Giving Until It Hurts Feelings

I was thinking today about an interesting episode from my college years, during which time I didn't have a whole lot happen for myself, but which did produce one or two stories. This was one that I thought was good. I was at the time very civic-minded, and apart from being virulently political, I was more generous than I ought to have been where charity was concerned. I joined the IWW (which I would call a charity case), Amnesty International, and the ACLU (which, ten years later, still occasionally sends me my final membership statement).

I also gave blood. I did that once. A donation center was set up in my dorm building one day, and while I was nervous about the idea, I could see no excuse to not give blood. I went down and found that the giving was robust enough that I would have to wait. I did so, and I got a bit bored. I think it was while filling out paperwork that I started making smart remarks. I was not just bored, but nervous as well, and making jokes settles me a little. While receiving stitches once, I recall making a joke about malpractice.

Angry Me

I've written in the past about what I have called "checkpoint charity". It bothers me tremendously to have people looking for donations or signatures at strategic points in my neighborhood. Most commonly, they are in front of the grocery store and outside the nearest coffee shop. I hate that. I hate knowing that more often than not, I will have to walk past them and escape their pleas for my attention. I don't enjoy it. It always spoils my mood.

The other day, this guy was there by the coffee shop. Most of the time, I don't really have such trouble there. I don't know why it is, but they seem to not accost me there. Maybe they usually have their hands full when I go by, but this guy today obviously did not. I didn't see him at first, but he sprang out at me, and started off with some pitch. I really don't know what it must have been. I have no interest in knowing, as it could only make me more susceptible to know.

A Highly Irregular Call To Action

I read about some interesting observations that people from overseas make when they visit the United States. There are obvious things, like amazement at the variety of goods available at our supermarkets, or befuddlement over our general unwillingness to bargain on most prices. There is also a common reaction of disbelief at the sort of poverty that exists here in what is supposed to be the wealthiest nation on Earth. It's supposed to be a place where no one has cause to want, and yet they do in tremendous numbers.

Some words don't seem to mean terribly much to people, and high on the list are ones like "hungry" or "starving". These are things we say if it's been a while since lunch, but I doubt whether very many of us have ever been genuinely hungry. A number of months ago I refrained from eating all day one day in anticipation of visiting an all-you-can-eat restaurant, which is about as long as I've ever gone myself. I'm very privileged, as we mostly are. There's a responsibility to do something when we can.

Giving Weekend

On Friday, I was shooting a short film (or a video sketch, depending things that I couldn't explain. Even more inexplicable is the premise and my role in it. Without spoiling the plot, I play a man in a chicken suit who is a wine aficionado and a smoker, to say nothing of his romantic proclivities. It took a few hours of my afternoon, and for a while I thought I'd have to go into the evening with it as well. I didn't but I thought I did long enough to make the next morning difficult.

This was when I had to be at a Toastmasters contest which was being held kind of far away and definitely very early. I didn't have to do that much, but I had to do it for ten hours. There was a meal accompanied by snacks and some beverages, along with entertaining speeches. The thing was more the logistical burden on me, but I dealt with it and then moved on to my next event. It proved to be much more arduous than what preceded it.

Never Free

When I was in college, I was rather more political. I had few interests that weren't tied into politics and current events. Much of my time was devoted to absorbing news and opinion, spouting out in turn a lot of strident stuff that hadn't been tempered much by the world or experience. These days, my views aren't terribly different, but my enthusiasm for what was then a game has waned, and my stomach for a lot of nasty infighting is gone.

Also gone is any urge to contribute time or money. A vote is about all anyone can hope for from me, but the ACLU doesn't understand that. They know that I became a member some six or seven years ago, and have inferred nothing from my decision to let my membership lapse not terribly long after that. Ever since then, I have received vain attempts to reignite my passion for the protection of civil liberties. Nothing can stop them.

Give It Away, Give It Away, Give It Away Now

Something that has often struck me is the paradoxical difficulty of giving things away for free. Having had most of the tickets to Dodgers home games at one time, I can tell you two things: first, not even season ticket holders attend more than a fraction of the games, and second, unloading unused tickets is unimaginably tough. I can easily see why it would be a challenge to sell them. Paying for them is a hurdle surpassed only by people that are fans on at least a certain level, and there's no end of competition among sellers. Free tickets, however, are at least as hard to get rid of if not somehow more so. It's that way with a lot of things, somehow- desirable things. I don't know if I'll ever understand that.

Something I can understand somewhat is the level of apprehension we faced among some the other day when when my friends and I went downtown to dole out free bottles of water on a sweltering day during a record-breaking heatwave. It did not take long to run out of water, as virtually everyone was delighted to take some once they had been assured that there would be no charges levied against them. People already holding drinks were taking water, and some boldly requested more than one, citing a friend nearby. It was pleasant to do something nice, as much as the slowness to believe we would irked me. Most people were glad to take water, that aside.

Giving Unless It Hurts

My charitable spirit is, charitably speaking, a complicated one. I have written not so long ago about devoting a Saturday morning to cleaning up a park, and took part in literally more service projects than I can remember while a Boy Scout. I've given blood and been prevailed upon to give money to bums on plenty of occasions. As many times as I've given, there have been lots of times when I declined to give. I feel remorseful about that, but sometimes feel that even more when I give without wanting to (as with all of those bums).

I write this moments after a near miss of generosity. A kid came to the door looking to sell things as part of a fundraiser for a trip to Universal Studios. As a boy, I couldn't stand it when I had to do the very same thing. I was then much more socially awkward, but going door to door is still something I don't think I could bear. Part of the reason it was hard then and would still be tough now is that you have to try to sell things to people like present-day me. In truth, I was mildly intrigued by the $10 set of dominoes, but figured no good could come from a set the kid was selling. It had to be a sub-standard one.