a little bit. For example, going to Lagoon at least once every summer.

It's something that your very own Angry White Loner used to do, but until a couple of weeks ago, he hadn't been to the friendly confines for 13 (count 'em, 13) years. It was beyond time that he give it another try and go on some rides, for heck's sake.

When I talk about doing things that scare you a little, I'm not, of course,  advocating doing unnecessarily stupid things, such as drag racing through your neighborhood or tying rubber bands together and then bungee jumping. Or even eating at Five Guys Stomach Flu and Food Poisoning. Ever.

It was good to be back at Lagoon and to try to, once again, erase those horrible memories of having worked there for a summer when I was 17 years old.

OK, a little off topic there. Anyway, the rides have changed a great deal in my 13-year absence from the park. Some of the ones that were there last time are still quite terrifying, like The Rocket. My ride on the new(ish) Samurai was quite possibly the most frightening experience I've ever had. And I've witnessed a terrorist attack up close.

I spent the course of the ride much like the Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz, chanting, "I do believe in spooks! I do believe in spooks!" over and over again, until after what seemed like 17 straight hours strapped in, it mercifully ended, after which I basically French-kissed the ground and promised her that we'd never, ever fight again.

When you've not been on a roller coaster or other amusement park ride for 13 years, you apparently have about 13 years' worth of motion sickness to make up for. That, or the lap bars fit a bit more snugly than they used to, if you catch my drift. Whatever the reason(s), I had to sit out for a few rides while my friends continued to party on. I never fully recovered that night, but I did end up going back on a few more rides to round out the evening. And I'm glad that I did.

It's what fun is. Or what it used to be. There's still more fun to be had.

The Best Two Years, and Beyond

I spent a good deal of the weekend listening to two old cassette tapes, which I dug up the other day. Cassette tapes, in case you were wondering, came along way before MP3s and iPods and also preceded CDs, which are sadly becoming more and more passé these days.

These tapes had spent a few years collecting dust and basically just lying around. One tape was a recording of the sacrament meeting in which I gave my "farewell" address before heading off to the MTC and then the mission field at age 19, and the second recording was of my "homecoming" talk upon returning from Peru two years later at age 21.

I can sum up the experience in one word: Wow.

It all brought back so many memories to listen to myself speak on both occasions, and I don't like to listen to my own voice all that much, so it took some patience and self-consciousness, too. It was interesting to listen to my young and eager but not-so-wise-in-the-ways-of-the-world self speak before departing and then my heavily Spanish-accented self (much more than I recall being at the time) speak somewhat extemporaneously and much more fluidly upon returning.

Reflecting back on those times and on the perspective I've gained since then, it's interesting to me to hear now, from many different sources, that the mission is "the best two years" in your life. Certainly, it was an amazing, unforgettable, growing, and educational experience that I'll never, ever forget, I saw some very beautiful and also some very ugly places, and I made many friendships that I hope to carry with me into the eternities.

But "best two years"? Well, if my life has already reached its greatest point at age 21, then I've been living through years of disappointment, with additional years of disappointment still ahead.

Another school of thought, and the one that I agree with, is that the mission is "the best two years" of your life up to that point of your life. You then return home, go back to school, work, marry (well, two out of three isn't bad), etc. and then make the next year the best year, then the year after that, and so on.

Have the years since my return home been disappointing? Has it been nothing but a downward slope? In some ways, these years have not turned out at all like I expected they would. I've had my share of disappointment, trials, grief, thorns in the flesh, and unfortunately also consequences when I've not done some of the things I should have done or I've let opportunities slip away. To quote John Lennon, "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans."

Nevertheless, I've also been richly blessed at the same time. I've been given opportunities to work, to play, to study, to learn, to develop talents, to grow, to date, to meet new people, to travel, to give, to receive, and to take uncertain steps into the dark future, one day at a time—some of which have paid off, and others have not. And I wouldn't have missed nearly all of it.

Except for January 2008. That was a tough month that I never want to repeat, ever again.

How Does *He* Know?

I was listening to the old iPod the other day, shuffling through my playlist of Disney songs, when a familiar voice began to sing. It was the melodious voice of my favorite Disney princess, Giselle, played by Amy Adams—who hasn't really left the Church, ya know. She's just been inactive for past few decades.

