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.

Ain't no party like a small-town party

You say you've never been to a small-town parade in Southern Alberta? Well, pull up your lawn chair, get the kids in the stroller, and prepare get nostalgic as 301NIB takes you on tour through a town that hasn't changed since the post-war era. Our photo-essay gives all the excitement of Magrath Days and doesn't try to hit you in the face with a lollipop.


At an A-list event like Magrath Days the security is extremely tight.


The Spirit of Magrath marching band helps keep the spirit of British imperialism alive.




The Strate Round-up carriage won a red-ribbon for best family float. (That's first-place to you and me.)



Each year the parade's major plot device involves whether or not some unfortunate child will end up under the wheels of a float as they reach for that elusive tootsie roll.

Underneath the glamour and gloss of Magrath Days lies a sinister purpose - free advertising for heartless corporate titans.


The Magrath Young Women demonstrate what a fantastic time our pioneer ancestors had pulling handcarts across the plains.


Just when you think the parade has plateaued, they take it up a notch - old people in power chairs!

Rocky Mountain Refreshment

No visit to Alberta is complete without a stop at Waterton National Park. If it's summertime, we always take visitors to see the Rocky peaks and cold mountain lakes of this protected refuge. In fact, I'm quite certain that if you try to return to the US without proof of having visited Waterton, Canadian customs will drag you out of your car and force you to attend a screening of Strange Brew before allowing you to cross the border. It's that important.

Some of the best memories of my youth involve trying to hike my way up Red Rock Canyon. As a kid it was always a contest to see who could get the farthest without getting your shoes wet. By the end, of course, everyone is completely drenched and ends up sitting on a towel in the car for the long ride home. Red Rock Canyong was also a great place to take a date, because the girl would always need to hold your hand as you crossed over the stream. You might even have to grab her around the waist one or twice to keep her from falling in the water.

This time, however, my constant companion was a little krabby patty strapped to my back. Chubber Chalong enjoyed hiking up the canyon, but with his added girth I didn't make it to 'the slide', which is generally the endpoint during these excursions. Aside from my dad offering my mom one hundred dollars to go down the slide, the highlight was watching cousins from Florida and New Mexico dip their feet into a glacial stream for the first time.

There's nothing like icy-numb extremities to let you know you're in Canada.

Make an on-line slide show at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Equestrian skills, Softball, and The One

So here we are now in Canada. We loaded up the van in California with as many of our possession as would fit and the kids sat like living corpses in their traveling coffins while we drove the 1295 miles from Sacramento to Magrath. The drive from Monida pass (Idaho-Montana border) to Helena still feels like traveling across the top of the world. A man feels small underneath that enormous sky.

The Strate-palooza has gone well despite my repeated attempts to disfigure myself. As soon as we arrived Meg was anxious to ride grandpa's horses, but unfortunately the riding equipment was not made for a man of my tremendous girth. (Mmmmm....girthy.) Only five minutes into the ride our horse made a unexpected turn, the saddle strap broke, and I ended up on my back with Meg on top of me. Conventional widsom says that when you fall off a horse, you need to get right back on it again. Well, screw conventional wisdom. The next time Meg rides I'll be walking in front of her with the reins in my hand. (Is it bad form to punch a horse in the face?)

The second day we were here was the opening day of the Magrath softball tournament. After scorching a double into left-center I got caught in a run-down between second and third. I somehow managed to fall on my face, tearing a hole in my sweats, and an even larger hole in my knee. The only thing that hurts more than the injury is the constant reminders from relatives, "Hey Shane...remember how there was no one even around you at third and you still face-planted?"

But the most painful aspect of all has been the coverage of the Obama campaign. Even here north of the border Obama's European tour is the top story. I think that most of us can safely say we have never seen a Presidential candidate like this in our lifetime. The National Review crowd is rightly deriding him for acting like he is already President (you want to speak at Brandenburg gate....seriously?) but why should he not? The world and especially the press has so little regard for Bush and fawns over Barack like a baby deer, the man is just acting the part.

