Day 1

Well, as a means of avoiding grading my Oceanograpy 101 midterms, I'm starting a new blog whilst listening to vintage Clapton. There are worse forms of procrastiantion I guess.

I'm not exactly what the purpose of this blog is, other than I've had this itching feeling that I need to get my ideas out of my head and into some communicable format. You'd think that being a teacher would give me enough of an outlet, but maybe I'm more of an megalomaniac than I thought. Actually, one reason I'd like to do this is to separate my work life from my personal life. I'm a science instructor at a community college in the Seattle area, and I can't speak as freely in class as I would sometimes like. It's important for a scientist to remain objective and not to be an advocate (most of the time), and more importantly, I do not want to alienate my students. But I got stuff I want to get out of my head -politics stuff, religion stuff, observations about society at large. Furthermore, I'm pretty sure there are other people out there who would like to read what I have to write. At the very least, my friends and family will...I hope.

Okay, I 've got to get back to grading. But in the meantime, here's a previous posting from last summer. It should give some idea of the kinds of things I'll be writing about.

-Woody

Monday, July 24, 2006

This is an entry from my Journal, dated July 8, 2006

Well, I'm in Anchorage, AK.

This is, officially, the farthest north I have ever been. Pretty cool.I have to say, it's kind of an odd town. People had told me it sprawls and that certainly is true. It also has that careworn look to it, like buildings around Yachats, OR. It's probably all the sand and gravel during the winter. Or maybe it's just winter period.

The people look hardy and are friendly. Maybe even what one might call "real". They are very patriotic and the Saturday Market began with a singing of the Star Spangled Banner. Everyone stopped and I took my hat off and placed it over my heart. Looking around I saw people of all races, white asian, native, black, looking towards the loudspeaker. There wasn't a flag to salute, though there were a ton of them ringing the perimeter of the market grounds. Maybe it was just me, but the moment didn't feel particularly patriotic. More perfunctory than anything. Fidgeting behind their tables, deciding which trinkets to put out. the retailers seemed to be more annoyed than sentimental.

I made my way to the Anchorage Museum of History and Art where I'm currently sitting. It was 11 AM and I have to catch a bus @ 3PM. My bus pass gets me a free voucher, so I figured I'd check out the museum before getting on the bus to Seward.

Upon arriving at the museum, I realized there was a cafe inside and I could use some real food. I dragged my bags to the counter, bought a sandwich and a soda and sat down at one of the tables. I began eating my sandwich when a nice, young lady from the counter walked over and asked me to move to a table that wasn't in the main foyer. I looked around and realized that behind some large columns, hidden in the shadows, were a few tables where people who bought from the counter were supposed to sit. I, unwittingly, had seated myself in the 'real' cafe, where people who get waited on sit.

In addition to the lack of condiments, my new table, also, lacks a view and any semblance of dignity. Looking around at the other crappy table patrons, I see that we have a lot in common. The guy seated on the other side of my particular large white column is wearing light hikers, not unlike my own, and brownish pants. I don't know what else he's wearing because everything from mid-shin on up is obscured by the aforementioned large, white column. The guy behind me works for one of the tour companies. I can tell by the little logo on his shirt. I hear at least one other diner, probably two columns over. I can hear the crinkling of the cellophane from his counter-bought meal. This is not the sound of money. Actually, it is the internationally recognized sound of "I don't have any money, so I had to buy this crappy sandwich wrapped in plastic."

I'm curious to see who sits in the real cafe, the one that has tables with salt and pepper and little flowers on them, and where patrons will have view of other patrons, who like, them, have the distinction of getting to watch other people eat while they enjoy their fresh croissant sandwich.