Smarty-Smart Pants

Many of you have written to 301NIB expressing concern about my relationship with Jake. But he and I have a great relationship. We spend quality time together when he brings me the tools so I can put together bunkbeds. Sometimes in the evening we play all sorts of fun games together, like 'slap the Nintendo controller out of Jake's hand' or 'pin the blame on Jake' or 'jam the broken glow-stick in Jake's eye.'

Such good memories.

But this week even I had to give J-dog some props. Last week his sixth grade class tested for competency in mathematics. Yesterday we learned that Jake scored the highest in his class and is one of the smartest kids in his entire grade. (Someday he hopes to be two of them). Now he's part of a select group of students who will study pre-algebra this year.

I can't remember - does being good at math help you with grade six chicks?

We Post. You Decide

Thank you to the hundreds of 301NIB viewers who responded to our Captioning contest. We've received so many captions that right now we're undecided as to how to choose a winner. (Our original plan to have a Chinese gymnastics judge pick the gold medal winner seems unwise given their recent track record.) We wanted to avoid the controversy surrounding our last contest at all costs.

So, we've developed a compromise. Our editors have chosen the five best captions submitted to us here at our World Headquarters. We will list them below so that you, our loyal viewers, can have the final say in this matter. Look over the captions and then vote for your favorite in our poll on the right. You will ultimately determine our champion for 2008

Here are our finalists:

1) This is a sport that Canadians like to term "Getting rid of the damn-border-crossing-Yankees."

Kim
Bartlesville, OK


2) "Okay...just look through the scope and find the crosshairs. Then, place those crosshairs over the picture of Mike Huckabee..."

Todd
Elk Grove, CA


3) "C'mon Meg… just pull the trigger already! I don't know how it works either! When I was your age all we got to do for fun was throw rocks eh!"

Joe
Tucson, AZ


4)"Meg, I already told you - Hello Kitty doesn't make a .22 calibre rifle!"

P-dog
Edmonton, AB


5) "Listen up, Meg. The thing on top you use to scope the target is called the 'viewer'. And that switch underneath that triggers the bullet is called the 'switch'."

Bella
Hoffman Estates, IL


You can email you vote or text the word 'caption' to 83775 (Standard Rates Apply). Remember: A person who doesn't vote is no better off than someone who can't vote.

The River Wild

If you're a read of my sister's blog you already know one of the highlights of Strate-palooza was a rafting trip down the middle-fork of the Flathead river. (You can read her version of the trip here) Like her, many of you probably envision a rafting trip as a leisurely jaunt down a mountain stream, an opportunity to enjoy the scenic nature of the Rocky Mountains. You might expect to relax, talk with friends, or even engage in some friendly splashing contests with passing rafts.

Oh, how naive you all are.

What you people don't seem to realize is that a river-rafting trip is a like a courtship with death. The river is not a recreational medium, it is a deadly adversary full of jagged rocks, swirling pools, floating logs and other debris, and a series of rapids with frightening names like 'Bonecrusher', 'Toiletbowl', 'Jack-knife', and 'Manny'. One minute you're staring at an eagle's nest up in the trees, the next you're upside down in the water underneath your raft being choked by your own life-jacket.

We are only alive to tell his story because of the expertise and courage of Federico, our rafting guide. He spent the first twenty minutes of our three-hour tour impressing upon us that river-rafting was a dangerous business, a lot of hard work, and that at no time should we be enjoying ourselves. Knowing that our skill with the paddle could save our lives, Federico put us to work. We learned all the techniques...forward....back.....right-forward, left-back....right-southeast, left-north-by-northwest. By the end of the first hour we were qualified to row one of the great Roman galleons of the Punic Wars.

A fine judgement of character, Federico selected me to be co-captain of our tiny crew. (This is why you see me seated up front.) But sadly, not everyone in our party took his instructions as seriously as I did. One individual (for privacy's sake I'll call her 'chatty Angela') decided she didn't need any instructions and could spend the whole trip gabbing with the person next to her. In so doing, she showed blatant disregard for her own safety and the safety of the rest of us. After several stern warnings we had to throw her overboard.

Another passenger tried to start a mutiny aboard the vessel by refusing to listen to Federico, even arguing with him about rowing techniques and property boat safety. It was unfortunate that she jeopardized the safety of the entire crew with her poor attitude. It's this younger generation. Here's poor Federico, just trying to keep us alive. In addition to the plethora of natural hazards, he has to deal with the passengers who don't take that river seriously. Thankfully, she and Federico later reconciled, and by the end of the trip I think she even asked for his phone number.

Despite these setbacks we made it safely down the river with only minor casualties. Jake lost his paddle at one point and had to swim for it. It was an incredibly hot day, so many of us took advantage of a slow spot to jump in. That's when we got to meet Mr. Hypothermia. I realize that successive years in Thailand and Hawaii have compromised my ability to deal with cold temperatue, but I swear this was the coldest water I have ever known. Thankfully, Kaddi pulled me from the glacial torrent before the river claimed me as its own.

No, I can't say we enjoyed our time on the river. But we did survive.

Over-sized Life-Jacket says "Forget the dangerous rapids everyone - it's a camera!"

Captioning the Moments 2008

At 301NIB we received hundreds of emails and letters every month asking us to bring back the photo caption contest. Now that its summertime and our writers are completely out of ideas, we've decided to comply. If you missed the original contest based on a photo taken outside of Wat Pra Kaew in Bangkok, you can look back on it here.

