Dear Diary . . . day by day

Friday, March 9th, 2001 -

I sat next to an old man on the bus coming home from work the other day. He had long white hair and a beard that would put Santa to shame. He wore two pairs of glasses, one over the other, for a bifocal effect, I think. He was reading a novel, but when the bus stopped to load on a wheelchair, he looked up and notice thed book I was reading.
"Phillip Dick! Oh, yes, I know him! He wrote another book, you haven't read it, I'm sure, about WWII where Germany and Japan win the war -- "
"'Man in the High Castle'", I said, pleased that for once I could recall a title at the time of discussion, "Yes, I've read it; good book."
I don't think he was happy that I had read the book, actually, so he went into a long monologue about WWII battle trading cards that he used to trade as a kid. I guess he'd gotten an entire set, but that his mom threw them out when he went to college.
We got into a whole discussion about science fiction. Seems his mother also threw out his complete collection of "it was called 'Astounding Stories' at the time" (later I remembered it turned into 'Analog', but at the time I was drawing a blank). He didn't seem too kooky, but he did claim to have studied with Bradbury (which he referred to as "the man who wrote 'Farhenheit 451'"; I hope my memory doesn't go like that when I'm that old).
This man, called Hoss, is an ethnic historian, working on ancient Mayan manuscripts. He also claimed to be a professional writer, and offered to look over my stories. He wanted my phone number, which I was loathe to give (especially since I had noticed many people listening to our conversation; that happens, on the bus). I wrote down my email to him, and a day or so later I got an email from his friend in Las Vegas, wanting to know if I saw his wallet after he got off the bus (alas, no). Not sure it's a relationship I'll be persuing, but I do enjoy talking to strangers on the bus.
In the lockeroom at the YMCA I overhear two girls, both around age 8, arguring over whether to use the hairdryers (which are available for member use and attached to the wall). One little girl yanked it out of the other's hands and said admonishingly, "You're WASTING ELECTRICITY!"
The rest of the country doesn't have the "save energy" commercials, do you? Where they show you a refrigerator in a garage, and talk about how stupid it is to keep soda cold all day long when no one's drinking it? What I don't get is why we haven't been showing commercials like this all along, considering that most of our electricity comes from burning natural resources which will someday run out; you'd think we'd be conserving from the get-go. I am continually amazed at how illogical we all are as the human race.
Yesterday I went to the Affirmative Action rally on UC Berkeley campus, which is just across the street from where I work. During part of it, I cried, mainly because I was picking up on all the strong emotions of the crowd around me. I spent most of the hour listening to a hispanic man in a wheelchair arguing with a blond woman from Concord (a suburb of the Bay Area). I kept my mouth shut, even though the blond woman was doing a horrid job of representing us blue-eyed whites (as one dark skinned woman referred to her). It is such a complex issue - how do you get policy makers to give more money to poor schools (so the students have an equal education and can compete equally for schools like Berkeley) if all the policy makers are white? Will Affirmative Action give them a jump start, giving more minorities a chance at those sorts of jobs?
I've been wanting to talk about race relations here for some time, but I keep putting it off. I want to talk about being white in Oakland, where most people living here are NOT white. I want to talk about experiencing racism, and my reactions to it (I grew up in Indiana and it's a very different world out here). I want to talk about all this, but I just don't know that I'm ready to yet. I will say this: we need to stop the hate. I have no idea how, but it's got to go away.

Exercise log:
Yoga class preceeded by 17 minutes on the precor machine on Tuesday. Last night I did 80 situps and a full 35 minutes of precor running. Stairs are suddenly hard again.
Writing log:
Another 1000 words of my story. Which I no longer like. I am too hard on myself.
I'm currently reading:
A Scanner Darkly by Phillip K. Dick

Reading off and on:
Unlocking the Air and other stories by Ursula K. LeGuin
Starlight 2 anthology edited by Patrick Nielsen Hayden

My new PO Box is:
Heather Shaw
P.O. Box 13222
Berkeley, CA 94712-4222

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