Anyway, the song I refer to is "That's How You Know" from Enchanted. "Does he leave a little note to tell you you are on his mind?" she inquires. Does he "send you flowers when the sky is grey?" Or "does he take you out dancin' just so he can hold you close?" Or "dedicate a song with words in just for you?" "Don't treat her like a mind reader," she adds. Don't take her for granted!

All of these are valid and important questions in a relationship, Giselle and/or Amy. A man should do all of these things to let a woman know that he loves her, or else really really really likes her a lot, with chocolate syrup and a cherry on top.

Fair enough.

Generally speaking, though, men also tend to have a difficult time figuring out whether, after they've followed Giselle's advice and have done all of these things, or have at least attempted them, whether she loves him back, or even really really really likes him back.

This is partly due to the fact that women, often by their own admission: (1) tend to drop hints rather than to say directly what they are feeling or what they want, (2) can be driven by emotion more often than men are, and (3) can be confusing, as one tends to come from Mars, and the other from Venus. (Yes, ladies, I'm sure we're equally as confusing to you sometimes. Maybe more!)

Now, don't get all upset and write me nasty comments or e-mails. The Angry White Loner has said in the past that women are the world's biggest mystery, and he's just trying to figure out this part of their personalities right now. On this night, in this blog post. (No one person should take any of this personally.) He is actually looking for some practical advice, generally speaking, and is trying to foster a positive discussion on the topic, because his friends and readers, all six of them, give pretty good counsel. He would, in fact, welcome answers to any or all of the following questions:

Does she want to spend time with you, or is she just scared of being alone?

Does she see spending time with you as a priority or as an obligation?

Does she often claim to be "busy," or does she go out of her way to include you in her extracurricular plans?

Does she, you know, pretend like she acknowledges your existence out in public, and, if so, will she approach and/or talk to you when others are around? Are any and all dates carried out only when she's checked an re-checked the neighborhood for spies and gossipmongers?

Are you plan B, C, or D because her girlfriends happen to be busy that night?

Does she get excited for the next date because, just as Café Rio employees get excited on your 11th visit, a "Free Meal!" is coming?

Inquiring minds want to know.

With Six Eyes, You Get Eggroll

Not to sound too much like a stand-up comedian—though I'm probably going to end up sounding like one anyway—but today's topic is sunglasses: What is the deal?

I've been trying to figure out why sunglasses trouble me so. Perhaps this has something to do with the fact that I already wear glasses and have had them since high school, and if I tried to put on yet another pair of lenses to keep the summer sun out of my already nearsighted eyes, then that would give would-be bullies an excuse to call me "six eyes" or something of that sort. That's why I prefer to wear hats.

I can already achieve the "Six Eyes" effect any time I go to a 3D movie. Additionally, that's also a lot of weight to be putting on your poor nose.

Other people wearing sunglasses also make me nervous. (Obviously, I'm not referring here to someone like, say, like Stevie Wonder.) Why? Mainly, it's the fact that I cannot see their eyeballs. I don't have any idea how they're looking at me when they're wearing those things. Like if they're rolling their eyes at me if I bring up something like Star Wars or "Weird Al" or any one of dozens of other topics.

And what's up with people who wear sunglasses indoors and on the tops of their heads all day long, nestled in their hair? Do they not have pockets or purses or a car to keep them in? Is it really comfortable to wear sunglasses on top of your head throughout the entire three-hour church block?

Perhaps strangest of all are those who wear sunglasses at night. Unless, of course, the point of this is to watch people when they weave and then breathe their story lines, or to keep track of the visions in their eyes. In that case, don't switch the blade on the guy in shades.

I'm jiggy with that.

Ex-Women: Days of Future Past

Some of my siblings and I went to a concert a couple of weeks ago, enjoying the music and new songs of a favorite band of ours that had just reunited for a new album and was touring again for the first time in seven years. One of the siblings' wives had traveled out of town unexpectedly the day before, so I got to attend in her place.

Not that I'm complaining about that. 'Cause I'm not.

Before introducing one of the songs, one of the band members asked those in the audience if they had ever dated a horrible or terrible person. Several hands went up, while others cheered or hollered. He then explained that the next song the band would play was taken from his "Bitter Box," and, though he had never dated someone he would call a "bad" person, the "Bitter Box" of music is his way of dealing with break-ups and relationships that did not go according to plan.