And finally the though occurred to me - what if he doesn't win? I realize that this is a remoted possibility. The media has already handed him the election, he is leading in key swing states, there is not conceivable scenario in which he could not beat a tired, uninspiring, war-monger like John McCain. But what if he doesn't? The shock of a McCain victory would dwarf the 'Dewey defeats Truman' election as the biggest upset in American history.

This is why I think America is almost trapped into voting for Obama. He is inexperienced, ill-informed, and incredibly self-obsessed. But if he loses, the media will demand to know why. They will spend weeks and months analyzing how it was possible for a young, articulate, energetic, inspiring candidate could possibly be defeated given the unpopularity of the war and the state of the economy.

It's not difficult to imagine the conclusion they will offer.

Pictures from Pleasure Island

Spencer, Grant, and Jake smother Chubber-Chalong
Luke and Kelsey
McKay, Isabelle, and Meg
Lampwick vandalizes the court
Meg and Isabelle
The Flash with new cousin Cole
Zac, anonymous friend, Whitey, Spencer, and Noah

So what's your dissertation about?

For years I have been practicing how to answer that question. Every conversation with a friend or relative inevitable turns to that topic, and I am forced once again to stumble my way through a shoddy explanation. The reaction is always the same. The face betrays a combination of confusion and boredom, followed by a half-hearted, "That sounds interesting."


Next subject.


I certainly can't blame them. These are all intelligent people. They didn't understand my explanation because I didn't understand it. I knew the questions I was asking, I just didn't have the language to formulate a dissertation into a refrigerator magnet. It's like taking four hundred gallons of sea water and trying to distill it into a single glass of drinkable water.

But today I had a breakthrough.

My dissertation explores nationalism. (For those of you who don't have a copy of Ben Anderson on your nightstand, nationalism involves the study of how groups of people imagine themselves as having things in common with other groups of people. We are a nation because we share common traits. These can be a common language, religion, ethnicity, or political philosophy.)

In Thailand, historians have always credited two institutions with creating a sense of community: Buddhism and the monarchy. I will argue that a third factor has been overlooked - the collective memory of national humiliation.

Thailand's loss of territory to French imperialism created deep scars on the national psyche. These act like traumatic childhold memories that can cause re-lapses and influence behavior later on (ie. the current political crisis over Preah Vihear).

Collective memories of victimhood form an integral part of what it means to be 'Thai'. The communal sense of resentment and bitterness towards the west provides an additional sense of cohesion to an otherwise diverse group of people. It also means that a country which was never colonized is afflicted by a post-colonial mindset.

So there it is - my future contribution to knowledge. Not as ground-breaking as Orientalism or the Bush Doctrine, but hopefully good enough to get a diploma and one day...a job.

Get to know your neighbours to the north

The Death of General Woolfe

Many of you are probably unaware that today is Canada Day. Because July 1st falls so close to July 4th (Filipino-American Frienship Day) it often doesn't receive the attention it deserves. In Canada, we sometimes refer to it as 'Dominion Day', because it was on this day in 1867 that Canada became a semi-independent country. As a historian and a Canadian, I feel it's important to help educate other about our great nation.

So, here is a list of important events that happened on July 1st. I hope you enjoy your tour through our great nation's history.

1755 - British punish disloyal Acadians by forcing them to live in Louisiana.

1812 - Laura Secord walked thirty kilometers through the snow to warn the British encampment at Fitzgibbon's headquarters that Americans made really inferior chocolate bars.

1837 - Lower Canada riots due to confusion over its precise geographical relationship with Upper Canada.

1885 - While preparing himself to face the gallows, Louis Riel utters famous last phrase, "Friendly Manitoba, my a--!"

1952 - Rocket Richard torches the Capitals for five goals, then burns down Presidential Mansion during after-party.

1967 - FLQ crisis erupts after federal government tries to ban Quebecois from putting mayonaise on everything.

