I drench it in cinnamon.
It is ready to eat once I have drenched it in cinnamon.
When my husband and I went to Washington on vacation, we ate Cinnabon for two different meals.
When my husband and I want to Vancouver on vacation, we ate their cinnamon rolls for two different meals.
All I have to do is walk by that place and smell the cinnamon rolls and the next thing I know I am in the store ordering.
All I have to do is walk by and smell the cinnamon rolls and the next thing I know I am in the store ordering.
Sadly, when we returned from Vancouver, the Cinnabon was closed, so we couldn't get any to go.
Sadly, when we returned from Vancouver, the store in the airport was closed, so we couldn't get any to go.
This was a very valuable exercise. I learned that I tend to repeat the same word usage over and over. My husband pointed out that I used the word Cinnabon 8 times in one paragraph, so I changed some of them. I think it will sound a lot better once I did. I also have a couple of really awkward short sentences that don't describe what I am saying well enough. One of the challenges I had with this was my husband didn't really know what the assignment was, so he wasn't sure what to think of my topic. He did think my topic was a little superficial, so I might think about changing it a little. I don't think he quite got the whole picture of how good cinnamon is, or how much I love it. He knows because he knows me, but I don't think I really went deep enough. I might look into seeing how much deeper I can go on my descriptions or explain why cinnamon is so good. It was also a good thing that he didn't really know the assignment because then he can focus on the writing itself. He can tell me what sounds weird or is out of flow with the rest of the sentences there. He gave me a lot of suggestions that might take starting from scratch, and I am not sure I want to go that far, but there were a few suggestions that will really help me. Like he suggested I have more fun with it. I might be able to work that in. Writing too serious is another thing I find myself doing too much. I write straight forward. I don't really see other angles I can take on it. It would probably be better to lighten it up a little, especially considering my topic.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Week 3: Prompt A
I read my essay out loud to my roommate Kara after I finished my first draft of the paper. Reading out loud helped me to realize what sentences did not make any sense and which ones were too long, or too choppy, etc. She pointed out how my beginning paragraph has really descriptive words, but the rest of my writing is not really that descriptive. It was cool to read out loud because then I could show Kara how I would read it, and that also helped me realize that I need to make my writing say things the way I want them to be said. Kara also helped me put filler words in and also synonyms for words that I used too frequently. She helped me make the essay as a whole flow better and tried to make it more unified rather than having twelve different ideas in one essay.
I really enjoyed reading aloud because it is much easier to notice mistakes when they are read out loud rather than just reading it in your mind. I definitely think I will do this activity more so that I can get input from other people and make the revising process easier on myself. Also, it is much more professional to have several people edit your paper first before you call your first draft finished, in my opinion at least. It just makes it much less embarrassing, when you turn in the actual first draft, if you have minimal errors, and such, in your paper. I think that reading my paper to Kara also helped her to pick up on mistakes and also to improve her own grammar and sentence length. I think she will keep in mind that these kinds of mistakes are easily made and that she should read her paper to someone else so that she can be helped as well. Overall, it was a success.
Kara Lohberg
I really enjoyed reading aloud because it is much easier to notice mistakes when they are read out loud rather than just reading it in your mind. I definitely think I will do this activity more so that I can get input from other people and make the revising process easier on myself. Also, it is much more professional to have several people edit your paper first before you call your first draft finished, in my opinion at least. It just makes it much less embarrassing, when you turn in the actual first draft, if you have minimal errors, and such, in your paper. I think that reading my paper to Kara also helped her to pick up on mistakes and also to improve her own grammar and sentence length. I think she will keep in mind that these kinds of mistakes are easily made and that she should read her paper to someone else so that she can be helped as well. Overall, it was a success.
Kara Lohberg
Week 3, Prompt A
First I read my essay out loud to myself. I found a few sentances that need to be revised a little. But overall the essay seemed to flow and sound good. Then I read it out loud to a roommate. As I read it I found more sentances that the punctuation sounded off. I was pausing at places that she didn't feel were necissary and made it sound a bit choppy. I found it really helpful to read it out loud and get a new set of ears listening the the flow and rythem of the sentance. And also hearing it out loud helped me to hear my word choice better. I found that everything sounds much better when reading in my head.
My roommate also was confused at a few parts of my essay, she didn't understand until I had read a ways into my essay. That is one thing I am going to work on, the reader shouldn't be wondering what is going on in the essay. She also had some ideas to fix the ending to be more conclusive and that will help me to wrap all my ideas together. It was really interesting to hear someone else's perspective on a topic. She threw some new ideas and ways of thinking onto the table. She also helped me with a few grammer issues.
Overall I really enjoyed doing this assignment. At first I was really reluctant to read my essay out loud, fearing she would think it was awful. But she didn't, and I realized there is always something that can be fixed and improved. And now I'm ready to continue to fix and revise my essay until it is even better.
Lilly Pyle
My roommate also was confused at a few parts of my essay, she didn't understand until I had read a ways into my essay. That is one thing I am going to work on, the reader shouldn't be wondering what is going on in the essay. She also had some ideas to fix the ending to be more conclusive and that will help me to wrap all my ideas together. It was really interesting to hear someone else's perspective on a topic. She threw some new ideas and ways of thinking onto the table. She also helped me with a few grammer issues.
Overall I really enjoyed doing this assignment. At first I was really reluctant to read my essay out loud, fearing she would think it was awful. But she didn't, and I realized there is always something that can be fixed and improved. And now I'm ready to continue to fix and revise my essay until it is even better.
Lilly Pyle
Week 3 prompt B
a.)Little do we think about the contributions that this elementary particle has made not only to industrial society but to the human condition.
b.)Little do we think about the contributions that this elementary particle has made not only to industrial society but, to the human condition.
a.)Without it the mechanics of thought would be all but impossible.
b.)Without it, the mechanics of thought would be all but impossible.
a.)Right now as you read this you brain is computing something on the order of ten petaFLOPS, or about 1,000,000,000,000,000 FLoating point Operations Per Second.
b.)Right now, as you read this, your brain is computing something on the order of ten petaFLOPS, or about 1,000,000,000,000,000 FLoating point Operations Per Second.
a.)This amount of processing power is above and beyond the most powerful computers on the planet, the fastest of which is “Road Runner” located in Los Alamos National laboratory, which only has the processing power of about 1.7 petaFLOPS.
b.)This amount of processing power is above and beyond the most powerful computers on the planet, which only have the processing power of about 1.7 petaFLOPS.
a.)Neither the computer nor your brain would be capable of processing anything without the electron.
b.)But, neither the computer nor your brain would be capable of processing anything without the electron.
a.)But I think it’s time to sit back and contemplate the particle that makes our world possible.
b.)But, I think it’s time to sit back and contemplate the particle that makes our world possible.