I really like the concept of the "Bitter Box." I'm not an Angry White Loner for no reason, after all.

At the same time, I also do not endorse bitterness as a way of life. Being "bitter," at times, is a normal, albeit "Natural Man," emotion, I think. I understand that. I have my own "Bitter Box" cache of music to help me get through break-ups—not as a means of pointing fingers or assigning blame to myself nor to anyone else but rather as a means of giving myself a few days—no more than a week at most—to sulk, to forgive, to heal, and then to "climb back on the horse" and begin dating again.

Like the writer/singer of that song, I can also claim that I have never dated a "bad" person, let alone a horrible or terrible person. In addition, I hope that no one who has dated me would ever think of me as a "bad" person, either, though I may have unwittingly given them a reason to do so. I'm a work in progress, and I make mistakes. Daily.

I've dated only good people who have made mistakes, too—and who are not at all "bad" but are, rather, "different." I've come to see a break-up as not a bad thing but as a good, necessary thing, though it sometimes is a pill that is nastier than cod liver oil to swallow. Nevertheless, I can choose to look at my dating experiences with bitterness, or I can choose to look at them as a learning experience, in which I have gained valuable insight into my own behavior, as well as lessons about women that will help me be better in my present and future opportunities.

Given the choice, I choose the latter.

"Weird Al" Predicts the Future

Yesterday, much of the main cast of the new, as-yet-untitled Star Wars Episode VII was revealed, and to the glee of many fans/nerds, myself included, original stars Mark Hamill (Luke Skywalker), Harrison Ford (Han Solo), and Carrie Fisher (Princess Leia) will be back to reprise their iconic roles. The new movie, set to be released in December 2015 (but who's keeping track of that in big bold red letters on their calendars?), will pick up the saga 30 years after the conclusion of Episode VI, Return of the Jedi.

I was seven years old, a second grader at Hannah Holbrook Elementary School in Bountiful, when ROTJ was released, and Dad got my older brother and me out of school for the day to line up with many other fans at something like 5:00 or 5:30 a.m. for the chance to be among the very first group to see the very first showing of the movie at a now-non-existent theater in downtown Salt Lake City. And we made it!

Good times, those. It's a cherished memory and one of the things about Dad that I remember best from my childhood.

At any rate, two years after ROTJ, "Weird Al" Yankovic came out with his Dare to Be Stupid album in 1985. Like the Star Wars franchise, it's also one of the greatest creations of all time. It included the song "Yoda," a parody of the Kinks' "Lola," which "Weird Al" fans once voted their #1 favorite song of his.

"Yoda," however, was originally intended to come out on "Weird Al"'s first album in 1983, before he hit it big and before the release of ROTJ. As such, it tells the story of Yoda only as it recounted as far as the previous Star Wars film, Episode V, The Empire Strikes Back, and includes nothing of the story of Yoda in ROTJ nor in the prequels, which didn't come along for more than a decade later anyway.

I listened to "Yoda," which is sung through the point-of-view of Luke, on my iPod today and found myself paying particular attention to the lines: "I know that I'll be coming back (to Dagobah) someday; I'll be playing this part till I'm old and gray. The long-term contract I had to sign says I'll be making these movies till the end of time."

And now, 32 years after ROTJ, and 30 years after Dare to Be Stupid, Mark Hamill, old and gray (at least, he's 30 years older and grayer than he once was) is once again playing the role of Luke Skywalker.

Nailed it, Al.

The Remedial Singles Ward

Tonight, I had a major case of déja vu all over again.

In a meeting filled with many other mid-singles (i.e., 31-to-45-year-old, non-married people my age who have been deemed too old for the regular singles ward, or leprous and highly contagious, or both) congregated in my old stake center in Bountiful, at which the new stake president of my old stake announced the creation of a new mid-singles ward, the first of its kind anywhere in Davis County.

Everybody with me so far?

Not only that, but my former bishop, bishop of the singles ward I used to attend in that very same chapel, was sustained as the new bishop of this new ward.

In a very real sense, things had come full circle for the Angry White Loner. And for many of his friends and associates.

To top it all off, I then got in my car to head over to a family function, and you know what? The tune "Zero Population" started playing on a random shuffle of the Sunday listening playlist on my iPod.

I knew I'd heard that melodious tune somewhere before. And then it hit me . . .

