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 adult—notice that I do not use the phrase "grew up," as I may be in that process for many years yet—Christmas 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 humankind—the 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.

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 be—even 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 ward—you know who he or she is, because every ward and/or ward choir has one—who 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.

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.

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 it—especially 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.

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 posts—the 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 Tower—in 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 Picchu—twice.

Nevertheless, the luster and the wonder soon vanished when I had my first glimpse of one of Lima's many shantytowns—Third 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.

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.

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.