1983 - Captain Marc Garneau banned from future space missions after using shuttle's Canadian-made robotic arm to pick fellow astronaut's nose.

1987 - A young Mack Strate rips up Slalom course at St. Mary's reservoir following Raymond parade.

1996 - Bowling for Columbine director Michael Moore shot seven times at Toronto area bar for repeatedly saying, "No doot aboot it!"



The Prince of Wales Hotel, Waterton National Park

Lei all your love on me

It's always difficult to say good-bye to a place you might never see again. Especially when that place is constantly green, located near a beach, and between 75-85 degrees year-round.

The last few weeks in Hawaii were kind of a blur. Kaddi and the kids left ten days before I did. Although they certainly won't miss Laie elementary school, the kids both had good friends that they will remember fondly. Meg probably had the hardest time saying good-bye to her primary teacher, a former member of the 80s musical group 'The Jets'. I heard her perform at the Christmas party and thought, "that beautiful mixture of pop-rhythm and melody reminds me of the The Jets." Oh, was I right.

With her well-prepared lessons and fun pizza parties, Sister Fenga gave Meg one more chance to make it real.

On our last Sunday we took part in the Aloha tradition. I confess I'd been a little worried about this since arriving in the ward. Normally you stand up at the front while the ward sings 'Aloha Hawaii,' and people come up to put leis around your neck. we hadn't been there very long and didn't know very many people. I imagined us standing up there, smiling awkwardly, while no one came up to say good-bye.

Fortunately for us, we left the same Sunday as two senior sister missionaries who were beloved by the ward. Many people passed us as they came to say good-bye to them, so it looked like the ward was truly mourning our departure. We also had a few people come up to wish us well, including our good friends Chris and Katie, who were kind enough to make beautiful flower leis for us. It was very touching.




Anyway, we spent the week getting everything cleaned up and the suitcases packed so Kaddi and the kids could make their flight to Sacramento. I heard later that they missed their flight and had to fly to Oakland and catch the shuttle to Sacramento. (That's another story for another time.) I'm not sure who was to blame, but rather than wasting a lot of time conducting a thorough investigation I just gave Jakob a thorough spanking.

Then there was nothing to keep me company but a stack of research papers and finals. I felt a little awkward going back to church by myself the next Sunday, Father's Day, especially when the ward had given us the grand sendoff the week before. I tried to sneak into the back, but was tracked down by a lovely young woman who placed a fathers-day lei around my neck and gave me a kiss on the cheek. How can one not be charmed by a tradition like that?

Move On with a Greener Kind of Candidate

Whatever you might think about Barak Obama, there's no question that he is a different kind of Presidential candidate. We have never seen anything like him before. Listening to him speak is as refreshing as the smell of Old Spice deodorant on a crowded Hawaiian bus. The man is already making political history, and he's not even President yet.

As the candidate for change, Obama is not weighed down by the conventional baggage that comes with being a Washington insider. Unlike your typical Republican candidate, he hasn't surrounded himself with lobbyists or shady advisors who got sweet-heart deals from unethical mortgage companies. Nor will he be bothered by restraints like 'executive experience'. He's completely unhampered by any knowledge of the economy or foreign policy matters. This guy's so fresh he makes Presidental candidate John Kennedy look like Strom Thurmond.

And let's face it, America needs the completely new perspective Obama will bring in order to transcend its tragic racial past. Do you think McCain would have the foresight to ask two Muslim women wearing headscarves to move out of the camera shot during his campaign speech? Of course not. It takes a special kind of politician to show that type of leadership.

Never before have we had a candidate courageous enough to reject the limitations of public funds after promising he would accept them only months ago. This intrepid move will allow the Democrats to outspend the Republicans 2-1 over the course of the campaign. Others might characterize this as a flip-flop, but I recognize it as a bold move toward equality. After all, Republicns have been buying elections for years.