It was (and is) one of the grooviest tracks from literally one of both the silliest and most overplayed (on BYU-TV, at any rate) and arguably greatest* LDS musicals with false doctrine, Saturday's Warrior!

Mind = blown!

*No, it's not. My Turn on Earth wins in that category.

Life Is a Highway

Nobody likes to be stuck in a traffic jam—especially one that keeps you rubbernecking for miles (and sometimes even hours) on end. If there is anyone out there who actually does like it and isn't the bodybuilder flexing his muscles while directing traffic in that one GEICO commercial, I have yet to meet him. Or her.

By contrast, I'm sure we've all experienced times when we're cruising down the freeway and everything around and in front of us is smooth sailing traffic wise, yet due to construction or a collision or whatever reason(s), we can see many, many cars backed up in a traffic jam going the opposite direction. In such moments, I've had the thought occur (or I've said out loud if I have a passenger with me), "I'm glad I'm not going that way."

It's interesting how life itself can often be the same way, isn't it? When we're right in the middle of whatever jam, traffic or otherwise, is giving us grief and testing our patience, it can sure seem pretty difficult to deal with, and it also certainly makes us appreciate those moments when we can set things to cruise control and travel freely the other way. Likewise, we can also have those "glad I'm not going that way" thoughts occur when we learn about another's struggles. Ironically, that same person might even feel the same way about us and something difficult we're enduring at the same time.

What's my point? I'm not sure that I have one. (Do I ever?)

One thing I do know, however, is that today, on this Easter holiday, I'm grateful for my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. He trod the winepress alone and, because of Gethsemane and Golgotha, he understands the difficult roads we've traveled/are traveling/will travel, and He has bourn our burdens. Though the cup to drink was bitter, he has "gone that way."

Throughout the weekend, and especially today, I've had the chance to read many beautiful and inspiring "Because of Him" posts on Facebook and Twitter that have reminded me of the myriad reasons just why He matters so much to me and why the title Savior is so important to us all.

Cadbury eggs are nice, too.

Happy Easter, my friends.

Gotta Get Up and Try

"Gotta get up and try, and try, and try"
 -P!nk, "Try"

I recently saw the 2013 movie Ephraim's Rescue, which had been in the #1 spot in my Netflix queue for months. Took ya long enough, huh, Netflix?

For those not familiar with the plot, Ephraim's Rescue is based on the true life story of Ephraim Hanks, who, among other accomplishments, helped lead the rescue of the Martin and Willie handcart companies in the winter of 1856, saving the lives of many of the destitute people stranded somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Wyoming.

But I repeat myself. It really isn't too hard to imagine if you've ever driven lengthwise across Wyoming along I-80, which I have done and lived to tell about.

The film also recounts some of the other miracles Ephraim, who was blessed with the gift of healing, carried out during his lifetime of service and sacrifice. It touched me deeply, partly also because I am a descendant of handcart pioneers.

If you haven't seen Ephraim's Rescue yet, then go and buy it. Netflix takes too long. Obviously.

One of the parts that impressed me most, and there were many of them, is a scene in which someone asks Ephraim how he is able to do all of the good that he does. His response is simply, "I try."

It's a simple yet a powerful response, and it contains and important lesson. Sometimes, all it takes is that we try.

Take, for example, the Israelites who were bitten by the poisonous serpents in the desert, as recounted in Chapter 21 of Numbers. To be healed, all they had to do was to look at the brass serpent that Moses held up. Tragically, many of them refused to look and died. (See also Chapter 33 of Alma.)

All they had to do was to try.

If we give our very best effort in life—if we just try—then the Lord will do the rest. I didn't really understand the concept until a recent Sunday School discussion, but that is the very essence of grace.

If it applies to the big things, it also applies to the little things, or so I am wont to believe. Just trying it out will help us to learn new hobbies or learn new things, to meet new people, to ask out that girl or guy you've known for years and always wondered about, to find out likes/dislikes, and so forth.

Naturally, we need to then follow through and work at many of these things. But the first step—the initial trying it out—is usually the hardest. Obviously, this also doesn't mean trying out things that are clearly stupid and/or dangerous, such as jumping out of an airplane without a parachute. Or voting for Obama.

That's just not common sense.

Angry Tunes

By definition, one word to describe the Angry White Loner is angry. Without that particular adjective, or the words white or loner, you've got no Angry White Loner. And that would certainly be a doggone shame.