This exercise helped me to better use, and know where to use, commas and other marks used in modern english. It also helped me to better focus my paper on thoughts that pertain to my paper. There were other places in my paper that kind became off topic, buy now they have been remedied. I know that as you read these examples you can become more well acquainted with what is appropriate to include in your english projects. 45min
b.)Little do we think about the contributions that this elementary particle has made not only to industrial society but, to the human condition.
a.)Without it the mechanics of thought would be all but impossible.
b.)Without it, the mechanics of thought would be all but impossible.
a.)Right now as you read this you brain is computing something on the order of ten petaFLOPS, or about 1,000,000,000,000,000 FLoating point Operations Per Second.
b.)Right now, as you read this, your brain is computing something on the order of ten petaFLOPS, or about 1,000,000,000,000,000 FLoating point Operations Per Second.
a.)This amount of processing power is above and beyond the most powerful computers on the planet, the fastest of which is “Road Runner” located in Los Alamos National laboratory, which only has the processing power of about 1.7 petaFLOPS.
b.)This amount of processing power is above and beyond the most powerful computers on the planet, which only have the processing power of about 1.7 petaFLOPS.
a.)Neither the computer nor your brain would be capable of processing anything without the electron.
b.)But, neither the computer nor your brain would be capable of processing anything without the electron.
a.)But I think it’s time to sit back and contemplate the particle that makes our world possible.
b.)But, I think it’s time to sit back and contemplate the particle that makes our world possible.
This exercise helped me to better use, and know where to use, commas and other marks used in modern english. It also helped me to better focus my paper on thoughts that pertain to my paper. There were other places in my paper that kind became off topic, buy now they have been remedied. I know that as you read these examples you can become more well acquainted with what is appropriate to include in your english projects. 45min
Week 3 Prompt 1
Reading my short essay to my sister was extremely helpful. When I read my writing in my head it normally makes perfect sense and sounds just fine, but when I actually read it out loud I found the little things that don't sound quite right. One thing that I learned from reading my essay to someone is that you can't write well without reading it out loud. A piece may seem greater than one of Beethoven's symphonies, but when you hear the writing it may not be quite the melodic masterpiece you thought it was. Another important lesson I learned from this activity is that a paper is always better when someone edits the paper for you and not yourself. For some strange reason we humans sometimes think that what we do is perfect and cannot be made better when it actually could use a lot of work. Lastly, I learned that being afraid of what someone might think of your writing is natural but unnecessary because things can always be improved.
Having someone else read your writing aloud can make a world of a difference. It helped me understand what it would be like to see it from a readers point of view, which in turn helps me to be a better writer. Now I look at my work and think, "What would it sound like if I were reading this to someone?" Putting down thoughts that just flow from your head doesn't always work. Sentences need revision and sometimes whole paragraphs are just in the wrong spot.
Others can learn from this that they can always use help when writing a paper for school or anything else. They can tell you what works well in the piece or what isn't working so well. The reader always knows best.
45 min.
Having someone else read your writing aloud can make a world of a difference. It helped me understand what it would be like to see it from a readers point of view, which in turn helps me to be a better writer. Now I look at my work and think, "What would it sound like if I were reading this to someone?" Putting down thoughts that just flow from your head doesn't always work. Sentences need revision and sometimes whole paragraphs are just in the wrong spot.
Others can learn from this that they can always use help when writing a paper for school or anything else. They can tell you what works well in the piece or what isn't working so well. The reader always knows best.
45 min.
Week 3, Promt A
I read my short essay to my room mate, Justin. Like when we read our essays out loud in last class, I noticed for the first time when my sentences were too lengthy and hard to understand. It made me realize that I need to cut down on my wordiness. Instead of using modifiers, I should find the best word that fits what I'm trying to say. I learned that succinctness is much better than lengthiness for the reader. What the author may feel is great writing (long sentences, confusing pronouns, etc) may not be for the reader. You always get a new look on your writing when you read it out loud to someone for the first time.
I also learned that different people can interpret things differently then you. In my essay, Justin understood something in my essay to be different then what I was trying to get across. This furthers my desire to make my writing more clear and to the point, instead of awkward, wordy, and obscure. A big change, well big to me, was I changed "Other than having a cool sounding name and an easy symbol for kindergarteners to draw, what good does it do the hard working people who have to deal with this nuisance of a letter?" into "Other than having a cool name and an ever cooler picture, what good does it really do to people having to put up with this everyday." Although it is still lengthy, I didn't want to get rid of the tone that came with the original, hence the extra wording.
Everyone can learn something by having their works read out loud to someone. They will see for the first time what is confusing to other people and what doesn't flow well. They'll be able to dramatically cut down on the fluff in their writing and make it a more enjoyable read for their audience.
60 minutes.
I also learned that different people can interpret things differently then you. In my essay, Justin understood something in my essay to be different then what I was trying to get across. This furthers my desire to make my writing more clear and to the point, instead of awkward, wordy, and obscure. A big change, well big to me, was I changed "Other than having a cool sounding name and an easy symbol for kindergarteners to draw, what good does it do the hard working people who have to deal with this nuisance of a letter?" into "Other than having a cool name and an ever cooler picture, what good does it really do to people having to put up with this everyday." Although it is still lengthy, I didn't want to get rid of the tone that came with the original, hence the extra wording.
Everyone can learn something by having their works read out loud to someone. They will see for the first time what is confusing to other people and what doesn't flow well. They'll be able to dramatically cut down on the fluff in their writing and make it a more enjoyable read for their audience.
60 minutes.
