We Are All Beggars

"Are we not all beggars? Do we not all depend upon the same Being, even God, for all the substance which we have, for both food and raiment, and for gold, and for silver, and for all the riches which we have of every kind?
-Mosiah 4:19

Recently, the Angry White Loner asked if any of you readers out there had questions that he might attempt to answer. In return, he received a number of queries. So many so that he nearly required four fingers to count all of them.

Tonight, he attempts to answer one of your questions for the first time. (It will require nearly four blog posts to get to all of them, as you might have guessed, so please be patient with me.)

Angry White Reader Erik asked:

"Giving to the beggars . . . do it? Don't do it? Does it reinforce their behavior? Is there an alternative? Again, I have my opinion, but I would be interested in your thoughts."

Thanks for your question, Erik. This topic has been on my mind today because of our Gospel Doctrine lesson this afternoon on the Island of Misfit Toys, in which we covered in part the Old Testament book of Amos. Not only is Amos famous for the cookies and also for the oft-quoted (by missionaries) scripture about God not doing anything save he does it through His servants, the prophets (Amos 3:7), but I learned that, at this particular point in time, the people of Israel as a whole were in deep doo-doo for, among other things, not taking care of the poor and needy.

Like you all, I've come across many panhandlers in my travels. I am not wealthy. After all, I studied journalism and English literature in college, and I pretend to be an actor on the weekends. I am of the opinion that those who have been richly blessed (as in, big bucks) are under the obligation to give more where they can.

I do not give money to most panhandlers, but I have given a buck or two to the occasional person. And, as long as I have cash on me, I always stop to buy lemonade or Kool-Aid when kids are selling it on the curbside on hot summer days.

Always.

Once, I met a young man on my way out of Wendy's, asking if I had any change to spare. I honestly didn't (I rarely carry cash these days and make most purchases with a debit or credit card) and told him so, but instead I offered to go back into the restaurant with him and buy him a hamburger. He gladly accepted and seemed genuinely grateful for the gesture.

Earlier that day, in fact, I had landed a new job after looking for one for quite a while. I was feeling particularly blessed, and this young man gave me an opportunity to "pay it forward" to someone.

That's just one example from the AWL's life. So, are people asking for money really in need, or are they conning us?

My answer is: Yes. To both.

Panhandlers fall into both categories. Some are genuinely in need, while others are not. Only God knows the heart and soul and is qualified to judge which is which, in my humble opinion.

I have a testimony of the blessings and the benefits of paying tithing, of giving fast offerings or to the Perpetual Education Fund, etc., to the Church. On countless occasions, I have witnessed the Church use these funds, infinitely more wisely than I ever could endeavor to do, to save, to lift, and to heal people of any and all faiths. To help all of Heavenly Father's children.

Angry White Dad worked for the Church for many years, during which time I got to volunteer and/or tour various canneries, bishop's storehouses, farms, and so on, and I saw it all in action. On a trip to the east coast that the two of us took together when I was 18, just prior to leaving on my mission, we got to see the Richmond, Virginia; Washington, D.C.; Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; and Boston, Massachusetts storehouses in action. It's the real deal, folks; it's not just here in Utah. Later on, when the PEF was created in the early 2000s, AWD got to work with that program, too. We got to see even more lives being blessed with a newfound opportunity to obtain an education.

Above all, I love that the Church teaches us to be self-reliant. It's the old adage of "teaching a man to fish" rather than giving him a fish, so that we can help ourselves and then, in turn, help others who cannot do so due to chronic illness, injuries, death of a spouse, loss of employment, natural disasters, and so forth. Because I have faith in the Church, I have faith that my contributions are being put to the best possible use.

Of course, the LDS Church does a great deal, but it does not have a monopoly on helping the poor and needy. More than one Angry White Brother performed an Eagle Scout project collecting clothing and other items for the St. Vincent de Paul Catholic charity in Salt Lake City, a rock star of an organization if there ever was one. In addition, Angry White Mom (prior to her recent accident, anyway) volunteers at the local food bank run in the back parking lot of a Bountiful Protestant church, giving service and helping customers feed their families. Yours truly had the chance to volunteer time there a few times in my previous ward. If you live in Davis County, I highly recommend paying them a visit or giving them a call to see what you can do. Odds are, they need you.