Those who know me, however, know that the term Angry White Loner is something of a misnomer. Unless I'm stuck in traffic and I'm late for a very important date. Or I'm playing Halo with friends and I'm on what you might call a "dying spree." Or I'm mailing my tax payment in to the federal government (which is actually only a few days away now).

But no, not Bruce Banner/Hulk angry. Or Michael Douglas in the movie Falling Down angry. Or Katie Kaboom angry. (Anybody out there remember Katie from "Animaniacs"?)

Other than those instances, though, the phrase, as I originally mentioned in my very first post over a year ago, is actually based on a character I am wont to play in an improv game we call "Press Conference."

Speaking of improv, I really enjoyed tonight's troupe workshop. I always enjoy our troupe workshops, though tonight's was especially fun, because it was a music-centric workshop. Performing improvised music is both one of the most challenging and the most rewarding parts of performing live improv. If you've been to one of our performances, then you know from firsthand experience what I mean. If you haven't been to one of our performances—I've been appearing with this group for six years now, for heaven's sake—well, why are we still friends?

Just kidding about that last part. Only partly.

I was given the emotion "anger" in a new singing game that we learned. When it was my turn to sing, this came out:

"Sitting in my room alone, I'm listening to Evanescence;
My woman's left me, yeah, she's the queen of putrescence!"

Sometimes, you surprise even yourself!

Dave Barry refers to heavy metal music as "music to slaughter cattle by." All of the bands/songs in "Weird Al" Yankovic's "Angry White Boy Polka" also fit in the category. Even one of my favorite classical music pieces, Edvard Grieg's "In the Hall of the Mountain King," I would say, fits the bill.

Basically, anything you could punch-dance to, like Andy Samberg in Hot Rod or Kevin Bacon in Footloose, might very well be "angry" music.

What's your favorite piece of angry music? Post them in the comments section. Or don't. Whatever floats your boat.

Be nice about it! Not angry.

Green with Envy

This past week, a good friend of the Angry White Loner's got engaged to be married. It is one of those inevitable things, I've been told, to occur after you've been dating someone for a while and you find out that you like each other a whole bunch. More than a whole bunch, actually.

This will be this particular friend's second marriage. The Angry White Loner has other friends who have been married more than once, including a few currently on a third marriage and even one who has been hitched four times.

The Angry White Loner, however, has not even been engaged once, let alone married once.

What's my point in bringing up this little tidbit? Because anything and everything I know about marriage is certainly limited and is from the point-of-view of one who is, to this point, merely an observer. That is acknowledged.

Another tidbit: All of the Angry White Loner's siblings are now married, including his four younger siblings. Years ago, when the first of these younger siblings announced his engagement, the parents approached the Angry White Loner, somewhat as if they were walking on eggshells, and asked: "Are you mad?"

Having been put into this situation for the first time, I was certainly caught off guard by the question. I wasn't aware I was supposed to be anything but happy for my brother—certainly anything but mad. He and his fiancée were very happy together. Fortunately, I could honestly answer that no, I wasn't in the least bit mad. In fact, in the years since then, I would say that my relationship with this sibling has only improved.

Have chick flicks, as well as such plays as Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew, taught us that siblings are supposed to get married in a certain order? Perhaps that is what factored into the parents' view of it all.

In writing this post, I am also reminded of the moment, years ago, when a female friend of mine mentioned that a friend of hers was getting married for the third time and—whether this was in gest or not, I'll never know—uttered:

Why can't I get married just once?!

Another way of saying it might be: When is it my turn?

It's a rhetorical question—I didn't dare attempt an answer—and one with, to be sure, no simple answer(s). I have also found that it is a query that is very present in the minds of many of the mid-singles I associate with on a weekly basis but is not often one that is discussed out loud. In fact, I wished we discussed it more often at our class.

The best answer I have come up with to that $64,000 Question is this: I don't know. I don't know why things work out the way they do. I don't know why, to borrow a couple of musical metaphors, Rod Stewart once sang that "some guys have all the luck," while others "still haven't found what (they're) looking for," going well into their 30s and 40s and beyond—or not at all in this lifetime—without finding someone else with whom to share this mortal journey.

