Off CHSR

The Old Man

Colonel Anderson PWNED by Jourdan.



Oh yes, he did.

 Jourdan Anderson was a monster. Before you shout me down, allow me to clarify- Jourdan Anderson was a literary monster, defeating his foes and bringing his pen to bear on his former master with more force than a firearm. Though a former slave, Jourdan wielded searing wit and principled deference as handily as his master must have wielded a whip.

The letter that Jourdan wrote to his former master, Colonel P. Anderson, is a veritable masterpiece, crafted by an intelligent man who had obviously retained his dignity over and above years spent in slavery under Colonel Anderson. In addition to Jourdans even tone throughout the letter, I am amazed that he even responded to Colonel Anderson at all, considering that the letter Jourdan received prior to his response was an offer to “come back to work” for Anderson, as if they had simply parted ways several years prior over a simple misunderstanding. What gall Anderson had, presuming that Jourdan would come running when he beckoned!

Jourdan is no man's fool- he know when he's being played (as the cool kids say)and crafts a document that deconstructs Andersons contrived notions to the point that I'd wager even Anderson felt guilty after reading the letter. Jourdan is deferential, though not to his detriment, expressing concern that Anderson may have been hurt, and gladness that he had not been. He offers greetings to Andersons family and prays that they have the opportunity to meet again, under more favorable circumstances. After the niceties, Jourdan stretches his literary legs and settles in to responding to “The Offer”. Tests of honesty are suggested, and assurances of safety are requested for Jourdans family. Jourdan uses his text as a two-edged sword, simultaneously addressing the stark contrast between the future, if there were to be one, and the past, invoking the authority of the Apostle Paul: “The workman is worthy of his hire”. His style of writing is very effective as he navigates the minefield of years of emotional and physical pain with the recognition that he is truly free.

Jourdan writes as one who has matured, one who has suffered pain and has not allowed the insidious cancer of bitterness or self-pity to eat away at his dignity; he is a man of independence who will not stoop to Anderson's assumption that Jourdan can do no better than indentured servitude. The discerning reader will observe that there is a plot twisting role reversal- Jourdan, though a slave for years, is the free man by virtue of his ethic of forgiveness; Anderson, though former master, is slave to the Old Ways of the South, and cannot cope without his “#1 slave”. Perhaps freedom is a concept of the mind, and not necessarily of the body; all the goods in the world cannot free one who's mind is held captive. In contrast, though the body may be shackled by force, the mind cannot be ceded to another without consent, and spiritual freedom transcends physical freedom. Anderson is to be pitied, in the end, Jourdan is the better man, and I am all the better for reading his letter.

Mala Tres Virides- "Three Green Apples"

Petulance is Alive and Well

http://www.istockphoto.com/

Since when has rude behavior and knee-jerk reactions to perceived wrongs pass for legitimate forms of protest or dissent? “Family Values” is a celebration of such behavior- physical assault replaces reasoned dialog, and generalized, ad-hominem attacks are par the course in the author's family. Selfishness and a misplaced sense of pride in being “rebellious” is somehow equated with being genuine and honest.

I found the tone of this essay to be conceited and disingenuous, as though Ehrenreich was trying to convince herself that her familial generations of “blue-eyed, Scotch-Irish Democrats” gave her the impetus to live up to their asinine social reputations that they enjoyed in their respective communities. Ehrenreich is quick to vilify “organized religion” (she never offers a decent definition of what that may be) and political organizations (“phonies”), yet her evidence consists of little more than spotlighting the transgressions of a few select individuals, then broad-brushing entire groups of people associated with those individuals. She offers no compelling analysis of the foundational ideas of certain political parties or religions to ascertain whether the actions taken by those who represent them actually reflect the teachings of such organizations. A well-thought criticism this does not make.