Prompt B
Original: Ultimately, the fringes serve a superior purpose, making the bare paper simply subservient.
Changed: In the beginning, the fringes serve a superior purpose; the bare paper serves no one.
Original: The fringes become broken, limbs strangely projecting where the binding met. They no longer have the shape to perform their responsibility therefore existing without purpose and meaning.
Changed: The fringes become broken, limbs strangely projecting where the binding met; no longer the shape to perform their responsibility, they exist without purpose and meaning.
Original: The fringes were once the support of the rectangular paper but the paper is now the support of entire ideas written upon its whitewashed surface.
Changed: The fringes were once the support of the rectangular paper; however, the paper is now the support of entire ideas written upon its whitewashed surface.
Original: Once removed from the paper and binding, the fringes lay naked, broken, and slightly shriveled-destined to be thrown in the trash while their honorable responsibility and notability are forgotten.
Changed: Once removed from the paper and binding, the fringes lay naked, broken, and slightly shriveled, the carcass of what once was. The fringes end there: thrown in the trash while their honorable responsibility and notability are forgotten.
Original: Without these delicate yet durable fringes chaos would prevail as the paper would disperse in all directions away from the binding subject to the mercy of the wind or external sources.
Changed: Without these delicate yet durable fringes, chaos would prevail as the paper would disperse in all directions, subject to the mercy of the wind or external sources.
Original: The fringes act as a support attaching the paper to the spiral binding, they are the keystone of the relationship between paper and binding.
Changed: The fringes act as a support attaching the paper to the spiral binding; they are the keystone of the relationship between paper and binding.
Through this exercise I actually improved my sentences and how they sound. I always thought grammar limits what you can do and how the writing flows. I feel more confident because it helped me express how I wanted my essay to be read. In a way you can control the reader by telling them where to pause, where to emphasis, where to slow down. I don't like grammar but I do like the power that it can give one.
50 minutes
Thursday, September 17, 2009
It always seems to help me when I read my essays aloud because when talk or write things make sense in my head that don’t really make sense to any one else. Having someone listen to my random train of thought makes me rethink and reword my sentences. Since I have read this essay out loud numerous times to myself it was nice to have someone else’s feed back as well. Other people tend to point out my redundant sentences and help me eliminate things I really don’t need. My room mate also has interesting ideas about how to personalize my essay more and add more ideas that would make my essay stronger.
I have bad grammar. It is a fact and something I need to work on. My room mate has a lot better grammar because she has taken more writing classes then me. So when she reads my essay she can easily say there needs to be a comma here and that comma doesn’t need to be there. She can also help me with my spelling and my other flaws of writing. Her insight helps me learn where I should really put commas. The more I see things the better I learn things. The more I do it in my own writing the better I feel.
This technique has always proved useful to me because I am able to see obvious flaws in my writing. Also I can brain storm out loud to the person who is sitting next to me. They can give me instant feed back. Yes I like this sentence or no this sentence or actually this entire paragraph yes it needs to go Sam so sorry. This time my room mate helped me see where my paper lacked and needed more evidence and personal input.
week 3 prompt 1
After reading my paper to my roommate I discovered 2 things. Mainly, my grammar and punctuation are fairly defunct and that my brain and fingers are out of sync. Those who have read my personal essay may have noticed there's nothing personal about it. I'll include something in the next draft. Another problems is the flow. The two body paragraphs don't really mesh well and there is no transition. The ideas in the two aren't bad or don't work together but with the word limit I'll have to pick one of the two paragraphs and focus on its ideas. I'm thinking the second one because its content is more closely related to the anecdote I'll add in. The idea will be essentially the same but the approach will be entirely different.
Revealing the paper's failure aside, the exercise was very helpful in identifying which parts of the essay should remain after the purge. It also helped sort out the wordy section in the middle. Having the additional input from outside sources also helps pick out the lackluster sections and offered some good ideas and alternate phrasings of the convoluted passages. It's going to take a major rewrite to save this paper.
Revealing the paper's failure aside, the exercise was very helpful in identifying which parts of the essay should remain after the purge. It also helped sort out the wordy section in the middle. Having the additional input from outside sources also helps pick out the lackluster sections and offered some good ideas and alternate phrasings of the convoluted passages. It's going to take a major rewrite to save this paper.
Read!
I started in on my essay and half way thorough the first paragraph, where I talked about the vanilla hive, I was gasping for air. I had to stop and breathe for a moment. Mark that spot, that is definitely a problem with the flow! When you can’t breath it is most obviously a flow problem. Bad essays can suffocate, beware.
I did not like having to print out a copy of my essay for the reader to mark on. I felt like it was unnecessary. Instant changes are possible with computers. It was easy to try something new, read it, and see if it works. You can’t do this with a paper draft. I saved each draft of my essay on the computer, and I can show how it progresses just as well as someone who has saved all their paper drafts.
