Giving Thanks

Sometimes when people are filled with a sense of gratitude, they say "I want to thank (so and so), but I have no idea how to."

I feel that way right now, but my inability to express myself is not because I'm overcome with emotion or because I'm teary-eyed.

Take this mighty toaster oven, for example:

It is, as Gimli declared, "a kingly gift," but I have no idea how to thank the person who gave us this because I have no idea who gave it to us. It came with a card, but there was no signature on it, and as I am no graphologist, nor am I a voodoo diviner, I don't know who gave it to us.

So here's the best I can do, via the blog: Thank you, Anonymous Benefactor, for your gift. In addition to obvious functionality, it has apparently helped us maintain our already hipster lifestyles by serving in lieu of, in some ways, a microwave. (Apparently not having a microwave is part of being hipster -- who can keep track of this stuff? Not having a microwave, of course, must be accompanied by greasy hair, tight jeans, and a healthy sense of superiority.)*

*Having anything in common with hipsters is such a scary prospect that I am currently shopping for a microwave on Amazon. Perhaps I should purchase two, just so there are no misunderstandings.

While I'm thanking random anonymous folks, I'd like to thank whoever leaves the sports section of The Washington Post in the bathroom stall every morning at work. Your consistency in this department has greatly benefited my mornings.

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Weekly Selects #15

Thanksgiving Edition...Here we go:

-Via Email from M, since football is part of the Thanksgiving tradition. Check out this six-year old!



I hope he follows up any and all tackles with a WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD JACKASS

-Via Email from JoshM, an article presenting "research" on "The 10 Most Obscene Cities in America":

Herndon, Va. is a suburb of Washington, D.C., in the heart of the area's tech corridor and right next to Dulles Airport.

It's also the most obscene city in America, as determined by analyzing data from Google.

I lived in Herndon for two years; on top of that, #5 on this list is Reston, VA, where I currently reside. I take umbrage with this research and the methodologies used to draw such conclusions. Would the study results hold up to any sort of academic or empirical rigor? 

This study is bull*&%#.

-Via Chat with a friend who asked to remain Anonymous:

don't judge me for what i'm about to say

One sec. I'm just going to get out my powdered wig and gavel... Ok, continue:

but i think i saw the coach for Team Ugly at the gym last night. seriously josh, this guy was like stop-you-in-your-tracks ugly. i don't know if he plays basketball or not...and i know you have been lobbying for an NBA player to take the position

Anonymous Mean Face proceeded to try and rationalize her lack of human compassion by saying that if I, JD, can get away with trying to compile an All Ugly NBA Team, why can't she say things like this? The reason: The NBA team is full of dudes who are STACKING MORE SCRILLA THEN WE WILL MAKE IN OUR LIFETIMES. Ergo, if I want to call them goofy-looking bastards because deep down I'm actually jealous, then yes -- yes, I am justified. Now, Joe Schmoe at your local gym...? I dunno...

-Via Google Reader, a Parenting FAIL from Craigslist:

SINGLE MOM OF 7 SEEKING BON JOVI PIT TICKETS AT GILLETTE STADIUM. DON'T HAVE MUCH (ANY) MONEY, BUT CAN TRADE THE SWINE FLU VACCINE FOR 6 OF THE KIDS.

Now, the thing that I'm interested in finding out here is the Chicken or the Egg: Does Bon Jovi turn his fans into idiots, or are idiots inextricably drawn to Bon Jovi? This question may forever confound scholars and the educated -- much as the beginnings of the universe, the construction of Stonehenge, and the unremitting tabloid coverage of Jon and Kate Gosslin will continue to puzzle us.

I have no friends that like the man or his music; the closest I have is Casey, who enjoys playing the drum part on Guitar Hero for "Living on a Prayer." His knack for things like common sense and caring for his family don't make him a good case study for the effects/causes of Bon Jovi, though.

-Via Email from JoJo, for your Thanksgiving viewing pleasure:



YOU'RE WELCOME. Happy Turkey Day. Be thankful.

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My Mom Shigeko

This is crazy family / friends' birthday period for me. I promise I will get back to the guiding principles of this blog (sarcasm and-- well, I guess I should reword that as 'guiding principle') in due time.

My mom's (affectionately known by my friends by her first name, 'Shigeko' -- something I would never actually call her to her face) birthday is 5 May -- that's right, Cinco de Mayo. Which really would be a source of even more ethnic pride to me, only she is not Mexican, and neither am I. She is Japanese. We'll just chalk it up to the 1 in 365 chance that her birthday would fall on 5 May and leave it at that, I suppose.

I can not do this justice here, but I can give you the tip of the iceberg.

With some help, mom (along with pops, of course) played the largest role in raising me. For that I will always be grateful and indebted. Some of my first distinct memories were of mom sitting down with me and teaching me to do math -- surprise surprise -- and read. She wanted me to receive an education because she knew I would have opportunities growing up that she did not. She wanted me to succeed, and, like other Parents that I have, saw (and continues to see) potential in me that I lose sight of myself sometimes.