Fortunately for Ehrenreich- and her readers- her aim is not to dissect the failures of a particular organization, but rather to emphasize the type of values she has inherited from her ancestors. Ehrenreich takes pride that her family has always questioned the status quo and have never been afraid to “take it to the Man”, as it were. Let it be know that I agree wholeheartedly with our 1^st Amendment right to free speech, and the right of man to question authority, which I'm sure Ehrenreich would agree with. That is where the agreement would likely end between us. Ehrenreichs recollection of a physical assault of a priest over a personal slight takes on heroic proportions as her great-grandfather commits one last act of defiance before “heading West”. Regardless of whatever position an individual holds, there is no excuse in our society to “settle the score” by attacking another individual outside the legal boundaries of self-defense. Ehrenreich makes the case that such behavior is “traditional” in the American experience, as is blatant name calling and mockery; she evokes the Founding Fathers and civil-rights movement as examples of what she considers the “true duty of patriots”- “dissent, rebellion, and all-around hell raising”.

Ehrenreich's comparison is misguided, though she triumphantly equates her family's response to injustice to that of our national figures, she fails to note that in Rosa Parks act of defiance, she did not yell, name call, or assault anyone. She was confident, self-assured, and graciously firm. The same cannot be said for the Ehrenreichs. And those American revolutionaries of the Boston Tea Party? It is often overlooked, but those same revolutionaries who sparked the birth of a nation ensured that they swept the decks clean of tea leaves and refrained from damaging any property aboard the ship, save a solitary padlock, which they replaced. Respect in the face of oppression or injustice, as Rosa Parks and the Tea Party exercised, is a dying virtue; selfishness, disrespect, and impulsiveness are the new tools of the “revolution”. Ehrenreich does no favors to the image of the dissenter, or her family, by romanticizing such lack of virtue.

Rasmuson Library

Athabascan Potlatch= Food and Dance.

This has nothing to do with my post, I just really like this picture

Life is good.  Our group- Adam, Brianna, Cory, and I- have made a command decision to dump the Aleut dance project (due to lack of information) and focus exclusively on the Athabascan practice of potlatch.  Initially our group was in the depths of despair as precious days passed with nary a scrap of solid information about Aleut dance, but with our change of topic resources abound, research is being accomplished, and spirits are high.  Our decision to study a cultural aspect of the Athabascan was largely influenced by the geographical proximity to Fairbanks; Athabascans are indigenous to interior Alaska, traditionally residing between the Brooks Range in Northern Alaska and the Copper River in South Central Alaska.  Because of the large demographic of Athabascans in the Fairbanks area we were certain that plenty of resources would be available for research.

Potlatches are tribal gatherings among Athabascan clans that incorporate at least two elements that our group members feel passionate about: food and dance.  Cory is the resident artist and Brianna is a dancer, Adam is interested in tools to create art, and I, if you can't tell by looking at me, really like food.  There is currently no Wiki page specifically dedicated to Athanbascan potlatchs, so our audience is as wide ranging as those who use Wikipedia: fellow college students, bored office workers killing time surfing the 'net, and inquiring minds from across the globe.  I am optimistic because we live in the heart of Athabascan land, and we have the privilege of sharing a bit of our community with untold Wiki users who have never heard of the Athabascan, let alone, "potlatch".

Not surprisingly, I have volunteered to research the types of food prepared at a potlatch, Adam and Cory have taken the responsibility to research the types of dance performed at potlatches as well as particular clothing used for the dances, and Brianna has takent the role of historian, researching the history of potlatches and occasions that warrant a potlatch.  After we conduct our individual research, we will compile our information and create our page in one fell swoop.  With clear cut duties and responsibilities, I am confident that our group project will pass with flying colors.