This activity made evident bad parts of my essay. They were parts that made sense in my head, but out loud they were terrible mess ups. The written word is meant to convey information. It was obvious where I wasn’t conveying information clearly, and I got suggestions on how I could. I learned that the more I work on an essay the better it fulfills requirements and engages the reader. I would recommend this method to everyone, and I am going to work through all my writing in this manner. It is like getting your paper graded once, and then getting it back and being able to change all the wrong parts, then hand it back in for a better grade.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
First Draft
Shane Wood
Section 092
Short Personal Essay
Electrons: The Unsung Heroes of our Physical World
Electrons are being used by the human population throughout the world constantly, and have been doing so for thousands of years. Little do we think about the contributions that this elementary particle has made not only to industrial society but to the human condition. Without it the mechanics of thought would be all but impossible. Right now as you read this you brain is computing something on the order of ten petaFLOPS, or about 1,000,000,000,000,000 FLoating point Operations Per Second. This amount of processing power is above and beyond the most powerful computers on the planet, the fastest of which is “Road Runner” located in Los Alamos National laboratory, which only has the processing power of about 1.7 petaFLOPS. Neither the computer nor your brain would be capable of processing anything without the electron. As the elemental signal carrier of both you and the computer, neither of you would be able to exist. I would say that this instance alone would make the humble electron very significant indeed, but there is so much more that the electron does that goes unnoticed. All of mankind’s electronics wouldn’t exist. This would mean that hybrid vehicles, medical equipment, electrolysis, and the effects of the movement of electrons wouldn’t be able to be used for our benefit. This would mean that the electromagnetic force wouldn’t exist. Solenoids, electric motors, and servos would be unable to function. Speakers and commutations would fail and be rendered inoperable. I think that we don’t fully comprehend the degree that humans and electrons are integrated. When you get down to brass tacks electrons are as important as water or air, maybe even more so. One could survive without air or water, if only for an extremely short time. But, without electrons our consciousness wouldn’t even exist. The funny thing is we aren’t even able to observe an electron. Were not even able to say for certain where they actually are, scientist refer to their areas around atom as “electron clouds”, and these clouds are only volumes were electrons have a probability of showing up. Heck, were not even certain if electrons stay in the same dimension we’re in. Another incredible feature that the electron possesses is size. If you were to enlarge an atom to the size of a basket ball the electrons of said atom would be smaller than a grain of rice. So, armed with this new knowledge and awareness about our good friend, the electron, we should all strive to be more thankful for its creation. Now as use any of the technology that we enjoy we can be safe in the assurance that the electron is doing its job. Because as we all know, there are people that believe that we take our current technology for granted. We have moved past thinking about the electron and moved on to “bigger and better” things. But I think it’s time to sit back and contemplate the particle that makes our world possible.
Short Essay: Creases.
Creases are always something that I find intriguing. Each line and fold holds a memory. They exist in every medium and everything. In a book each dog-eared corner holds a clue to a memory someone didn't want to lose. We all are observers of creases. We read them like words from the pages of life.
Everything around has creases in it. The little imperfections are evidence of man's meddling. Furrowed fields, man's creation, versus flat plains, mother nature's creation.
Scars and wrinkles are just creases on the skin. The wrinkles on a person's face tell so much about them their personality it's literally written on their faces albeit in a complicated script. Depending on their age it can be like following fresh tracks or tracking down a century old text Hollywood- treasure hunter style. Wrinkles formed from repeated bouts of smiling, deep furrows on the forehead convey concern or anger. Scars are self contained memories. Each one is accompanied by a memory epic, tragic, or mundane, they all have a story. The scar on my knee from falling down on my bicycle when I was just learning to ride, mundane. The one on my friend's hand from being clawed by a tiger, epic. The wandering scars on my brothers arm from the near-fatal crash, tragic.
When paper is folded its memory is altered creating a personality like how our personalities are created from the pattern of wrinkles in the grey matter of our brains. Folding a sheet of paper is applied science fiction. It's a practical way of testing the science fiction idea that a person is defined by their memories and that by implanting an imprint of their memories into another's body they can be cloned; or reincarnated or teleported, the specifics depend on the author but the idea is the same. Folding a piece of paper is just imprinting the memories of something onto the page. Finish the imprint and the flat sheet becomes something else, a simple bird, a mammal with four legs, maybe a complex geometric pattern from the Alhambra.
Short Essay
Lost within the Pages
A book consists of pages and a cover. On those pages are the words of many thoughts and ideas that came from men and women alike. A book can bring ease to the mind and love to the heart. Its twist on real life situations and those that are false can alleviate the heart and soul. The words of books are so beautiful and mesmerizing that no scenery can outmatch its beauty. Each time I read my heart pounds and my mind races into the impossible. So many people can overlook a book and never pick it up. I, on the other hand, love to engross myself in the pages of all books and bask in their fairytale endings.
When I was young, I adored the library. Each time I went, I would check out as many books as I could carry. I loved to read and I loved all that I learned from each and every book I picked up. I used to beg my mother to take me to the library so I could enjoy the glorious sentences of more and more tales. Most of the time it was a lost cause, seeing as I usually asked to go back the day after we had just gone. The library thrilled me though, and I could not stay away. I could not stay away from the books that filled its shelves, or from the pages that called my name so relentlessly. I envied the librarians because they could just sit and read all day long if they wanted to. I wanted to have as many books at my disposal as they had.
I feel that books have become more and more unnoticed. Today, children can just go and see a movie about a famous book without having to ever touch its cover. They abuse the privilege they have of rejuvenating themselves with a wonderful book. So many children do not want to read books anymore. They desecrate their minds with video games and television shows. Children cannot handle the patience and calm it takes to sit and read a book and that utterly destroys me.
Even I have grown farther and farther away from the books I love and cherish. I have found that everyday things have sucked the life and time out of me. I no longer can blow a day and just sit and read to my heart’s content. I miss the pages that were so familiar to me and I wish I had the time to divulge in the creative images that a book can bring. I often think “hopefully when I am older I will have the time to read again.” I do not want to wait until I am of an older age. I wish to read as much as I want now, but I simply have no time to do so. In high school, reading books was often a requirement, but here I find that I do not have any novels that are required text and that devastates me. Will I ever be reunited with my precious books again?
A book consists of pages and a cover. On those pages are the words of many thoughts and ideas that came from men and women alike. A book can bring ease to the mind and love to the heart. Its twist on real life situations and those that are false can alleviate the heart and soul. The words of books are so beautiful and mesmerizing that no scenery can outmatch its beauty. Each time I read my heart pounds and my mind races into the impossible. So many people can overlook a book and never pick it up. I, on the other hand, love to engross myself in the pages of all books and bask in their fairytale endings.
When I was young, I adored the library. Each time I went, I would check out as many books as I could carry. I loved to read and I loved all that I learned from each and every book I picked up. I used to beg my mother to take me to the library so I could enjoy the glorious sentences of more and more tales. Most of the time it was a lost cause, seeing as I usually asked to go back the day after we had just gone. The library thrilled me though, and I could not stay away. I could not stay away from the books that filled its shelves, or from the pages that called my name so relentlessly. I envied the librarians because they could just sit and read all day long if they wanted to. I wanted to have as many books at my disposal as they had.
I feel that books have become more and more unnoticed. Today, children can just go and see a movie about a famous book without having to ever touch its cover. They abuse the privilege they have of rejuvenating themselves with a wonderful book. So many children do not want to read books anymore. They desecrate their minds with video games and television shows. Children cannot handle the patience and calm it takes to sit and read a book and that utterly destroys me.