Mom was called as Relief Society President in my teen years. She probably doesn't know this, but it's watching her serve in that calling with total dedication and love for the people she had stewardship over that taught me the most about charity and truly caring for those around us. When I would get frustrated as a missionary in Japan, those unintentional lessons gave me perspective. Mom's courage to be the first member of the Church in her area of Japan as a teenager encouraged me to see each person I talked to in Japan as someone that had the same potential as my mom. That always gave me hope.

She is an excessive spoiler of grandchildren (and me, according to my sisters), a fixer of many of my various problems, service-oriented, a dedicated educator, a do-it-all stay-at-home wife/mom, a great listener, and a constant encourager.

Most importantly, mom tells me what I need to hear, especially when she knows it's not necessarily what I want to hear. Frustrating to me sometimes, but stepping back from it all, that is one of the truest signs of love that I will ever know of.

Thanks for everything, mom! Hope you have a great birthday.

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My Sister Jen

Allow me to speak on a personal level for a bit here.

(I'm not really asking for permission; it's just a courtesy to say something like that).

Jen is probably reading this and thinking: "Oh no. I've done something to upset my brother and now he's going to write about me on his blog!" Something akin to being put "On Notice" on The Colbert Report, except the host is not as witty and the viewership most definitely does not rank in the millions.

My oldest sister Jen had her birthday yesterday. How old? None of your business.

I thought that I should at least take the opportunity to talk about her a bit, considering that she helped -- and not taking anything away from Shigeko -- raise me in small ways. She was half of the two-man translation team that I needed until I was about 4 years old, because I spoke gibberish and my parents didn't. After I had quit piano at 3 years old or so, and wanted to try and pick it back up a few years later, Jen was the one willing to give me lessons. She was the leader of our 3-man backseat choir that entertained me and my sisters on long road trips -- this will possibly be traced back to as the source if either of my parents fall victim to early dementia.

She let me hang out with her and her high school friends when I was growing up. Let me cheer her at her high school soccer games and track meets. Wrote me every month on my mission and was always encouraging and supportive. Let me crash at her place for four months during the summer of '05 (questions about my obsessively health-oriented eating habits can attribute it to the summer I stayed with Jen).

She is an amazing cook, great athlete, avid reader, polished piano player (chalk one up on the alliteration board)...Most important to me, thoughtful sister and patient and loving mother.

Happy Birthday, Jen!

(Yes, I did write this on 1 May...I was going to write and post it on 30 April, but I was eating Burmese food, and can always modify the date to make it look like it was written on 30 April. Technology-- Wow)

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A Dear Friend I Never Met

I'm not going to lie. Even knowing what I do about the purpose of our lives here and the role that death plays, I don't deal with it so well. Not when it's someone who continually inspired admiration in me while also instilling the courage and self-confidence to be a little better, and, to steal one of his phrases "stand a little taller."

So on Sunday when I heard the news that my church's president, Gordon B. Hinckley, passed away, I avoided reading anything besides press reports with the basic facts. Anything more would have made it real. I didn't want it to be. I wouldn't let it.

But as the days have since passed, family and friends have sent articles paying tribute to him, expressing not only their feelings of a collective sense of loss, but also love, and joy for a man who passed through and is now reunited with a wife he adored, was met by countless thankful individuals, and was no doubt told "well done, thou good and faithful servant." I knew that if I didn't sit down and tap this out it would never hit me like it needed to.

I know this can't do it justice; especially in a forum where I usually complain about this or that. I know I can't list all of the accomplishments that were the result of his tireless efforts for the Work. But I can offer a small tribute to a true friend -- even though I never met him.

My prophet passed away on 27 January 2008. And when I say "my" I don't mean to be possessive, but personal. He was the first prophet I remember well. He was the one providing constant guidance and encouragement throughout my teenage years. He was the one who delivered the "Be's" to an 18-year old college freshman who was struggling to find his way. He was the one that sent me to serve a mission in Japan amongst a people I love. He helped keep me on the straight and narrow after I got back.

President Hinckley was the leader of a church of 13 million + members, growing by an average of over 300,000 members each year. But to every individual who ever heard or saw him speak -- regardless of whether they ever met him -- they always knew of the love that he had for each one of them as individuals. Given the time, he would have gladly sat down with every member to listen; and, perhaps more importantly, encourage.

And that's what he did: He encouraged. With an endless amount of humility, love and optimism. He helped us believe that we could lengthen our stride. When he taught the "Be's" he was telling us to develop our character rather than to just "do", because becoming who we need to become requires changing. And as hard as change is, he instilled a confidence in each of us that we could do it. There was never a sense of "he doesn't understand" -- he had had his struggles (I still love the correspondence with his father from his mission in England), and gladly shared them. There was never a sense of haughtiness about him -- rather, he was the most humble of men, which, along with his sense of humor, made him and his message so much more real. Does anybody remember in a 1997 General Conference when Elder Nelson gave a speech praising President Hinckley? Here's how it went when President Hinckley reached the podium:

"I thought we were conducting General Conference. It's turned out to be a funeral...He's taken extreme liberty. I challenge him to a duel down in the basement of the tabernacle after this session."

And at the end of the session:

"I've repented. Thank you for your kind words. We'll postpone the duel."

There are so many other quotes that I could put up and more that I could say, but then this entry would never end. I love this man. I am sad he is gone, but am thankful for his example. I hope someday I can simply shake his hand and choke back my gratitude and say something simple:

"Thank you."

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