I've already checked out several resources from the UAF library to comb through in search of potlatch lore in books such as biographical accounts, traditional Alaskan food cookbooks, as well as several newspaper articles.  Though I have three other classes that I attend, I plan on doing as much research as early as possible to give myself some "breathing room" before this projects due date.  By compiling pertinent quotes from my resources and sending copious amounts of emails to my group, I feel that our ability to share information and coordinate resources will be the driving factor behind the success of this group.  Look us up on Wikipedia- because life is good, and so is our group ;)


  

MUSSOLINI DISCORSI-PADOVA 1938

An Exercise in Bombastic Buffoonery

Benito Mussolini is a blowhard. After reading his speech “Man of War” several times, I can think of no other way than to put it as succinctly as possible. On second thought- Mussolini was a blowhard- he's been dead since 1945. What is maddening is that he was an effective blowhard, as evidenced by the sheer volume of people that turned out to hear his speeches during World War II (see next blog post). What made "Il Duce" such an effective communicator? I identified several themes that Mussolini used in "Man of War"; I will highlight two of them.

Mussolini makes excellent use of nationalism in his speech, hailing his audience as “Blackshirts of Rome” and the “authentic, real, great Italian people”, while contrasting them with the English, who are made out to be liars and hypocrites. Appeals to nationalism is often effective in speeches, particularly in wartime, as it builds cohesion among the people and unifies them against a common enemy, in this case, the Allied powers. An unfortunate consequence of falling prey to nationalistic vitriol is that one very quickly accepts what the ruling party tells them, without critically thinking about the ramifications of doing so. Such folly was rife in Nazi Germany and led to the greatest genocide the world has ever seen. Speaker such as Mussolini are able to bypass the part of the mind that deals in reason and logic and appeal strictly to the emotions of the listeners. Falsehood can become truth when shouted loud enough and long enough.

I like absolutes. Absolutes provide a framework for humans to relate to their world in a concrete manner; the laws of logic, the scientific method, and, whether you like it or not, moral absolutes. Absolutes can also be manipulated or invented, particularly in language, so that a proposition becomes a certainty, and subjective opinions become dogmatic one way streets. “Man of War” is without exception: “We will crush...when and how we want” promised Mussolini, “the Italian people will have their day” (and they did, when they executed Mussolini), and, for some unfortunate souls, “history takes one by the throat and forces a decision”. Let it not be said that Mussolini lacked emphasis! In addition to dogmatism one can manufacture an air of authority simply by making declarative statements as though they were fact.

I found “Man of War” to be slim on substance, yet his followers undoubtedly did not. I couldn't help but feel as though Mussolini was patronizing his listeners with words of grandeur and cheap analogies, shouting in their collective ear “Victory, Italy, peace with justice among peoples!”.

Of Dolphins and Dinner Menus

Clearance sushi: tuna or dolphin?

I had heard little about The Cove prior to watching it in class; I knew it was a documentary about the killing of dolphins in Japan, but had no idea what the controversy presented in the film was. I expected a grainy, poorly edited film with Japanese sub-titles and gratuitous shots of dolphins being torn apart, stuffed into tuna cans, and shipped off to unsuspecting Westerners.

In reality, The Cove was well produced by experienced documentary film makers, it was obvious that all those who were involved in the film were invested emotionally in ensuring their message was presented with the least bit of ambiguity possible. The message was to bring attention to the dolphin harvesting practices of Japanese fishermen in the town of Taiji where dolphins were being killed for their meat as well as being sold into captivity.

Among the arguments presented, I found the appeal to the dolphins sense of personality to be outrageous. My jaw dropped when Richard O'Berry, esteemed trainer of “Flipper” turned dolphin activist, recounted the day that one of his dolphins, Cathy, allegedly committed suicide in his arms. The implications of such a statement, which he later voiced, was that dolphins were self-aware creatures, much like humans, and on that basis, they should not be killed or “imprisoned”. The flaws in such argumentation are obvious: what standard is O'Berry using to make his moral judgment? Is that standard authoritative, and if it is, are we obligated to follow it? Why has O'Berry chosen dolphins to assign anthropomorphic attributes to as opposed to clams, or even krill? Does O'Berry own or use any products that have animal-part derivatives? His premise breaks down miserably when it is examined further. I can't help but wonder if O'Berrys drive to “liberate” dolphins to the wild is fueled by the guilt of driving Cathy to “suicide”. Perhaps in freeing other dolphins he is, in a way, freeing Cathy, and absolving himself of guilt. If this is the case, one can see why he's so fanatical about dolphin liberation. Aside from O'Berrys appeals to emotion, the film presented another argument; evidence detailing the high levels of mercury found in dolphin meat. I found this argument to be very persuasive; in addition to the medical concerns of consuming tainted meat, Japanese people, according to the film, hadn't been made aware of the dangers of dolphin meat that contained high levels of mercury.