Even I have grown farther and farther away from the books I love and cherish. I have found that everyday things have sucked the life and time out of me. I no longer can blow a day and just sit and read to my heart’s content. I miss the pages that were so familiar to me and I wish I had the time to divulge in the creative images that a book can bring. I often think “hopefully when I am older I will have the time to read again.” I do not want to wait until I am of an older age. I wish to read as much as I want now, but I simply have no time to do so. In high school, reading books was often a requirement, but here I find that I do not have any novels that are required text and that devastates me. Will I ever be reunited with my precious books again?
Kara Lohberg
Short Essay: Scar
There is a jagged scar near the inside crook of my elbow. It comes from the cap of a beer bottle. A very peculiar shape. More visceral than I would like. A bloodied caterpillar, with a fuzzed-out membrane that branches further than its putrid body does. Or some sinister, raised red Rorschach, assumed connotations attached. A piece of entrails that escaped out a hole in my middle. And while I tried to plug it up, it lodged its engorged self onto my awkward inner joint. Such an exacerbated pattern. And imagination. Of course I can’t rightly picture what it is after the ages I’ve lost staring into its murkily buffered edges. It still eggs on the travel of bloodshot up to my eyes.
As a child, I began to gain a consciousness of the damage it caused me and the restraint it held over my gaining of friends and developing of relationships. This imperfection became my source of so much malice and disgust, even at such a young age. Out of desperation and innocent ignorance I took a Magic Eraser to it. Diligently forcing the gray putty against the saturated blush. I truly believed the enchanted matter would eventually make it disappear, but it would only get more and more irritated. I lost a lot of childhood finding it still there. After my discovery of the purpose of household items, I remember dousing the tainted skin in bleach. I couldn’t vacate the consequences for more than a month after. I only kid myself now in saying that didn’t magnify its permanence or that the repercussions weren’t felt for much longer.
For years, I wore only sleeves long enough to shade it. If a situation arose where I absolutely needed to expose the sickening thing, I carried gigantic medical bandages always in tow. In the locker room before gym, I would shove my arm into the safety of the dark metal casing and eerily check for onlookers. Then would shortly emerge with a detectably renewed ego. Except for the interruption of a section of faux flesh, my newly unmarred appendage would come up for air; if but briefly. It was easier to excuse a bandage then suffer the looks of horror caused by my grotesque disfigurement. I relished in the wearing of sweatshirts, even in the heat. Developed a sort of affinity for it. It helped and hurt me when puberty struck. My insulters may have found less reason with my body all covered, but my self-esteem floundered constantly with my un-honed technique. I played a strong mental tug-of-war that I consistently lost. And always, the scar itched. Not a physical ache with need to be scratched. But rather the cruel tarnish branded my psyche with its presence. It became the constant reminder that the life I wanted wasn’t mine to have, could never have. I stood disfigured, blemished, flawed: exempt from the game. So I traced the sidelines with silent and unseen footfalls. Blotted out in shadow where the mark of a brute, and I, could not be recognized.
Time stretched away from me there.
I fantasize its sudden leap off my arm, to rid me of self-disgust and future embarrassment. If I ever give anyone the chance to see it, I seem to always be asked how I got it. I mean I too would be curious if such a vulgarity appeared elsewhere. I usually lie, giving a nobler or more humorous story. Like a fisherman would. I can remember more than I want to on how it came to be. So I push the inquiries away with personable untruths and the constant presence of cloth sheathing. Beneath the wretched material and mid my false retellings I feel it burning. I also feel the burn of the others as if they are being reenacted over again.
As a child, I began to gain a consciousness of the damage it caused me and the restraint it held over my gaining of friends and developing of relationships. This imperfection became my source of so much malice and disgust, even at such a young age. Out of desperation and innocent ignorance I took a Magic Eraser to it. Diligently forcing the gray putty against the saturated blush. I truly believed the enchanted matter would eventually make it disappear, but it would only get more and more irritated. I lost a lot of childhood finding it still there. After my discovery of the purpose of household items, I remember dousing the tainted skin in bleach. I couldn’t vacate the consequences for more than a month after. I only kid myself now in saying that didn’t magnify its permanence or that the repercussions weren’t felt for much longer.
For years, I wore only sleeves long enough to shade it. If a situation arose where I absolutely needed to expose the sickening thing, I carried gigantic medical bandages always in tow. In the locker room before gym, I would shove my arm into the safety of the dark metal casing and eerily check for onlookers. Then would shortly emerge with a detectably renewed ego. Except for the interruption of a section of faux flesh, my newly unmarred appendage would come up for air; if but briefly. It was easier to excuse a bandage then suffer the looks of horror caused by my grotesque disfigurement. I relished in the wearing of sweatshirts, even in the heat. Developed a sort of affinity for it. It helped and hurt me when puberty struck. My insulters may have found less reason with my body all covered, but my self-esteem floundered constantly with my un-honed technique. I played a strong mental tug-of-war that I consistently lost. And always, the scar itched. Not a physical ache with need to be scratched. But rather the cruel tarnish branded my psyche with its presence. It became the constant reminder that the life I wanted wasn’t mine to have, could never have. I stood disfigured, blemished, flawed: exempt from the game. So I traced the sidelines with silent and unseen footfalls. Blotted out in shadow where the mark of a brute, and I, could not be recognized.
Time stretched away from me there.
I fantasize its sudden leap off my arm, to rid me of self-disgust and future embarrassment. If I ever give anyone the chance to see it, I seem to always be asked how I got it. I mean I too would be curious if such a vulgarity appeared elsewhere. I usually lie, giving a nobler or more humorous story. Like a fisherman would. I can remember more than I want to on how it came to be. So I push the inquiries away with personable untruths and the constant presence of cloth sheathing. Beneath the wretched material and mid my false retellings I feel it burning. I also feel the burn of the others as if they are being reenacted over again.