Yes, years from now I'll be able to tell my grandchildren that I witnessed the moment when America finally began caring for the poor and providing jobs for the unemployed.. When the earth began to heal and the oceans began to subside. And I was here to witness the greatness of the man responsible for it all, a man brave enough to move away from the tired, empty, hopeless rhetoric of the....what?....

Oh man...I've got to go. John McCain just stopped by to force Luke into the marine corp.

(You can't have him...John.)

That's why I was salesman of the month

Now that the family is gone I'm in charge of selling our car. I've spent the past week looking for efficient methods of advertising. Then I realized - Why do I need the classifieds? I have access to 301NIB...a website viewed by up to one dozen people every day!

Let's start the bidding...

Wouldn't you like to experience a new standard of luxury?

It's the type of automobile that tells people, "Why yes, I am living here temporarily."

Enjoy a driving tour of the island in beautiful buckets seats made of leathery goodness.

Vehicle also includes:

1) Head and tail lights.

2) Standard built-in crock pot.

3) 4.3 pounds of sand.

4) A engine specially modified to run on either gasoline or aloha spirit.

Asking Price: Two Costco containers of Kirkland chocolate covered raisins (o.b.o.)

Le voleur qui sourit

Make an on-line slide show at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Meet the Swappers

We never did make it down to Honolulu to walk through the swap meet. But today I witnessed a display of capitalist carnage no less fearsome, if on a smaller scale.

Since TVA is such a transient community, we have our own little swap meet every Saturday on the side road that runs past the university. Kaddi gathered up almost everything we'd purchased while here in Hawaii (except our vacuum and television, both too precious to part with just yet), and I loaded them into the car for everal trips out to swap-meet road.

I have to admit I was a little skeptical. After all, who sells their second-hand items by the roadside? Who buys items that way? This isn't Thailand.

As it turns out...it IS Thailand. We arrived at about 9 AM and almost all the prime real estate was already taken. There were tables and shelves set up. People selling DVD's, CD's, bikes, shelves, furniture, rice-cookers, books, Christmas trees, dishware, toys, and everything else.

And these sellers can be competitive. We almost got into it ("Are we doing this?") with the Vietnamese lady stationed next to us after she kept tipping over a bike she felt was positioned too close to her blanket display.

Merchandise moves fast. By the time I arrived with the second carload of goods, Kaddi had sold most of the first load. By the time I took the above photo, several moms had already purchased the household items (and their kids had broken the toys).

Kaddi's such a trooper she's decided to stay there until everything sells. I volunteered to come home so that Luke could take a nap.

I need a bath

Claude Lemieux

As the day of departure draw closer, Kaddi has decided she now has a list of things she wants to do before leaving Hawaii. A few days ago we accomplished number six, visiting the beach where sea turtles sun themselves. When we arrived there were three turtles on the beach, with two game wardens present to rope off the area where they sit and make sure no one gets within at least ten feet of the reptiles. It was a little disappointing. I was hoping to shove pocky-sticks up a turtle-nose and take a picture.

At first, the Hawaiian turtle reminded me only of hockey's most irritating player from the eighties and nineties. But as we admired the quiet majesty of these silently majestic creatures, we also got a little video footage of the turtles making their way back into the sea. The ninety seconds or so of film actually took place over about three hours. Meg got a little impatient and I had to remind her these were tortoises, not hares.

And while I watched them struggle towards the surf, I felt a strange kinship with these pre-historic animals. They were like poor, bewildered graduate students, governed by a timeless instinct, moving towards some unachievable goal....

Make video montages at www.OneTrueMedia.com

A Memorable Memorial Day to Remember

Despite his broken arm, Jake managed to soldier on and enjoy the USS Missouri.

In addition to the bravery of the troops, we spent this week celebrating the fact that Luke's bowels are moving again for the first time in two weeks. Things were looking bleak for a while. The kid was so full of gas we couldn't take him out in public. After a few minutes in Gospel Doctrine he'd clear out the entire Relief Society room. And people would assume it was Kaddi or I. It felt like I was carrying Pepe Le Pieux around in a car seat. We were on the verge of being shunned by society.

