Monday, September 22, 2008

Reading Response - Wendy's

On a very basic level, Wenderoth uses Wendy's to describe the current state of American culture and the significant role that fast food establishments play in our daily lives.  Shelley equates poets as being the best way to express and record a deep understanding of the world around us.  In this way Wenderoth further uses the setting of Wendy's to observe the people and actions around him and record them.  Shelley also suggests that poets capture the emotions of the age and they write to deal with issues in the future.  Wenderoth writes on a daily basis to express the mood of each individual day. 

 Wenderoth uses the language usually associated with eating and food and applies them to humans, particularly his sexual behavior.  He also relates the meat industry, which provides hamburgers for Wendy's, to human action and our bodies.  He greatly sexualizes Wendy, as though she is a real person he can touch and hold.  It is much like the Morton Salt poem we read in the first class.  The continual resurfacing of Wendy, suggests infatuation (maybe?), but also Wenderoth thinks that we are all infatuated with something that we know isn't real.  Yet this captivation on a daily basis has moved the idea from imagination to plausible in reality.  Wenderoth also uses the location of Wendy's to observe the people around him, which most people do on a regular basis, we people watch.  

The message Wenderoth conveys to me that we all have thoughts of taking socially unacceptable and somewhat ridiculous actions in public places, yet we still restrain ourselves.  The subtle actions Wenderoth takes in Wendy's are quite tame to the ones he thinks/considers performing.  He uses Wendy's as a playground to act out some of his desired actions in his mind.  He often uses the model "if this, then what would happen" in many of his entries.  He also uses the language of want very often to describe actions he wants to impart on others.  

Friday, September 19, 2008

An ode to running


Oh the miles I have run
through summer rain
steam rising from the streets.
The harshness of the pavement
destroying my cushion.

Through crunching leaves,
avoiding poison ivy
like the plague.

Through hard cities and soft pastures.
Dodging the snap of a dog
and the fresh patties of a cow.

Through the blistering sun
melting my soles.
My skin transforming from
fair to lobster to light brown.

From one to twenty six point two
and all those in between
Oh the miles I have run.

Sestina

The pair walked through the orchard
discovering the rotund apples
to pick.  The young child
lifted by the father
to reach the highest branches,
collecting them in the wicker basket.

Overflowing with goods, the basket
reflected the bounty full orchard.
Providing shade, the branches
bent heavy with apples.  
Harvesting without restraint the father
guides the child 

by example.  The child
drops his treasure in the basket.
Leading the way, the father
makes his way along the orchard,
the ground littered with apples
rotten and discarded by the branches.

Ladders descend from branches
captivating the child
to the prospect of golden apples.
Brimming with fruit, the basket 
is dragged through the orchard
by a weary father.

With arms extended, the father
reaches the highest branches
for the ruby jewels of the orchard. 
Beaming with anticipation, the child
climbs the mountain of the basket
with a rockslide of apples.

Roll away, yell the apples.
Chasing after them, the father
returns them to the basket.
The barren branches
look upon the smiling child
watching the pair leave the orchard.

The orchard, still bursting with apples,
watches the young child and the tall father
depart.  It's branches ready to fill the next basket.

Friday, September 12, 2008

Dear Aunt Jemima

Dear Aunt Jemima,

I am writing this to you at a most crucial time.  If you are standing please have a seat.  After my tour of New England, I have come to the conclusion that our relationship can no longer continue.  Your sickeningly sweet syrup at one point would have been welcome on my stack of pancakes, but I'm sorry my dear your runny sugar cannot compare to the thick natural taste of maple syrup.  The delicious sweetness oozes over my waffles now.  As I place maple sugar candy in my mouth I melt with it.  Why could you never do that for me?!?

That is not to say we didn't have a good run.  You were there for me in desperate times, such as in Europe, where the concept of the "real stuff" is as foreign as our singularly colored money.  When there was no more maple syrup in the cupboard you were there for me and my love of a cooked breakfast.  The honey, while just as sweet and sticky, doesn't have quite the same consistency.  And while you came in easy to handle bottle and your sensual feminine shape, there was still something not quite 100% about you.  Your cheap production process is something less than desirable for a quality breakfast.  The 40 gallons of sap needed to make just one gallon of maple syrup and hours of distillation are just the high class I look for in a breakfast condiment.

I wish you all the best in the future and perhaps you will maintain a large fan base.  However, I can no longer be with you.  Perhaps we will meet again and you will provide much needed moisture to Ginger's dry pancakes.  Until then adieu.

Fred Astaire

Dear Fred...

Dear Fred,

While I feel your letter ending our relationship was better than, say, a text message break-up, a phone call or an in-person ending might have been a bit more classy.  Especially since you consider class such an important role in your life, even on pancakes.  

I understand your need to end our relationship; I have always known that I simply cannot compete with all-natural maple syrup, particularly now with the whole "organic" and "natural" trend spreading across the nation.   However, your harsh criticism of my quality and class was unnecessary and very hurtful.  This was not what I had expected from such a world-renowned dancer such as yourself.  And you consider yourself in the same social standing as Gershwin and Ginger! You should be ashamed of yourself.  I expected more from a man who prides himself on his grace and sophistication.  While our relationship has come to an end, please be aware that my ability to provide extraneous supplies of sugary syrup to most of the unknowing people of this country will continue for decades.  I will also prevail when all the maple trees no longer exist in New England and Canada gains the maple syrup monopoly!

While I am truly heart-wrenched that you and I will no longer be sharing breakfasts and the occasional midnight snack, I will speak nothing but praise for your dancing.  I cannot describe my jealousy of the way you and Ginger twirled across the dance floor.  I always felt so stuck in my restricted mold.  Being able to watch you and Ginger was a blessing and I am so pleased to have provided you with the sweet syrup for your morning breakfast, at least in the beginning. I suppose we all move on in life and now was just your time.  Congratulations on all the touring you are now doing.  Say hi to Ginger for me.

all the best,
Aunt Jemima.

Testing 1-2?

Let's see if this works.