The comparison of the Trojan horse to this movie seems odd at first, but with a little theorizing the similarities emerge- omnivorous viewers that are converted to the belief that killing dolphins is wrong may welcome this film just as the Trojans welcomed the seemingly innocuous horse; when they do so, their meat eating presuppositions are overwhelmed and broken to bits, much like Troy was. The ideology behind this film leaves no room for neutrality, once their premise of dolphin killing as being wrong is accepted, it is a short, slippery slope to full-blown vegetarianism. I can't live in a world like that, I love my steak too much!

There is great tension between the possible Japanese response to The Cove; on one hand, Japanese tradition and culture, at least on the coast, accepts the killing of dolphins as a way of life, just as fishing is an integral part of many coastal communities in the United States. On the other hand, those Japanese in larger cities that were interviewed by cast members of The Cove seemed to have no idea what had been taking place in Taiji. As was mentioned in class, the cultural differences among the world's populations virtually necessitates that the decision on whether or not harvesting dolphin, or any other type of animal, is a choice left up to individuals. Such freedom allows people like me to “have my steak, and eat it too".  And eat it I shall.

Man-Child

Photo by Sybren A. Stüvel

Today I heard what makes a grown man cry: “six layer protection”- specifically the lack of such protection, which is presumably some type of software for computer systems. Why would not having this protection, indeed, all six layers of it, cause this man (actually he was more of a man-child, maybe 19 years old) to sob, whimper, or otherwise blubber pathetically? Let me provide a bit of the conversation I happened to hear prior to his dramatic confession.

I was waiting in the shuttle bus shack this morning at the lower parking lots at UAF with several other students, all of whom were silent, save the man-child, who was engaged in a lively information sharing conversation with another student, who I'll refer to as “The Professional”. The Professional is the type of guy you would call if your Super Nintendo or Sega Saturn stopped working; slovenly, obese, and brilliant- a true electronics savant. Their conversation consisted of The Professional asking the man-child several questions about the progress and location of a certain video, which was a demo for an unnamed project. Did the man-child find the video? He had completely forgotten about it. Which computer was it on, desktop or laptop? It was on the laptop, but according to the man-child it needed to be “remotely transferred and installed”, apparently to another system. Then came the bombshell: The Professional asked if this other system had “six layer protection”.
“If it doesn't, I'll cry. I'll break down and cry.”  Up until then I had either stared at my notebook or out the window, but upon hearing the man-child's frank admission I glanced up, bemused, then frantically attempted to scribble down what I just heard.

This changed things. What I presumed was a somewhat benign conversation about a demo video for a school project must have been vastly more significant than I could have possibly imagined. Was this a national security issue? It must have been as I couldn't imagine another scenario that could cause an almost-grown man-child to cry over something that sounded like it was off a Taco Bell menu. My suspicions grew when The Professional, who had stared quietly at the man-child after his confession, reached into his duffle bag, pulled out a USB flash drive, and handed it to the man-child after cautioning him to "make sure it's legal". Now I was convinced; the flash drive had to contain some type of encrypted data that was vital to national security. But what was it? I suddenly realized that I had been listening to some sort of code language the entire time; “demo video” and “laptop” obviously referred to whatever was on the flash drive.  Making sure "it was legal" must have meant that the man-child was authorized to use deadly force to protect the flash drive.  Unfortunately, at that time the shuttle arrived and we all filed aboard. In an attempt to ascertain the secrets on the flash drive I went so far as to sit in the seat directly in front of The Professional, who was sitting next to the man-child (in hindsight this may have been too obvious, as the bus was nearly empty). My continued presence must have spooked them because they spoke in hushed tones for the rest of the ride to the Eielson building.