The Redheaded Adopted Child of the Alphabet
You come home from school and it is lurking inside your backpack. You walk through an intersection only to have it glaring at you. It warns you of wayward animals jumping across the street. The letter X is everywhere it seems; but why? What function does it serve in all reality? Other than having a cool sounding name and an easy symbol for kindergarteners to draw, what good does it do the hard working people who have to deal with this nuisance of a letter?
To be blunt, the letter X is in the middle of an identity crisis. He doesn’t quite know what to do and where to go. He has no clue what sound to make or when he is needed. He is desperate to try to fit in with the end of the alphabet so he throws himself into xylophone. Sure, Z was nice enough to share a few of his words but why should one letter have to suffer for another’s confusion? It just isn’t fair to let X make any sounds he wants just for him to have a useful role in the grand scheme of the alphabet. Even when X isn’t stealing sounds from more responsible letters, he is unable to do a job by himself. If he was a real letter, one with confidence and some backbone, the word exit would simply be spelt xit. But no! it seems he can’t even do that simple job for himself.
It’s not like X is marking new territory. He doesn’t even make a sound that is uniquely his own; that none can copy without the help of the original. Unless this useless annoyance in the alphabet shapes up, I fear the other letters will have no choice but to replace him with new combinations of letters. Exit will become egzit. Xylophone will finally be spelled how it was meant to – zylophone. You may be thinking to yourself Oh come on, that’ll never happen. Well, you, my friend, have been hiding under a rock for the last couple of centuries. The letter X has already began to withdraw its presence from our language. The word escape was not always spelled that way; in fact, it originally was spelled excape. X has a long history, longer than any of us know, of letting down those people who put their faith in this lazy, inept, and completely useless letter.
But not all is bleak in this underdog’s future. With the laziness of mankind, a new source of hope springs for this hapless figure. The new frontier of abbreviation gives new light to this almost lost letter. X has found new refuge in such words as Xing, Xfer, and X-mas. It has evened paired up with the infamous O to send warm wishes in the form of hugs and kisses. It is in these uncharacteristic uses of letters that X has found its last bastion of safety from complete annihilation. It may appear that X has finally found his work ethic and has learned from his mistakes . . . and that is what he wants you to think. He is, an all reality, up to his same old tricks. The same laziness that got himself into this mess to begin with. He is still just taking other letters’ hard earned sounds and combinations and making them his own. X is merely looking for a quick fix to a complicated solution. If he continues in his ways, the alphabet may regret their adoption of this redheaded orphan and send him packing onto the streets, destroying his influence, and in essence, making him cease to egzist.
Why Fringes off Notebook Paper Lose their Dignity
They are bound together, the 8 1/2 by 11 inch sheet and the fringes, united by the simple fact that they are enclosed between cardboard and a plastic cover strung together by spiral binding. Upon first observation it would appear the rectangular sheet and fringes are counterparts sewn together, the scars of which lay prostrate on the white surface known as the perforated edge. Though bonded through the literal microfibers of a once living tree, the responsibility and fate of the paper and fringes drastically differ. Every time the rectangular paper is torn from the notebook the fringes trail, grasping the paper only to be viciously separated from their rectangular counterpart and then disposed of in a miasma of recycled paper. The demise occurs in the brief act of removing both paper and fringes from the spiral binding. The fringes, like an infant removed too early from the womb, cannot survive without their original source of strength. Contrary to the fringes, once removed from its original source of strength and support, the rectangular paper flourishes and is often complemented with other paper of it kind and then accessorized by a shiny staple or paper clip.
Ultimately, the fringes serve a superior purpose making the paper simply subservient. First, the fringes have an aesthetic quality unknown to the geometrically confined rectangular paper by beautifully contrasting the silver spiral binding with their white body. The entwinement of spiral binding and fringe create a rhythmic flow as the binding enters the punched hole of the fringe and exits in tact only to repeat the process. However, the true reason fringes are superior to the paper lies in the responsibility each takes. The fringes act as a support attaching the paper to the spiral binding; they are the keystone of the relationship between paper and binding. Without these delicate yet durable fringes chaos would prevail as the paper would disperses in all directions away from the binding subject to the mercy of the wind or external sources. The fringes do not take their responsibility lightly and grasp onto the paper while entwining itself with the spiral binding.
The loss of dignity of fringes begins with the act of removing both paper and fringe from the binding. The fringes become broken, limbs strangely projecting where the binding met. They no longer have the shape to perform their responsibility therefore existing without purpose and meaning. The rectangular paper is best described as a parasite that once gripped selfishly onto the fringes for support but in the end destroys its host by breaking the shape, form, and dignity. The fringes were once the support of the rectangular paper but the paper is now the support of entire ideas written upon its whitewashed surface. The value of these ideas gives responsibility to the paper far greater than the responsibility of the fringes to provide support. Once removed from the paper and binding, the fringes lay naked, broken, and slightly shriveled - destined to be thrown in the trash while their honorable responsibility and notability are forgotten.
Short Essay Draft
Jeans vs Genes
Since the time of Levi Strauss the human race has been involved in a war. They either study genes in their work or wear jeans to work in but the question is what are jeans/genes anyway? Well, they are homonyms: two words that sound the same but have different spellings. Ironically these two words both describe the way people are seen outwardly and judged in society today. Jeans come in many different shapes and sizes. There are many variations, for example: boot cut, flair, skinny, boyfriend, etc. In society we use these things that cover our legs to define us. If you wear tight jeans you are a punk, if you wear baggy jeans you are a gangster and so forth. But are our jeans really what make us who we are? No, our genes do. They biologically dictate the people that we are. They determine if we have brown hair, blues eyes, and that big nose your great aunt had. They carry our pattern of life that has been passed down through out time. Genes are what physically make us, us. However we get so caught up in how we look on the outside that often times we let jeans instead of genes define who we are.
Personally I own seven pairs of jeans. If I wanted to I could be a new person everyday of the week. It all depends on what jeans I wear. Of course, that would be a lot of work; trying to be me, but everyone else at the same time. Luckily I really don’t care what other people think and it’s because of this I can wear what ever sort of jeans I want. However, with out many painful surgeries I couldn’t change my face, my body type or my medical history. Fortunately that is something I currently do not have to work on. I’m small, attractive, and to my knowledge my family has no record of heart disease. I have my Dad’s eyes and blunt attitude and my mom’s tininess. I look exactly like my parents but I am technically not their child.