Thankfully, other family members are substantially less stinky. I'm proud to say I'm relatively odor-free since leaving Thailand. Eating cereal for breakfast instead of spicy noodles makes a big difference. And now that Jake has a broken arm and plays outside much less, his smell has also improved. His clothes have never been cleaner.

Anyway...

As you can see from the pictures, I went with Jake on his class field trip to Ford Island in Pearl Harbor. We visited the Arizona Memorial, the USS Bowfin submarine, the Pacific Aviation Museum, and finally the USS Memorial. At each stop the kids learned something about WWII and the US military.

Now, at a school on the mailand that would be enough. But this is Hawaii, where no amount of indulgence or legal liability is too much for the precious keiki. Why simply visit a Battleship like the USS Missouri, when you can spend the night there. How exciting to spend an entire night stuffed into a tiny metal cubicle listening to dozens of ten-year old boys rattle around in their metal cubicles. Yes, it was just as much fun as an actual boot camp. I kept waiting for a pack of hazers to show up suddenly at my bunk and pin me down with a blanket so that others could begin whacking me with socks full of quarters.

In truth, I got off easy. We had to leave early the next morning so that I could get back to teach my sections of Hist 201 (I've never been so happy to see those GE students.) The chaperones who didn't get early parole got to eat breakfast on the Missouri and spend several more hours visiting such attractions as the library and the laundry room.

It was fun to spend the day with Jake and a hundred of his classmates. But battleships are mazes of hallways with short ceilings divided into tiny metal compartments. Not the ideal place for freakishly tall clautrophobic people.

At least I didn't have Luke with me.

Sealy Dan

On Thursday I took the morning off so that Kaddi, Luke and I could cruise the beaches and do some exploring at low tide. We found a rocky out-cropping just north of Turtle Bay where we could walk around. As we got out of the car we noticed a monk seal that had come on to the beach to sun himself.

While we gathered around taking pictures, a game warden approached and explained that Hawaiian state law dictated we all needed to stay one-hundred feet away from the seal. So I said, "Look buddy, how 'bout you tell your seals to stay one-hundred feet away from us?!"

In the afternoon, Kaddi bailed me out of fish-and-wildlife jail and we went for ice cream.






(M-Strat out.)

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

The Rainbow Warrior

Two thoughts occured to me as I watched this video:

First, could any kid be more out of place at a Polynesian dance ceremony than Jake? He looks like the leprechaun who snuck onto the stage to hide from the neighbourhood kids trying to steal his red hearts, yellow moons, green clovers, and blue diamonds.

I wish I could show this video to some of our ancestors from the nineteenth century. Those puritanical, god-fearing, Christian pioneers who spent their time traveling around the Pacific, converting the heathen and trying to stamp out their cultures. What would be their reaction at seeing their descendants clad in palm leaves, with painted faces, re-enacting these pagan rituals?

Abner Hale would have had a stroke.

Make photo slide shows at www.OneTrueMedia.com

That's not what I meant

Kaddi and I saw this ad posted on the bulletin board as we walked through the activities center the other day. I can think of two possible interpretations:

1) This is another case of English as a second-language, and the person is really advertising an available 'space' in their house.

2) There have been serious changes in the honour code since I was a student.

May-ggie Scrumptios Day

(A post by Kaddi)

May Day Extravaganza

It is that time of year when elementary schools in the U.S. put on their end of the year musical programs. I have been especially excited for Jake and Megs May Day performance because since the very first day that we arrived here in Hawaii I have heard wonderful things about the elementary May Day program. Today was the day. The kids had to get up very early this morning so that we could get them to school to prepare their costumes and make-up. Meg has been talking about this event for weeks now. She was constantly wanting me to watch her dance, but I tried to get her to save a little for a surprise.