Many people may view charity as "a coat you wear twice a year," helping out at a soup kitchen on Thanksgiving and/or Christmas. While this is a worthy and an important cause, I believe charity is really more of a way of life than a check mark that you make on a list as a task to be completed. It is both in giving the bare necessities like money, food, and clothing but also in the small things, such as giving friendship, a listening ear, love, time, and genuine concern for those around us.

That little stream that said "give"? As in, the Primary song? That's what I mean.

And that is something we can all afford to do.

Chucking It

I spent part of Labor Day afternoon with Angry White Nephew, who is not only related to me by blood but who is also one of my best buddies. Autumn is nearly upon us, and with the weather still warm but yet also gradually cooling down a few degrees here and there, we made another venture over to the Splash Park in Kaysville for some fun in the sun.

Afterward, we went over to one of the local greasy spoons to pick up some ice cream, like you do when you're an amazing uncle like the Angry White Loner is . . . ladies. *wink wink*

AWN said that he was craving something Oreo-flavored, and that sounded good to me, too. So, we ordered a large shake, presumably for the two of us to share. I knew he wouldn't get through it all, and I figured I would help him finish when he got tired of eating what his little tummy could. All of this was implied, at the time, which is probably my fault in the first place.

As the time came for us to leave, I dumped the contents of our tray, napkins and such, into the trash can and turned around to see that AWN was standing by another trash can, also empty handed. He had chucked the contents he was carrying into the trash. In other words, the still mostly full milkshake.

After taking four or five bites out of it, he had chucked the whole thing. "I didn't want to eat any more," he explained.

Granted, AWN is just six years old and is in the first grade. He doesn't yet understand too much about the value of money nor the reasons why we don't waste food (first-world problems, huh?). We could have very easily also taken it home and put it into his freezer for him to finish later had he not let me help him finish it up. Either choice would have been acceptable, I told him.

I'm not angry about The Chucking, though I tried to calmly explain to him on the way home why we don't throw away that much food. I don't love the kid any less, and I don't hold grudges about things that insignificant.

The English literature minor in me, of course, has, in the three days since, read a little bit more into the Chucking incident. Like when we give a family member or a friend or a co-worker or a member of our neighborhood or ward or even a significant other something that we feel is of great worth because we want to share it, they then take a few bites and realize they don't like it, and they chuck it.

These "milkshakes" we give them might be another kind of food but might also be such things as our time; cooking, cleaning, or a number of other household chores; a book, TV show, movie, even a YouTube clip we think is worth sharing; a simple act of service; going out of our way to do something nice or complimentary; and, in the dating world, giving our very hearts and souls to someone . . . only to see them tossed away nonchalantly as a thing of little or no value to the person receiving it.

Sadly, a Chucking of one sort or another of the type mentioned above, or any number of other possibilities, probably happens to each of us far more than we'd prefer it. It's disappointing, and sometimes it can be downright heartbreaking. Some would respond by simply refusing to give anymore if that is that sad result of giving.

I understand that. I don't think anyone would blame someone who believes that no good deed goes unpunished this way.

Nevertheless, I'm still of the opinion that giving is good. That the people who receive what we offer with gratitude, and who give something of their own in return, are the people worth hanging onto and not letting go of. We may grow a little wiser and/or a little more selective, over time, about what we give out and whom we give it to, but it's still a great choice to make: to give.

Especially to AWN. Because we have an understanding now.

Dog Daze

Thanks to all of you—all one of you—who responded to the Angry White Loner's latest post. He didn't receive any questions to base any future blog posts upon, so he supposes at this point that he'll just have to continue to come up with his own dithering ramblings about life, the universe, and everything for the time being.