Because I was only able to hear part of their conversation, I had no choice but to construe what I thought was the most likely context for a conversation that contained vague computer references and almost-grown men who could be moved to tears by the unavailability of a software program. In reality, I'm sure they were simply discussing a school project, yet without proper context, why not believe they were working for the government? It certainly made waiting for the shuttle a bit more interesting!

Going Native

As I read “Going Native” by Francine Prose I was struck by the concept of “transculturals”, as she put it, those who don't feel as though they've truly settled in their culture of upbringing and find a deep connection with a foreign culture. Transculturalism is a concept that I haven't considered before, other than scoffing at those who seem to be trying too hard, like the 4^th grade boys mentioned in the beginning of the Prose's essay. I've felt at home in my typical middle-class Alaskan culture for most of my life so to seriously consider that there are those who truly yearn for another cultural setting seems distant and unexplored.

Prose does an excellent job of analyzing the meaning behind those who self-identify both sympathetically and fancifully with different cultures. Those who self-identify with other cultures on an experiential level are often those who feel a shared burden of disenfranchisement or social ills with the other culture and choose to express themselves within the context of that culture. Prose uses the example of poor, working class Irish children who find encouragement, and perhaps a sense of identity, in performing soul music and who find identification “with the poverty, alienation, and disenfranchisement of African-Americans.”

In my personal experience I've found such identification with blues music and performers, which historically has been a musical outlet for oppressed African-Americans who told their stories of economic and racial discrimination through song. Though I am not an African-American and have lived a rather comfortable life, when life is bad and I am depressed I find comfort in listening to the blues; when the performer bemoans the loss of a special loved one or of some personal betrayal,“that's right, brother” springs from my lips and I shake my head knowingly in shared misery. The performers problems become my problems, his “woe is me” becomes mine as well and offers a bit of comfort, knowing that I'm not the only one with problems.

As mentioned earlier, those who self-identify with other cultures, past and present, on a fanciful level, seem to be the ones who are not so much disenfranchised but rather have lost their sense of purpose within their culture and seek meaning from the ideals of past cultures, such as Native Americans, or traditional Irish culture, both of which have been characterized as simple, hard working, purposeful, and communal. These cultural characterizations offer individuals a chance to be part of something greater than themselves, where ideals such as pride and honor are worth fighting and dying for. I find it amusing, and a bit ironic, that while I am half “white” and half Native American, there are certainly thousands of white people who share a deeper kinship with Native American culture and history than I do; I was born and raised in Alaska but my tribal ancestors are from Taos, New Mexico.

As I compared the two types of people mentioned in Prose's essay I found it interesting that regardless of whether individuals share common experiences or just idealize the principles of a given culture, there seemed to be a common thread of desire for identity outside of “self”. In addition to shared identity, skin color, often an indicator of race and culture, means little to those who are “transcultural”, which challenges the assumption that skin color equates to cultural heritage.

Two Leaves on Black

"Two Leaves on Black" by Barry J. McWayne 1943-2010

I've chosen to highlight the photograph “Two Leaves on Black” by Barry J. McWayne, former curator of the fine art collection at the University of Alaska Museum of the North. Barry was a longtime Alaskan photographer who died suddenly in the summer of 2010; I'd previously heard of Barry but hadn't seen any of his work prior to my visit to the museum.

Two Leaves on Black immediately caught my eye, as I was captured by its cleanliness and simplicity in contrast to the many different pieces of art in the gallery, indeed, if I were to choose one word to describe this photograph, I would choose “contrast”. If one desires to highlight any particular subject there are few better ways than to place the subject against a non-reflective black background, the contrast has the intended effect of bringing the subject directly to the forefront of the viewer. “Two Leaves on Black” does just this; captured in greyscale the two subjects stand in stark contrast to the black background.