Shane was not able to go to the program b/c he had a lecture to give at the exact time of the performance, so Luke and I were on our own. Most of the elementary schools in Hawaii would be performing their May Day programs in hot and crowed gyms or school cafeterias, but since we live in Laie our kids were able to perform at the PCC (Polynesian Cultural Center). It has a wonderful stage with lights, sounds, special effects and waterfalls. As I sat in my seat with Luke I teared up as I always do when my kids are involved in something like this. This moment was a marker in the countdown to the end of the school year. I am always sad at the thought of my children moving on. I want them to stay young and innocent forever. Jake will be in sixth grade next year-the end to his elementary career, then he will embark on the dreaded journey to jr. high. Meg will be in the third grade, I hope that her excitement for life will continue with each passing year.

Before the show began I had a little talk with Luke. I knew that if he got upset I would not have Shane there to pass him off to and it would be just my luck that he would squeal right at the time of Jake or Megs number. He was actually very cooperative. He ate, slept, slobbered and then ate again. He was very good, except for the fact that some of my film footage is a little shaky due to Luke trying to capture the camera and slobber all over it. I did the best I could and actually got some great pictures and movie moments.

Megs class and the other second graders represented New Zealand. For weeks Meg has been very excited but at the same time fretting over her poi ball routine. In typical Meg fashion right after the show was over she was so sad that it was through and wanted to perform again. Jakes fifth grade represented the Cook Islands. Jake was not as enthused. A girl in Jakes class was sick and was not able to perform and I commented that it was sad that she would miss the performance. Jake thought she was lucky and described how terrible it was to have to wait and watch the other performers until his classes turn. The show was quite the success and lived up to what I had been told. The costumnes were very ellaborate with feathers and jewelery. All the children were very adorable and I was sad that Shane had to miss this moment.

As I sat there and watched the show I couldn't help but feel greatful for this experience that we have had here. WE've had difficult moments but also wonderful moments too. I was so proud of Jake and Meg for continuing to travel to and fro making their best effort to fit in and make friends where ever we are. They amaze me and make me so very, very proud. sniff, sniff.

Sit back and enjoy our May Day.

(Editor's Note: Here are some clips from Meg's performance. Jake's dance and others pictures will follow.)

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

The wrist-shot

Yesterday everyone was going different direction. Kaddi went down to Kaneohe to take Meg to her dentist appointment. Jake was playing at a friends house. I was in my happy place, locked away in my office working on my dissertation. Life was simple.

This tranquility was interrupted by a phone call from a neighbour. It seemed Jake had fallen off his rip-stick and really hurt himself. I put down the phone and headed out the door to pick him up. Just as I crossed the street a friend raced up in his car with Jake in the back. He informed me that it looked like Jake had broken his wrist. In the middle of the street two dads tried to decide what to do. We decided to see if the student clinic would take him.

They wouldn't. We have Kaiser health care, which doesn't have a contract with the BYUH clinic. They informed us we'd have to go down to Moana Lua valley or over to Mililani. Both would involved an hour drive, and since it was now rush hour we were looking at ninety minutes. That's a long time for a boy with a broken wrist. Once again I thought back fondly on my youth filled with hockey, snowball fights, and socialized medicine.

We decided to take him to the Kahuku hospital emergency room, which was only ten minutes away. They don't have a contract with Kaiser, but it was the only real option. They admitted him and gave him some medicine for the pain, then x-rayed his arm. The doctor informed us it was a clean break of the radius above the growth plate. Pretty soon we had Jake on a morphine drip, and he was feeling groovy.



I knew I had to give Kaddi a call, but didn't have a cel phone. Finally I was able to borrow a cel phone from a friend, but neither Jake nor I could remember our home phone number (It changed a month ago). Finally, I got a hold of Kaddi on her cel phone and she came down to the hospital. I was so proud of Jake. I knew how painful it must have been for him, but he fought back the tears while riding to the hospital with his friends in the car. Even when it was just him and I he still kept a brave face. But when Kaddi finally arrived the flood gates opened. It was like a teary kablaamo. Something about having your mom around...