The AWL has taken the past couple of weeks off from blogging—not because of the aforementioned fact of not getting any responses, but because he's needed some time to think. About a lot of things. It's been his longest gap between new posts since he began this blog a year-and-a-half ago.

It's the dog days of summer right now. I do not know if there is a specific timeframe to them. Personally, I consider it to fall somewhere between the end of Pioneer Day in July and Labor Day in early September. In other words, it's basically the entire month of August.

No offense intended to those of you who get excited for August, for whatever reason. But I just can't. It's my least favorite month of the year. The only good thing about it for me is that autumn is right around the corner.

I was all ready to post something new earlier this week, and then Robin Williams's suicide happened. I read the news online Monday evening, and I was crushed. Like many of you, I spent several days reading various blog posts and retrospectives about the life of one of the most unique talents we've ever seen.

I'll spare you my going into much more detail on the matter, because others have already done so and have done it well. If it affected you or caused you to think in any way, shape, or form, then I say: Congratulations. That means you're a member of the human race, and you give a darn. Whether or not you personally or someone close to you struggles with depression, substance abuse, or Parkinson's disease, then at least there is something of a desire inside you to want to understand and to help others who fight those battles.

It's one of the most important lessons we can learn here in this human experience.

Depression is not something that you just "get over," like a cold or measles or having your tonsils removed. It is something many people have to battle on a daily basis, and it can, at times, feel like a dark, bleak, and hopeless fight.

Nevertheless, there is hope, and there is healing. I had to learn this the hard way, but I'm glad that I know now that such a thing exists. I feel like I've said this before here on the Angry White Loner, but if you're dealing with depression and need someone to talk to or someone who will lend a listening ear, please count me in as one of those who will drop whatever he's doing to help. However I can.

Carpe diem, my friends.

Some Like It Cold

"I really love those summer mornings when, even with the air conditioning on and a box fan in the room, I still wake up drenched in a pool of sweat," said no sane person ever.

The summer is hot. There's no denying it. There's also no denying that the human body needs the sunlight and the warmth. Studies have proven the benefits of both on keeping us healthy.

I get that part. I'm not saying that I don't like warm weather per se. Summer nights can, much of the time, be most enjoyable. (Why would Olivia Newton-John or John Travolta lie to us?)

However, the summer has a way of wearing out its welcome rather quickly. There is a difference between warm weather and hot, muggy, sticky, uncomfortable weather. Five days in a row 95-degree or higher temperatures, and I'm done with it. A month of those temperatures, and I'm already counting down the days until autumn, which is my favorite season of the year.

Perhaps it is a sign that I'm getting old, I don't know.

Here are 10 reasons why cold weather is better than hot weather:

1) Proponents of hot weather argue that, in the summertime, they don't have to go out and scrape the ice off of their cars, nor do they have to wait for their cars to warm up in the frigid air. These are valid points. But these people also then tend to add, in the same argument, that they can come inside from a hot summer day and relax by turning on the air conditioning at home.

In other words, they, too, really are basically admitting that they really prefer it cooler, as well.

2) Warmer weather is also hurricane, monsoon, and tornado season, which are far more destructive than snow. Having lived through a hurricane, I know this from firsthand experience.

3) In the winter, you can always bundle up when it gets cold. When it gets very hot, there's only so many layers of clothing you can strip down to.

4) Making your own gravy, i.e. sweating.

5) One of the best ways to warm up in the winter is by cuddling with a loved one. If you don't believe me, than I daresay you haven't had enough experience(s) with this.

In the summer, I suppose you can sit by the swamp cooler and sweat together.

6) The phrase "hot as hell" is about, well, hell. Heaven is the other extreme, right?

7) Fall/winter is football season.

8) Fall/winter is also Halloween/Thanksgiving/Christmas/New Year's season, the best time of the year. Why limit it to just one holiday?

9) That feeling when you come inside from the cold and drink hot chocolate

10) Christmas music > songs of the summer

So, there you have it. The Angry White Loner just needed to get it out of his system and promises to post no more complaints about the weather the rest of this summer. Maybe.

