Seasons Greatings: Pearl Harbor Edition

Before everyone writes this post off as another crass, tongue and cheek take on this day in history, I want to share a piece of ephemera that comes from my Grandparent's personal collection from their time in the internment camps during World War II.

Given this is the holiday season, it is only appropriate that I share this now. The tattered image is a handmade card from the Granada Christian Church and it features the water tower which was the tallest structure at Camp Amache which held over 7000 Japanese American citizens uprooted from their homes after the bombing of Pearl Harbor and the start of World War II.

In my collection of images from camp, I have one other Christmas card, a hand-tinted photograph with the words "Season's Greetings" and small holly leaves marked over an arial view of the barracks. These two images tried to present a normal view of what the camps were like. However, these forced segregated communities were far from normal. Normal towns and don't have guard towers with armed soldiers...

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So today, as I do every year, I celebrate Pearl Harbor day. People don't get it. When I invited my classmates out, mixed replies about dead soldiers and war memories from the attack that day. Of course, not knowing the personal history with internment, the loss of property, dignity, civil rights, and being forced to pledge loyalty to a country that took away all of your rights is foreign. The forced irony, forced satire, is lost.  I will be the first to say that I make my own merriment/mockery of a solemn day. But I think of it as a wake. I embrace my contradictions of being the grandson of a World War II vet who served in the Pacific Theater and a Yonsei (fourth generation Japanese). It's the same contradictory concept that loves serving and working with the Veteran population but despises war. 

While it is a few more weeks until Christmas, I wish you holiday greetings once more…Not a "White Christmas" as in the last card I posted--This time from a government run prison camp where the Constitution does not truly exist. 

Emphatic Feelings for Lymphatic Glands...

Chapter 1: Adoring Your Adenoids

Chapter 2: You're Playing Hockey With What?!?

Chapter 3: My God We Wrote and Self-Help Book About Tonsils…

Chapter 4: Other Lymph Nodes You Should Be Affectionate Toward

Chapter 5: Saving Your Tonsils…In a Freezer or Jar

Don't Open Until Xmas…Reflections on Racism

A few months ago I saw this card in a a display at the Miracle of America Museum in their "Civil Rights" Display case.  The message is as blunt as it is also frighteningly subtle. This relic of the past presents both a symbol of a less tolerant time and the sting of what lingers in American culture.

There was no context to the card, which was displayed next to a Klan's man's hood, a picture of Martin Luther King, Jr., and an old advertisement of featuring Aunt Jemimah. It almost seemed as if this this particular display of civil rights was their own parody of civil rights, the chance to speak with "White Man's Burden" as a voice of authority of how things used to be just fine before this movement came about in the 50s and 60s. 

Living in Bozeman, for the first time in a long time, I feel the acute sting of being a minority. While this town is not overtly racist, there are many times I can't help but feel like I am being watched as the "other." For those who read this who are minorities, who have experienced being watched in a store as if they were a shoplifter, or felt needlessly harassed by individuals of authority, you understand. To those who have never experienced this, don't write it off as paranoia. 

The thing that is odd about my experience in Montana is that the level of ethnic identifiers people place upon me are severely blurred. Without a prominent Asian or Latino population, locals tend to lump me in with the ethnic group they are most exposed to, the Native Americans. And while I could pass as "Indian," that could be a double edge sword--many white people in Montana hold deep seated resentment toward the Native Americans and the same holds true for the Native population. 

I spent three days stranded in on the Blackfeet Reservation in Browning. This was my first time on "The Rez" and when I tell people about my experience most shudder in fear. But I felt right at home. The tow truck driver who helped me out (this was when I crashed my car), told me to go outside and get a bit of sun, and that I would fit right in. We both laughed out loud knowing that he spoke the truth and that if I was white, I would best be served by sticking to my motel room. 

So as I write this, the snow is falling outside my apartment…In Bozeman, there will be a White Christmas. But as for me, I plan to celebrate my bastard half-Japanese heritage with Pearl Harbor Day next week and Japanese New Year with my family in Portland. 

Rare Finds

Today I made posted a brief twitter message about an awesome find at an antique store/pawn shop in Missoula. Well, instead of just showing pictures of this, I thought I would present a quick video of the find. I will post scans of the images in a few days.

I have stumbled across quite a few awesome things at antique stores that I end up buying…prosthetic limbs, out of print books,  bottles of old medications that were practically poisons…but never have I come across a personal photo album of a presidential visit.  I also never thought that I would own someone else's personal collection of photos of a presidential visit, but now I am. And that kicks ass.

Culinary Delights…

There are many mysteries of cooking out there but some can be answered with this book. Imagine what can be done with this book. Leftovers will never be the same.

Just to Be Cruel...

Yesterday I learned the true meaning of "viral video" and so I thought I would share it with everyone for the approaching holiday. 

The "Turkey Song" is something analogous to lyrical herpes, a gift that keeps on giving. I have no idea what the origin of this song is, but the kids in the special ed class that I have been observing love it. 

So yeah…

Enjoy…

If anything, the song is better than anything Rebecca Black sings or any other Top 40 hits of the last ten years.

Chasing Off-White Whales

This damned thing has eluded me for months. Much like the random sphinx on the same property, it remains a peculiar mystery for me in this town.

So yes, there is a whale in Bozeman. And it wasn't a hallucination of my drives westward from Billings, Livingston, or what ever else haunts the eastern half of this state.

Keepin' it Real...

Just so you know, this is how I roll…

I ain't no Superman, but I will still rip open up my shirt to tell the playas out there how it is. Clark Kent ain't got nothin' on my game. 

Word to yo motha...

Titles that Won't Work Today...

Sometimes we forget about the changing role of language. With that in mind, it seems that some trends in our modern lexicon still hold true. Case in point, home decor and homosexuality seem to have been been externally connected together.

And that is about all that can be said about that…

Up next, Martha Stewart's Guide to Dressing Deer and other Manly Challenges.

Music of the Spheres: Typhoon…The Honest Truth

Sometimes songs become anthems…or just momentary themes for the prevailing mood of the moment. Since this summer "The Honest Truth" by Typhoon has been one of those songs.

I am not certain how to describe the moment that "The Honest Truth" has come to embody. It may be one of simple catharsis. It may be a simple revelatory moment--one of clarity when you see what is there is front of you. Plain, simple, free of subtext, or added pretense…

As you will see through this video, you are confronted with a song of punctuated rhythms, clear imagery, and a sing-along chorus that spits in your face as the refrain of "You're gonna piss and moan, you let the devil in your home…" hits with twelve voices.

And one might ask, is the baseball bat Chekhov's gun?

Even though I have only met the band once, I realize that I know three or four people roaming around the street scene in the. It makes me miss home.

The lyrics may mean different things to different people, but for now, it just seems like the right song for the right time.