The two subjects are centered side by side, which doesn't always work in photography, but in this case it works well, as it draws the eye directly to the subjects and then gives the eye the task of differentiating between the two; balance is provided by featuring leaves of two different sizes, and though the tips of the leaves are equal in height, the body of the leaf on the left is smaller and appears to be deferential to the leaf on the right, whose body is fuller, which provides a sense of completion to the photograph, almost like a puzzle piece that has found its place. The smaller body of the left leaf and the full body of the right leaf draws the eye from the upper left to the lower right of the frame, providing a nice diagonal path that leads into the rest of the picture and also covers both subjects while the eye is guided over them. I love how composition is thought through to make a truly great photograph.

Texture is rich within the two subjects, the cell structure and veins of the leaves speak to its organic makeup, indeed, it almost resembles the surface of ones skin yet through its shape and form it remains distinctly arboreal. Leading lines abound in this photograph, starting from the stems of the leaves, the eye is drawn up towards the middle of the leaves by the main vein, then allowed to wander up each individual vein to explore the texture and different shades of grey within the leaves which gives the viewer a sense of place.

Capturing the subjects in greyscale removes the distraction of color and allows the viewer to focus on the other visual components of the photograph; as mentioned before- the texture, form, shape, and lines; however, in addition to these qualities, the greyscale tones also gives the leaves a burnished look as the tone transitions from light to dark which adds body to the photograph and prevents it from appearing flat; the dappling of the tones also gives the subjects the appearance of being sunlit, as they would be if they were still on a tree. This is a great photograph- simple, yet its composition speaks volumes. I'm glad to have enjoyed it.

We Are All Refugees



Photo by Flickr user Takver provided for use under a Creative Commons Licence



I've heard of David Sedaris but have never ready any of his work; however, from reading various references in news magazines as well as a feature post on the popular blog Stuff White People Like, I've gotten the idea that he's supposedly witty, in a smarmy kind of way, and commands a very devoted fan base, kinda like Dave Berry, or Scott McCrea. With my head full of presuppositions and expectations waiting to be met, I put my kids to bed, put myself to bed, and dove into Sedaris's essay Me Talk Pretty One Day.

I must admit that when I saw this title on the class syllabus I was amused by how unrefined it sounded; I could just imagine a poor dullard doing his best to convey his hearts desire to wax eloquent and yet barely managing to stammer out “Me...talk...pretty one day”, as if what was lost in linguistic sophistication could be made up through sheer vocal conviction.  But who hasn't sounded like my proverbial dullard, particularly when trying to speak a foreign language? This is the theme of Sedaris's essay, which details his experience of attending a French language school in Paris, and the unconventional method of instruction his teacher employed to foster an increasing understanding of the French language.

In the essay Sedaris reveals that, while he assumed that the many different nationalities of students represented in his class were much more advanced then he in French, his teacher became the great equalizer, berating and insulting each pitiful (as she saw it) attempt at French speaking by her students, regardless of nationality. I truly enjoyed the manner in which Sedaris correlated his experience as a French student to that of a refugee, one who is a stranger in a strange land, devoid of true comfort and linguistic identity; this concept was masterfully illustrated towards the end of the essay when he stated that the following snippet of conversation was one often heard in refugee camps: “Sometimes me cry alone at night.”. Never mind the response to his statement, I started laughing as soon as I read that part; every presupposition I've held of what it means to be a refugee was immediately attributed, if you will, to Sedaris as well, with excellent comedic effect. Does it not open up the essay in a new light to view Sedaris as a type of refugee? I think it does, which provides a much needed tension within the story; the refugee, the tyrannical teacher, his loss of hope, and then the triumph of redemption when it dawns on him that he can actually understand the streams of insults coming from his teacher.

The moral of Sedaris's essay is to listen and not be so hasty to speak, take time to listen and absorb what is being spoken to you, regardless of its content. As Sedaris points out, this will not necessarily mean that one will immediately become fluent in whichever foreign language one is studying, but rather that this one small step is an important one towards that goal. If one cannot understand the language, what good would it be to simply learn to phonics without an understanding of how it all fits together? How Sedaris accomplishes his point is both funny and clever, and allows the reader to self identify through shared experiences of attempting a different language, be it a foreign language, vernacular specific to a particular trade, or just the latest slang. In my perspective, we are all refugees.