Benefit of the Doubt

There's something about driving in the rain that makes people's IQs drop by 50 points, I remember thinking this past Thursday afternoon. I was frustrated because I was in a hurry to get somewhere, and what should have been the quickest route had become the most time-consuming one. A brief cloudburst of much-needed summertime rain, and everyone on the road I was driving on slowed to about 20 miles per hour in a 50 MPH zone.

To quote famous stand-up comedian George Carlin (aka Rufus in the Bill & Ted's movies):

"Have you ever noticed that anybody driving slower than you is an idiot, and anyone going faster than you is a maniac?"

I'm sure we're all tempted to feel this way at times. We have our eyes wide open when looking at others' perceived faults and have our eyes half-closed regarding our own.

No more than two minutes later, I turned a corner—and, in the process, I inadvertently cut off someone else, who likely had to press his brakes hard in order to not collide with me. Vertently or inadvertently, I had messed up.

This person, in fact, then changed lanes and pulled up parallel to me at the next stoplight. I turned over to look at him and saw that he was now making eye contact with me, and I mouthed the words, "I'm sorry." He then proceeded to roll down his window to say something back to me.

Dreading or fearing what lewd gesture or comment this person had in store, I was both surprised and relieve to hear him say, with a smile, "It's okay, dude!" He even gave me a thumbs-up sign and drove off as the light turned green.

Whoever you are, random, kind stranger, thank you for reminding me that we all make mistakes, and that forgiveness is always a good option. You didn't let me cutting you off ruin your day.

The next time someone cuts in front of me, fails to signal a turn, or commits any one of a number of "oopsies" in traffic, I would hope to give that person, as this stranger gave me, the benefit of the doubt—that said person is somewhat like me, a reasonably good and safe driver who happens to have just made an innocent mistake rather than some escaped mental patient on the loose, running over curbs and cats and small trees and driving the wrong way down one-way streets and committing other serious and/or scary traffic violations.

For that, we have celebrities.

Steamy Windows

Sometimes, words simply fail me.

If you have read the Angry White Loner's blog on any previous occasion, you know that he can be somewhat of a Wordy McWordsmith. That, however, was not the case this past Monday night, when the security guard patrolling the local Olive Garden parking lot pulled up next to my vehicle---I can only assume she suspected some major hanky panky was going on inside, as the windows had fogged up a good deal---and told us that the lot had closed for the night, asking (commanding?) my female friend and me to leave the premises.

It all began, believe it or not, with family home evening. The mid-singles gathered around 6:15 p.m. to see a movie at the Kaysville Theater, our local dollar movie theater. Part of the group saw Ephraim's Rescue, while another part caught Turbo; a handful of friends and I ended up watching Monsters University, a very funny and worthy prequel to the 2001 Disney/Pixar film Monsters, Inc.

As much as we enjoyed the movie, that is just the beginning of the story. Following a stopover at Dylan's Drive-in for ice cream, the aforementioned female friend asked for a ride back to her car, which was located in the Olive Garden parking lot not too far away in Layton. She and her friends had been there for dinner together before the movie, and as the girls were good enough to save me a seat (I caught up with the group at the theater just prior to the movie's start, as I was running behind) for the film, I was more than happy to do so.

We pulled up next to her car and chatted for a while. As we did so, the warm summer evening quickly became, in a New York (Utah?) minute, a cool rainstorm. As a result of the changing temperature and humidity, the windows in my car quickly steamed up and became rather foggy.

The rest, I assume, you can put together from the details I have provided. With a sheepish grin on my face, I found myself opening my car door to explain to the security guard, "We're just talking in here!"

Additionally, I pointed to my neck to show her that it was completely hickey free.

Okay, so I made up that last part. Maybe. But that's my story. And I'm sticking to it.