Here's this year's photo taken at the grandparents ranch up in Alberta:



Just write a clever caption for this picture and enter it in as a comment, or submit it to our editors at srstrate@gmail.com. The winner will be showered with praise and non-existent prizes. The losers will be taunted and booed until my throat is sore. (As always, if no one enters 301NIB reserves the right to write its own captions and submit them under fictitious names).

It's a mad, Mad-town: Part I

I can only describe my trip back to Madison as bittersweet. The travel aspect proved to be extremely painful (and expensive), the unloading and loading of our possessions exhausting, and the visit itself proved fraught with nostalgia. But I was also looking forward to re-visiting the university, attending church with our former ward, and re-connecting with friends.

The most exciting prospect of my return was an invitation to stay at Chez Schaefer. After all, how many times in one's life does one get a backstage pass to hang out with the Rock Star?



It's not a man-crush...

The Rock Star is an individual who has received mentioned several times on 301NIB, but deserves a more formal introduction. I first became acquainted with the great man while we were moving into our apartment. The buzzer rang and after saying hello I heard a voice say, "Hey, is this the Mormon family that just moved in?"

But I only began to comprehend the man's truly Rock Star nature when I accompanied him on a speaking assignment at the Beaver Dam branch northeast of Madison. Watching him 'meet and greet' with the members as they arrived for Sacrament meeting was like watching Bono mesmerize a concert audience during the Joshua Tree tour. People naturally gravitate towards that handshake and intoxicating smile. This guy truly is what the Mack Strate only pretends to be. Women love him, men want to be him.



Lights, Camera, Mayhem

Besides the Rock Star himself, the Casa Del Schaefer is home to another ground-breaking artist, an innovative young film-maker who produces movie-shorts that shatter the industry's conventions. My own interest in theater production caused me to watch his technique with fascination. Whereas most directors spend several minutes (if not days) conceptualizing and then setting up shots, Vadar prefers complete spontaneity. Friday afternoon I watched him shoot a film by throwing his camera off his bed and allowing it to bounce several times. The dialogue consisted mainly of shouting and some singing of primary songs. The violence of it all was appalling, and yet strangely compelling - he treats his equipment with the reckless disregard of a (dare I say it?) Rock Star, who vindictively smashes his quitar after a brilliant performance.

301NIB is currently in talks with Vadar in the hopes he will direct our next internet video.



No, really...we're just friends

It was great to be able to hang out with Steve this weekend. Between moving our stuff out, running various errands, and the constant partying, we spent so much time together people may questioned the nature of our relationship. For example...

Since I need to pick up a rechargeable phone and a padlock for the moving van, we loaded everyone into the mini-van for a family trip to Target. As we walked through aisles Jake wanted to hold hands with both Steve and I, and of course he wanted us to swing him into the air over and over. It was a touching scene - a carefree lad out with his two dads.

On the way home we stopped at a home improvement store to pick up some paint brushes. After searching for several minutes without finding what we needed, we stopped someone in a red vest for directions. "Hey, can you tell us where to find those special foam brushes?" I considered buying a pneumatic drill or maybe a pressure washer just to make things a bit more masculine.

At the end of the weekend, the Rock Star and I both bolted church early on our way out of town. Since he was running late I dropped him off at the airport and carried in some boxes. Not knowing when we'd see each other again, he gave me the trademark bear hug as we said good-bye. In some cities that might draw some questioning looks as people secretly wondered if we'd just finished herding sheep in the mountains of Wyoming. But this was Madison. I didn't see anything but approving glances from people thinking, "Wow, good for them."

Coming soon in Part II : If it doesn't fit...she must forget

A Tale of Hunger and Heroism

The journey is over - I have made it to the great valley. Over the past two days I drove a wagon-train of our belongings across the great plains from Madison to Provo. I arrived in Utah early Wednesday morning in a half-delirious state. After running several tests, doctors diagnosed me as suffering from a combination of allergies, overexhaustion, and Obama-fatigue.

Thankfully, the trip was mostly uneventful. With a Penske moving van as my faithful steed I enjoyed good weather untill hitting a few thunderstorms in Nebraska, causing me to stay the night in the tiny hamlet of York. The road was lonely - my only companion being a bag of Brach's chocolate covered raisins given to me in Madison by a considerate friend. We were quite a team, those raisins and I, until tragedy stuck on the north fork of the Platte river. As we meandered through a construction zone the truck hit a pothole, sending my beautiful blue Brach's bag bouncing out of the cupholder and down underneath the passengers seat. Since the cab was packed with household items that wouldn't fit in the cargo hold, it proved impossible to retrieve the raisins while steering the truck.

They were trapped.

I tried to forget about it. After all, I could buy another bag at the next town. But the thought of all that chocolatey goodness melting on the floor of the cab, and possibly getting on our HP printer, plagued my thoughts mile after mile, like a splinter in my brain - driving me mad. I knew I must take action. After pulling the truck over to the side of the road I began reaching down for the raisins, to no avail. I tried approaching the stranded victims from the passenger door, but quickly realized this could trigger an avalanche of televisions, shoes, footballs, lamp shades, and other sundry items. The situation seemed hopeless, my raisins destined for the dustbin of history. Despite the hopeless situation, I counseled them to stay alive - I would find them.

They say that when humans are confronted with intense trauma they are often capable of either superhuman strength or flashes of inspiration. Such was my good fortune on that fateful day. Just when all seemed lost, and I was preparing to consign my raisins to their floor-mat tomb, I saw my opportunity. The island separating the passenger foot-spaces had a cover on it. By removing this plastic shield I created a passageway of life, which I used to reach through the maze of household items and retrieve my beloved snack.

Where once there had been only defeat and hunger, there was now hope and sustenance. The raisins returned to their place of prominence on the dash below the radio.

Then I ate them.