There are a few simple lessons, however, that I have learned—again, stated as an outsider and an observer. Principally: Envy, whomever or whatever it is directed at, is not a healthy emotion to have. It can fester and infect the soul like a foul disease does to the body. It is also not an attractive characteristic in someone anyone would want in a spouse. Neither is moping or being caught up in your singleness.

In addition: You stand a much better chance at meeting new people, ones who want the same thing you do, if you put yourself in situations or places where these people congregate rather than playing hard to get, Osama bin Laden style. Kindness is attractive, as is knowing how to say "please" and "thank you." If I knew what the Young Women values were, I would list them here, because they are all attractive qualities, too.

Along this same line, an encouraging piece of information was shared with me today at church by my home teacher: His 50-something sister just got married for the eighth—eighth!—time. The difference between this marriage and the other seven? It was her first temple marriage. What he conveyed, in a Sunday School lesson about Rebekah and the importance of marriage in the covenant, is that you have a better chance at attaining a temple marriage if you date temple-worthy people, or those who are working to become such. Also, some things are worth waiting and sacrificing for.

You Don't Bring Me Flowers . . . or Pop Tarts

I've given a girl flowers only once.

When I confess that fact, I'm certainly not counting high school dances—both of the ones I attended—when I bought corsages for my dates. Like you're supposed to do.

This explains so much, Angry White Loner, some of you might be thinking. No wonder you're going to be all alone on Valentine's Day. Again.

Maybe. Then again, maybe not. It could be a post for another day.

The thing is, I bought and took flowers to an ex of mine rather than I girl I was currently dating. It had been more than a year since we had broken up. Unfortunately, we had not parted on very good terms, and, I believe, a share of the blame rested on me.

While I was at the store on this particular day, I passed by a display of daisies. For whatever reason, I thought of her, completely out of the blue, when I saw them. Further, I received the impression that I should buy some for her and take them over to her place that afternoon.

According to Kathleen Kelly (Meg Ryan) in the movie You've Got Mail, "Daisies are the friendliest flower." So, why not? I thought.

Flowers in hand, along with a fresh box of Strawberry Pop Tarts—a treat we often shared together back in the good old days—I rang her doorbell. Not knowing what reaction to expect, because it had been months since we had last spoken, I prepared for the worst while hoping for the best. To my surprise, she seemed pleased to see me and appeared genuinely grateful for the gift of the daisies, as well as the Pop Tarts.

Perhaps she was more grateful for the Pop Tarts than for the daisies. I can't really say for sure.

As I stepped in to visit for a few minutes, I noticed several boxes and other things waiting to be packed up. She was moving away, and the day on which I had brought her the flowers was the last day she would be in her condo.

Timing is rarely on my side. Fortunately, this was one occasion on which it had seemingly been just right. I'm not one who often receives promptings to do things like that, and I definitely haven't always listened to those promptings when I do, but I'm glad I did so and that we were able to patch things up before she moved.

So, why don't you bring *me* some flowers someday, you big goof? some females are now wondering.

Give me reasons to, and I just might. Maybe drop a guy a hint about your favorite kind of Pop Tart, while you're at it, mmmkay?

Aspirations in the Clouds

"Aspirations in the clouds,
But your hopes go down the drain."
 -Howard Jones, "No One Is to Blame"

At times when the Angry White Loner is feeling a bit more melancholy than he normally does, he wonders whether one of the main purposes of his Church mission was to prepare him for rejection. One of the most eye-opening, heartbreaking, and frustrating parts of those two years was learning to deal with closed minds, hearts, and doors on a daily basis. Rejection took place, unfortunately, far more often than acceptance did.

The thing is, though he is used to it by now, rejection never gets any easier.

The AWL went to his weekly institute class tonight with the goal of reaching out and meeting at least a few new people. Maybe even a female or two. He said "hello" to three people he hadn't previously spoken to; all three were seemingly disinterested in talking to him. The girl he recently asked out, or tried to ask out, likewise, made eye contact with him once but otherwise pretended like he was not even there.

"People, you can never change the way they feel.
Better let them do just what they will, for they will."
 -George Michael, "Kissing a Fool"

It's not just in socializing or dating, or in attempting to do so. The world as a whole seems to be filled with rejections of one kind or another. Applying for jobs, for example.

So, the Angry White Loner poses the question: How do you deal with rejection?

