The Organic Squirrel Gets a Bike Helmet

Last week I visited my sister and her family in Molokai, the Wild West of Hawaii. Or, at the very least, the slow country cousin of the same.

But, alas, they have grown so old. And acquired new pets it seems. Averaging about 1.3 dogs annually over the years -- as most seem to meet an early demise either runned over on the dusty streets immediately outside their house or gunned down in some forlorn, whiskey soaked saloon in Kaunakakai proper -- I was expecting some sort of dog but not quite the household I was welcomed by. On arrival I was greeted by three lovely, and taller, young nieces (Moriah, Sarah, and Lily) and three cute, and excitable, young canines (Mash Potatoes, Summit, and Monkey Pod.) Add to that a bitey rabbit named DC, a kidnapped chameleon named Gus, and about 3.5 million ants of various shapes, sizes, and colors, and I felt right at home.

Once settled we then began my grand packaged tour. First a meandering hike to Haipuapua Falls in Halawa Valley (we shot for Moaula Falls but got lost,) then some time at the beach, followed by Easter at Lane's, a luau, a trip to the Kamakou Preserve (where we absconded with Gus), some more time at the beach, and lastly a brief bushwacking to the Iliiliopae Heiau (one of Hawaii's largest temples and a site of human sacrifice) which concluded properly with me climbing a tree in an abandoned orchard to wack down some oranges with a stick. Life was good on Molokai. Simple and satisfying.

There was also considerable hormonal moodiness, not nearly enough lunch meat, and too much Moriah horse collar tackling Lily into a concussion to be certain, but that is part of the family experience. You're not supposed to get what you want, just three square meals a day, a roof over your head, and a body in your personal space.

If I had wanted boring I would have stayed in San Antonio.

Molokai mo bettah.

Freedom Isn't Free

Freedom isn't free.

But it sure comes cheaply for some people.

While in DC I went to Arlington National Cemetery. On a coincidentally dark and drizzly day I meandered all throughout the acres and acres of bleached white, uniform tomb stones. Although I did not feel any particular great emotion at the time -- I am a robot after all -- on my walk back some strong feelings did stir up in me. Being in a city built, in part, on the legacy of Ancient Greece I felt led to prophesy. An oracle a la me.

Four years from now the world will not end. The United States will not become a socialist state. Terrorists will not win. Obama will not reveal his hidden Islamic faith. And real Americans will continue live quite responsible lives, work in their communities, or lie dead in the soil.

I am not often angered, but one thing that angers me is the frequent insinuation, or outright exclamation, that supporting Obama or the current administration in any way suggests a deficiency in love for your country. As if being a Republican makes you more a true-blue American than being a Democrat or nothing at all. The converse was undoubtedly murmured here and there with the prior executive and it certainly came as a surprise to some that the Patriot Act did not in fact lead to fascism, but the sentiment has never been so frequently whispered, from what I can tell, as it is now.

Supposing establishing your conservative credentials did somehow give one a "Genuine Patriot" merit badge, being such an aficionado would not give whatever cause of the day it is one's championing any more credence. Correct my misguided, half-American understandings if they're wrong, but votes are not tallied based on nationalism and the nation's concept of civil discourse was not founded on jingoism. Partisanship is nothing new, and, truly, partisanship masquerading as love for your country itself is likely ageless, but the newest incarnation of it still saddens me. If you want to fight for your country, join the military and fight for your country. If you want to serve your country, join your church or local service organization and serve your country. If you want a better nation for your children, live a responsible, productive, considerate life that will make a better nation for your children. But please, save the rhetoric for your internal monologue. We're Americans; we're better than this.

Besides, I am the greatest patriot. Make me king. George Washington would have wanted it that way.

Plan B in Washington DC

First came Rhode Island, then came Niagara Falls. Or so was planned. Thanks to the quirkiness that is my good friend Anne, however, we failed to communicate, and instead of coming out during her week of vacation I came out out during her first week of wards at GWU. I was bummed. I do not say "bummed" very often, but, truly, I was bummed. My long held dreams of viewing the majestic cataracts and talking Canadian with a bunch of Ontarians were dashed. Thankfully, however, we had a backup scheme. Or I did at least, I only saw Anne for a total of about 30 minutes the whole time, and that was the Cherry Blossom Festival.

Cherry blossoms, though lovely, do not make for very wild and wacky or even very interesting stories. They were located primarily around the Jefferson Memorial, and were mostly whitish pink. I don't think they smelled. I am not entirely sure if these trees subsequently produce cherries from said spent blossoms though I am compelled to think not. I saw the American History Museum, Arlington Cemetery, and the National Botanical Gardens as well, and that, was that.

But to the point. Photos.

From this year, 2009,

and

Last year, 2008, when I was at Andrew's AFB.

Some day I will see Niagara Falls. Some day. And maybe, just maybe, I will actually see my friend Anne as well.

Rhode Island at Speed

I visited a friend in Rhode Island this weekend. And she broke me. We took a 12-13 mile bike ride to some town starting with a B, Bicleff? Burkholderia? -- the name is not important as once we got there, about an hour and a half later, we promptly turned our bikes around and headed back the way we came. When I queried about the possibility of perhaps stopping in this town for lunch, or even, dare I say, entering it, I was instructed that there were sandwiches at home. Twelve to thirteen miles back the opposite direction. Of course this was followed by a 6 mile hike in Newport thus completing my tour of Rhode Island.

Her well intentioned sadism aside, Megan is good people, and the resulting achilles tendenitis aside, I enjoyed Providence. It seems like a nice little city. Never having been to Rhode Island, though, I was surprised that there were areas of undeveloped land. For whatever reason I was under the impression that the entire state was one giant neighborhood. I also did not realize the state was owned and governed by the Dunkin' Donuts corporation. Clearly I have only lived in this country for a short time.

The highlight of my two days in Providence, however, was my headline photograph. Isn't it beautiful? Well positioned, great balance, (almost) excellent coloring and contrast. And it was all taken while facing backwards and pedaling at a 7-8 mph clip. I believe I have developed a new Pulitzer Prize category: Action Photography Taken While Simultaneously Engaging in Action. Clearly this is a category long overdue.

Anyways, here're my other photos from Rhode Island. They're ok.