Look at Your Fish, Stupid! (my title)

I read the short essay “Look at Your Fish” by Samuel Hubbard Scudder, which is a personal narrative of Hubbards early experiences as an assistant to Professor Louis Agassiz, who was the custodian of the Boston Society of Natural History from 1862 to 1864.

The essay begins with Scudder coming under the tutelage of Prof. Agassiz and declaring his desire to become experienced in all fields of zoology, particularly the sub-field of entomology. Scudder portrays himself as an eager and willing student, ready to “dig into the deep stuff” of all things entomological yet to his surprise Prof. Agassiz assigned him the task of caring for and examining a fish specimen called a Haemulon, which had been kept in a specimen jar in alcohol. The professors instruction concerning the fish was to “look at it”, and this task of “looking” is the common thread throughout the rest of the essay.

Scudder recounts how his initial disappointment at staring at the fish gradually turned into boredom, then loathing as the hours passed; after a brief respite he returned and began to take more interest in 'looking” at the fish, even venturing to sketch the fish with a pencil, as no other instruments were allowed for observation, which leaves Scudder no choice other than, as he put it, “my two hands, my two eyes, and the fish”. The significance of this did not escape me as I read, because just as Scudder was exercising his powers of observation, I too have had the opportunity to hone mine as well, and I can attest to the fact that the best observations of people or objects are made when one is unencumbered by technological tools and is able to focus all their attention on the subject. That is not to say that there is not room for such tools, but rather that, before one can use them effectively one must have a foundational understanding of what is meant to observe. Touching, using the hands, serves to identify texture and form; looking, not staring, is an active process, taking in the whole of ones subject before classifying it into different groups. Scuddard lamented the lack of a magnifying glass yet if one was available how likely would it have been that he would have gotten a proper overview of the Haemulon?

In addition to looking, repetition, if possible, is foundational to proper observation as well, the more one looks at a subject, the more familiar it becomes; the more familiar it becomes, the easier to identify variation and similarities.

After three days of intensive observation, Scuddard was tasked by Prof. Agassiz to compare and contrast the differences and similarities between not two, but several different specimens of Haemulon fish; Scuddard closes the essay with how the exhortation of Prof. Agassiz to “look, look, look!” was formative in his future career as an entomologist. How can the observation of one species of fish be so relevant to the study of insects? I came to the conclusion that as one establishes a thorough understanding of the basic characteristics of an animal or insect; it becomes easier to identify the differences within the species when hundreds of specimens are compared.  If differences are able to be identified and recorded, it may provide, for example, well documented information for further classification of of species. 

My Introduction

My name is Joseph Losinski and I am a freshman in the Justice program; I plan to become a police officer after earning my degree and attending the CTC Law Enforcement Academy. 
       I grew up in interior Alaska and have lived in either North Pole or Fairbanks since 1986; after I graduated in 2000 I joined the Marine Corps as an Infantryman and was subsequently deployed in the initial invasion of Iraq in 2003.  After getting out of the Marine Corps in 2004 I had already married my wife, Heather, and was expecting our first child, Joey.  My wife and I now have three children: Joey, 6, Genevieve, 3, and Samuel, 2.  I enjoy watching and playing soccer (when I have the chance), photography, and reading, preferably non-fiction books, such as Protestant theology, military history, and the history of photography and photo composition.
      I read the paper on the weekends, I usually send my oldest, Joey, out to fetch it for me.  I read the Bible on a regular basis and truly enjoy studying the teachings presented, particularly looking up the original Greek or Hebrew words to get a well rounded understanding of the authors intent in the text.  I read alot of magazines such as Newsweek and assorted photography periodicals but I consider most of that reading "fluff", akin to reading old issues of the Weekly World News, recently I haven't read anything of substance as I took a Wintermester course and that demanded most of my time outside of classroom instruction.