Do you go out to a secluded spot and punch-dance until you can't punch-dance anymore, like Kevin Bacon in Footloose or Andy Samberg in Hot Rod? Do you kick the neighbor's cat? (Any cat will do, really.) Do you scream out all of your frustrations into a paper bag?

Is there even a healthy way to deal with it at all? Do you eventually reach the point at which you give up on trying to accomplish some things altogether?

I'm interested in finding out, 'cause I don't know. I really don't. I'm looking for ideas.

*Long pause*

*Crickets*

There is comfort in knowing, for example, that a day will come "when disappointment, grief, and fear are gone" (Hymn no. 124).

Until then, however, I'm trying to figure things out for myself, one closed mind, heart, and door at a time.

When Darkness Falls

"And in these days
When darkness falls early
And people rush home
To the ones they love
You better take a fool's advice
And take care of your own
One day they're here;
Next day they're gone."
 -Don Henley, "New York Minute"

A friend of mine started her own blog this week. I'm certainly interested in following friends' blogs, especially those who follow mine. I read through the first post and, in doing so, I learned a lot more about this friend that, unfortunately, I did not know before.

Among the facts I picked up were that, like me, she lives with depression. Unlike me, she attempted to take her own life not that long ago.

What would ever make a person want to do such thing? I used to wonder—a number of years ago. I'm sure it's a thought many of you may have asked yourselves at one time or another. If you've never been chemically depressed yourself, it's certainly an understandable query.

That was before my own battle began. And when I learned exactly what depression could do to me or to anyone else, I learned several hard, painful lessons, some of which took me years to learn. Others, I am still in the process of learning.

It certainly affected a good friend of mine, who not only suffered with depression but also with issues of anger and I-don't-know-what else. The thing is, he suffered in silence, never opening up nor uttering a word about his struggles. At least, not to me, he didn't. One summer day, the last time I saw him, he and I went to see a blockbuster movie together (the title of which is not important, but it rhymes with Revenge of the Sith). A few short weeks later, he was featured in the top story on that night's newscast.

He had shown up at his ex-wife's house and, when she opened the door, he shot her at point-blank range, killing her instantly.

Depression also, sadly, runs in the family of a handful of other friends of mine—all brothers in the same clan. One spring day, our circle of friends was informed that one of these boys had taken his own life. A mere three years later, his brother, likewise, committed suicide, as well.

I attended two separate funerals for this family over a three-year span. Both for the same reason.

So, what have these experiences taught you? you ask?

Many things, to be sure. I don't have all nor even most of the answers, but I have learned that everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle of one sort or another. Many, like my three aforementioned friends, suffer in silence or perhaps feel there is no one around who will understand what demons they are battling. What I do know is that kindness is always a good choice. I don't always choose that route, but when I do, it is always a good option.

Perhaps it's something I need to talk or blog about more. If there are any friends or acquaintances reading this who are depressed or have been depressed at one time or another, please count me among those whom you can talk to about it. If my own struggle has taught me anything, it's that help and healing are available, and though times may be dark, there is always a way to see things through. If I can help out anyone in any small (or big) way, then all of the difficult things I've been through won't have been suffered in vain and I will have learned the lesson(s) I was supposed to learn. If it's not me, then talk to someone about it—a parent, friend, bishop, or someone else in your circle of trust.

To those who don't know what it feels like to be depressed, just know that it is not imagined and is very real, and it happens to people you know—to family members, neighbors, friends, people in your ward, co-workers, etc. If you don't understand it, then at least err on the side of caution and believe people when they tell you or show that they are having a hard time.

Doctrine and Covenants 45:31 reads: "And there shall be men standing in that generation, that shall not pass until they shall see an overflowing scourge; for a desolating sickness shall cover the land."

I do not know what this scripture means, per se, and I have not heard any General Authority speak directly on it. It may refer to the spread of some sort of illness or to indifference, pride, anger, any number of addictions—even to some kind of plague yet to come. But when I read it, it reminds me directly of depression. It certainly is a scourge and a sickness to the millions who live with it.

Right now, when the days are very short in length, is a particularly vulnerable time for people who are depressed and/or dealing with S.A.D. (Seasonal Affective Disorder). From personal experience, I know that that is also a very real thing. It can truly make some people feel as dark, despondent, and gloomy inside as the sky is outside.

They're having a tough time right now. Love them anyway.