When I was seven months I was legally adopted by Ann and Russ Hansen. Therefore, I have never met the people whose genes I have. To me they are just my biological parents. So according to science and many other theorist who am I? I am a person who doesn’t know my own identity. According to the theories of many men we are who our parents are. There is no getting around it and no avoiding it. It’s my innate sense to be the people they were I have their genes. Right? However, you are like the people you surround yourself with or the people you spend the most time with. Therefore, I have to be like my real mother and father because I have spent my whole life with them. So who I am now? Am I my real parents or my biological parents?
I am 5 feet 5 inches; I love running, reading, and eating. I am friendly and easy to get along with. I am a lacrosse player and a good student. I am no stereotype or a product of anything I personally haven’t done. Everything I have done in my life, the things I have done right, and the things I have done wrong make me the person I am. So which set of jeans/genes is it that makes me that person? I believe that nothing so little can define who I am. No genetic code formulated by people I have never met or nothing blue or long. No, the things I have done the people, I have met, and things I have yet to accomplish are what make me, me.
Short Personal Essay
I’m laying in the grass outside. I can feel little legs climbing over the hairs on the back of my arm. Ants don’t bug me so I let them have free roam when they wander onto my body. No other bug gets that kind of clearance based on their reputation alone. Ants are the coolest things in the world. I love the structure and purpose of an ant. They know what they are doing, they know why they are alive and they are good at what they do. They need no college education, no weight training, no special seminars. I always wanted an ant hill that I could grow myself and help to become successful. To make a vanilla hive that would have no problems. In science they call a subject or a control group “vanilla” when it is pure and has had no alterations. Then I could run experiments on the hive and see how different variables play out. I would have cameras set up all around the ant hill to see exactly what is going on. You could paint one ant with a black light dye and follow him for the whole day. Ants are lucky because they can have a home in the dark unused corners of the world. There is always enough space for an ant. No one has set up a system so ants have to pay mortgages their whole lives.
Bees are a close cousin to the ant, or at least in my mind. They are like ants with wings. The cool thing about bees is they make honey and honey is good on toast. Only if it is wheat toast straight from the toaster with butter melted half way through it and the honey melting on top of that.
The spider is an other interesting member of this bug world. Well, spiders aren't bugs their arachnids, but they are small and intriguing and therefore here in this essay. They are the lone wolves of the little people world. I love to watch them hunt. It would be cool to hunt people like that, with a paintball gun. There is a spider on my balcony that I watch every morning while I am eating breakfast. They are so patient. I know he hasn’t caught anything in three days and I almost feel guilty eating in front of him. There are little wispy webs all over that have lost their stick and today they cannot catch anything. Some of them have wrapped around themselves and they look like little faeries caught in gossamer. He goes from space between bar to space between bar like a fisherman trying a new hole. Spiders move with fluidity and poise that I think is due in part to the mechanism of their motion. Spiders have no muscles, but instead move through hydraulic pressure. When I see spiders, in my mind Mowgli speaks “I fear you Many Legs for you are one of the poison people, but I understand you and you will not hurt me. Good hunting all who keep the jungle law!”
Blake Stanger
Monday, September 14, 2009
Short Essay Draft
There and Back Again
First week of college. Have to look cute. Don’t you? My white graphic tee and blue jeans went well together but were just Plain Jane. I stood in front of the mirror with two different shoes on and alternately lifted one foot to view the affect of the outfit. A white tennis shoe flat with a bow or brand new gray flats with ruffles on the toe?
The white shoes would be more comfortable to walk in all day, but the gray ones topped the outfit off perfectly. After asking for a few opinions, the gray shoes got to take their first adventure out into the world.
I knew my feet weren’t going to hold up after the first twenty minutes of walking on the college campus. During each class those shoes came off, sat on the floor, and were grudgingly put back on to shuffle to the next destination. The poor shoes had to have the back flattened because my achilles were suffering too much. By the end of the day there were shiny blisters and cherry red sores decorating my trotters.
Flats are so fun and can be worn with almost anything. I love pairing them with the perfect skinny jeans. Printed or embellished flats are my favorite; they just make the outfit pop. If they are too tight it’s extremely bad news and I become the Grouch from Sesame Street.
My absolute favorite kind of shoes are high heels. For one they make me look taller, but they also force my legs into a permanently flexed position so they look nice and firm. Heels can be flirty, all business, or positively fierce. Even though they can make you look sexy, they can be downright dangerous. In high school one day I was wearing one of my favorite pair of heels. Black and shiny with a pointed toe and pencil thin heel, they made me look good. The bell rang, and trying not to be late, I quickened my pace while retaining my strut. I started down a short flight of stairs and the heel of my shoes caught the very first step. Yes, it really happened. I hit the floor at the bottom and my books flew from my bag, every last one of them. It’s one of those scenes that you think only happens on television. False.
I found out the hard way that heels aren’t made for speed walking. You can try in flip flops but those get flat-tired way too easily and don’t always stay on your feet. You might as well give up on the too fancy shoes or too casual shoes because in the end tennis shoes will win over in this category.
When you’re planning long walking days tennis shoes are certainly the way to go. I had to wear the same pair of flip flops for a few days in Spain this year because the rest of my shoes were a few hundred miles away. It was the worst. My feet were exceedingly achy and swollen. Every night at the hotel I had to stick my pregnant-woman-ish feet into a cold bath. It was the only way to soothe them after a long day of trekking through Madrid. I broke down and got a pair of sneakers. They were soft and the soles were thin enough to feel the textured streets. My little tenny runners were the best purchase I made that trip.
Shoes are one of my fashion passions because they don’t make me feel bad about myself. I could try on shoes all day and be incandescently happy. I love them because they don’t mess up your hair when you pull them on and off. Shoes don’t make you look fat or make you jump and wiggle to get them on. Shoes can make you feel and look amazing if you know when and where to wear them.