So now he's home and will miss a week of school. He has a splint now for a few days until the swelling goes down. He spends a lot of time on the couch watching Disney channel with a bag of peas on his wrist. On Thursday he'll get his cast, which I hear they make in different colours now. And I guess the ripstick will go into the closet.

(Editor's Note: Two days before this happened we were at a softball game where Meg fell out of a tree and landed on her back. The only thing hurt was her pride - proving once again, that the world belongs to Meg.)

The Devourer

Luke and I watch a lot of tv together. This week we happened to catch Michael Moore on Larry King (I'm a big fan of both). Moore began by talking about HBO, how the network was producing the most interesting shows on television, and how the government should ensure that every household in America can get HBO. It was the most reasonable argument he made the entire hour.

After 3-4 minutes, Luke tried to end the misery by chewing off his own foot.

Make photo slide shows at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Hawaii: The American Tibet

Tomorrow is May Day here in Hawaii. At the Polynesian Cultural Center all the kids from Laie elementary will be putting on special Polynesian dances that they've been practicing all year. Unfortunately, I'll be lecturing on the caste system and conflict between Dravidians and Aryans in India and miss the whole thing.

Lousy full-time employment...

Meanwhile, I truly enjoy watching the Olympic torch circle the globe. What an inspiring sight it is to see the flame carried by a runner guarded by the three divisions of the People's Liberation Army. It must really be a thrill for some of those soldiers to put a beatdown on Free-Tibet protestors from several continents.



Poor 'Free Tibet' protestors. I have such good memories of students marching around the Memorial Library at Wisconsin, carrying their signs advocating an independent Tibetan homeland. After all, we can't shut our eyes to the plight of the Tibetans. "Kids, are you getting all this plight?"

I just have one question. Can someone explain to me why Tibet would be so much better off if it were independent?

I realize that denouncing China is only slightly less popular than denouncing the United States, but if you look at the history of Tibet before 1950 - it's a mess. In many ways, the Chinese have improved the quality of life for ordinary Tibetans.

Consider:

China invaded Tibet in 1950. From 1951 to 2007, the Tibetan population in Lhasa administered Tibet has increased from 1.2 million to almost 3 million. The GDP of the Tibet Autonomous Region (TAR) today is thirty times that of before 1950. Workers in Tibet have the second highest wages in China. The TAR has 22,500 km of highways, as opposed to none in 1950. All secular education in the TAR was created after the Chinese revolution. The TAR now has 25 scientific research institutes as opposed to none in 1950. Infant mortality has dropped from 43% in 1950 to 0.661% in 2000. The United Nations reports an infant mortality rate of 35.3 per thousand in 2000. Life expectancy has risen from 35.5 years in 1950 to 67 in 2000.

I know, I know...it's all about self-determination, that magical buzz-word of Wilsonian democracy. But what does that phrase really mean? For example...

Two days ago a Hawaii sovereignty group known as the Hawaiian kingdom took control of Iolani palace, the former residence of the Hawaii royal family and a major tourist attraction. They announced to the press that they had taken this action in order to draw attention to the Hawaii's status as an territory illegally occupied by the United States. The group would like to secede from the USA, restore the monarchy, and return to an authentic (pre-1893) existence.



But why stop there? Why not go back to the time before Kamehameha (the original imperialist), when each island was a separate kingdom? Surely, the farther we go back the closer we'll get to pure Hawaiian culture. Everything will be better off if we just eliminate those contaminating aspect of western imperialism. First to go - democracry, Christianity, electricity, and the internal combustible engine. Oh, what a paradise it will be when Hawaii is once again a society of small villages, taro fields, and fish ponds.

Tibet will just have to liberate itself without my help. When I get back to Madison, I'm starting a "Free Hawaii" club.