Road Trip Music, Past and Present

Earlier this week, many of the members of the Angry White Loner's clan, including the Angry White Parents, the Angry White Siblings, and the AWL himself, made our annual August pilgrimage down to southern Utah to attend the Shakespearean Festival in Cedar City. It's a tradition that we've had for several years now and one that Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof would sing an epic song about. 'Cause it's all about acting and theater and musicals and getting more cultured and all of that good stuff.

Occasionally, we will even catch a play written by William Shakespeare himself. Which stands to reason, as he is the namesake for the whole shebang in the first place.

An important part of road trips such as these, or of any road trip, really, is the music that we listen to in the car along the way.

As the AWSs and I were growing up, the music for these road trips was always the AWPs' choosing. We were forced to listen to things like Olivia Newton-John (from her pre-"Physical" and pre-Grease country music days), Roger Whittaker, the Kingston Trio, and an assortment of folk music from the '60s, among other choices.

The siblings and I also delivered a paper route growing up, and, naturally, the AWPs were also in charge of picking the radio station that we listened to in the car. If it wasn't BBC news, then it was usually FM100, which had a "soft sounds" format in those days before it became all modern and hip like it is now. And before they added the "point-three" to the station's jingle. As a result, we became all-too-familiar with such timeless hitmakers as England Dan and John Ford Coley, Dan Fogelberg, the Carpenters, and so forth.

If you haven't heard of most or any of these artists, then you're not alone. The AWPs certainly have had some eclectic tastes in music over the years.

Fast forward to this week's road trip, during which the he-who-shall-not-be-named sibling I carpooled with chose to play country music for four consecutive hours on the road. Don't get me wrong; I don't mind country music if it is taken in small doses. Four straight hours of country music, though, and I would have been more than happy to roll down my window and jump head-first under a semi truck traveling in the next lane.

Thank goodness I brought my iPod with me. I shuffled through my playlists and discovered that - what do you know? - I have a lot of songs on that iPod that are performed by none other than Olivia Newton-John, England Dan and John Ford Coley, the Carpenters, etc.

Of course, I have other tastes. The AWP won't be joining me at a "Weird Al" concert anytime soon. I guess the prevailing thought is that . . . well, history tends to repeat itself.

Or, like the Manchurian Candidate, I have been brainwashed.

I (Don't) Love a Parade

'Tis the season for celebrating our freedom and our collective pioneer heritage with fireworks, barbecues, family get-togethers, making your own gravy (i.e. sweating profusely out in the hot summer sun), and, last but not least, parades.

Call me the Ebenezer Scrooge of Independence Day if you will, but I am not a big fan of parades. I don't enjoy them. In fact, I came up with a short list of 100 things I'd rather do than sit out in the hot sun on a 100-degree day and watch people slowly walk by over the course of several hours' time, not to mention the traffic logjam that follows driving home from a parade and that bloody fisticuffs that can often ensue when people get into a turf war over saving seats along the parade route.

Here are the first five items on my list:

#1. Sit at home and watch a "Honey Boo-Boo" marathon.

#2. Call up the dentist and volunteer for an untried and experimental procedure at his office. No need to compensate me for my time! Happy to do so. I also don't want anesthetic of any kind.

#3. Count the holes in the ceiling, using binary code to keep a tally.

#4. Give a cat a bath.

#5. Collect my belly button lint in a Mason jar. Then, knit a sweater with it. Give it to an ex as a Christmas present.

Okay, so maybe I exaggerate. Just a little.

Another reason why I avoid parades: Clowns tends to appear in them. And clowns are rather frightening to me. I also do not enjoy it when fire trucks burst the crowd's collective ear drums with their horns.

If any of y'all out there in the AWL's fan land - and there are literally a dozen or so of you - please don't take offense if you yourself enjoy parades or you attended one today and enjoyed it. They're fine for many people, just not for me. Plus, I do appreciate that parades give our military and law enforcement officials, for example, an opportunity to be publicly applauded, because they certainly have earned that right.

I also realize that if three spirits happen to visit me in my bedroom tonight and show me the error of my ways, then all bets are off.