Short Essay Draft
Bees
I couldn’t will myself to get out of the truck. Stacks of pure white boxes stared at me, concealing the terror that waited inside. My lungs expanded, filling with new, fresh oxygen. With a burst of courage, I emerged from the truck into the heat of the day. Covered from head to toe I trekked to the loads of horror. With one more major breath, I lifted the lid. Out swarmed an army of bees. Hundreds of little soldiers, searching for the culprit who caused their disturbance. With a puff of smoke from my smoker, they calm and return to work. And I too, return to my work. Replaying this pattern of rage and calm over and over until the sky filled with tiny, buzzing soldiers. I go about my work and for a few minutes forget that I am engulfed by the swarm. But quickly, the throbbing pain in my leg whips me back to reality. The stinger is removed and I’m left with the annoying stinging pain for the next few minutes.
But what is the bee left with? Death. What a curious phenomenon. A bee spends her whole life serving her queen. From the moment she is able to, she begins to search for ways to help her queen, and her family. She flies from field to field, from flower to flower, searching for pollen. Back in the hive, she works tirelessly to turn her findings into honey. Honey for her hive to eat. Honey, more importantly, for her queen to eat. She eats herself, and then goes right back out to the field and begins her search yet again. Oh the life of a bee; creating food, eating, creating food, eating. Ultimately, the bee is fully devoted to her queen. She does nothing, except if it benefits her leader. And that’s her life, day after day. Week after week. But then, something comes along and interrupts her routine. I come along and disturb her hive. I come along and endanger her queen. So she swarms. She flies around and around my head, warning me of getting too close. I get annoyed with her persistence and continually knock her away. Thinking maybe she’ll give up her fight if I launch her far enough away. But of course she doesn’t give up. This is her hive, her family, and her queen. And I’m overstepping her boundaries. Finally I go too far for her comfort, and she has to do something. So she digs her stinger into my leg.
For a moment, her defense works. I yell in pain as the sting becomes deeper and more intense. She flies victorious, for she has defeated her enemy. I can no longer intrude upon her hive. But then, after a few short minutes, she is dead. And I am free to go back to my work in her hive. After all the hard work and dedication she put into that hive for her queen, she is gone. Her act of defense would be her final act, the end of her life. And I caused that. I was the disturbance that forced that little bee to act so courageously. I wonder if she knew that by stinging me to protect her queen, she would in turn giver her own life. That knowledge wouldn’t have made a difference; the end result would have been the same.
I couldn’t will myself to get out of the truck. Stacks of pure white boxes stared at me, concealing the terror that waited inside. My lungs expanded, filling with new, fresh oxygen. With a burst of courage, I emerged from the truck into the heat of the day. Covered from head to toe I trekked to the loads of horror. With one more major breath, I lifted the lid. Out swarmed an army of bees. Hundreds of little soldiers, searching for the culprit who caused their disturbance. With a puff of smoke from my smoker, they calm and return to work. And I too, return to my work. Replaying this pattern of rage and calm over and over until the sky filled with tiny, buzzing soldiers. I go about my work and for a few minutes forget that I am engulfed by the swarm. But quickly, the throbbing pain in my leg whips me back to reality. The stinger is removed and I’m left with the annoying stinging pain for the next few minutes.
But what is the bee left with? Death. What a curious phenomenon. A bee spends her whole life serving her queen. From the moment she is able to, she begins to search for ways to help her queen, and her family. She flies from field to field, from flower to flower, searching for pollen. Back in the hive, she works tirelessly to turn her findings into honey. Honey for her hive to eat. Honey, more importantly, for her queen to eat. She eats herself, and then goes right back out to the field and begins her search yet again. Oh the life of a bee; creating food, eating, creating food, eating. Ultimately, the bee is fully devoted to her queen. She does nothing, except if it benefits her leader. And that’s her life, day after day. Week after week. But then, something comes along and interrupts her routine. I come along and disturb her hive. I come along and endanger her queen. So she swarms. She flies around and around my head, warning me of getting too close. I get annoyed with her persistence and continually knock her away. Thinking maybe she’ll give up her fight if I launch her far enough away. But of course she doesn’t give up. This is her hive, her family, and her queen. And I’m overstepping her boundaries. Finally I go too far for her comfort, and she has to do something. So she digs her stinger into my leg.
For a moment, her defense works. I yell in pain as the sting becomes deeper and more intense. She flies victorious, for she has defeated her enemy. I can no longer intrude upon her hive. But then, after a few short minutes, she is dead. And I am free to go back to my work in her hive. After all the hard work and dedication she put into that hive for her queen, she is gone. Her act of defense would be her final act, the end of her life. And I caused that. I was the disturbance that forced that little bee to act so courageously. I wonder if she knew that by stinging me to protect her queen, she would in turn giver her own life. That knowledge wouldn’t have made a difference; the end result would have been the same.
Short Essay Draft
Cinnamon
There is nothing quite like the enticing aroma of a fresh baked cinnamon roll hot out of the oven. It is so tantalizing to the senses, my mouth starts salivating. I can’t wait to get my hands on one. The anticipation of escalates as I put the best looking cinnamon roll onto my plate. I drench it in frosting. The gooier the cinnamon roll, the better. I savor every single bite of the cinnamon roll melting in my mouth. I can almost feel the fat attaching to my thighs with each bite I take. It’s so full of flavor and delicious to the taste, I can’t stop myself from eating every last bit. Without pausing to think about it, I clean the remnants off my plate.
There is only one place to get the best cinnamon roll. That place is Cinnabon. No one comes close to duplicating the extraordinary cinnamon rolls they have there. There used to be a Cinnabon in the University Mall, but for some reason, it shut down. I find it hard to believe it was struggling with business. There is, however, a Cinnabon in Vancouver, WA, where I am from. When my husband and I went to Washington on vacation, we ate Cinnabon for two different meals. Not exactly healthy, but it makes a great subsitute. All I have to do is walk by that place and smell the cinnamon rolls and the next thing I know I am in the store ordering. The closest Cinnabon I know also have Cinnabons in Salt Lake City International Airport. Every time anyone in my family takes a trip, the first thing they are asked when they arrive home is if they brought home Cinnabon. Sadly, when we returned from Vancouver, the Cinnabon was closed, so we couldn’t get any to go.
What is the secret ingredient that makes the cinnamon roll so irresistible? The cinnamon, of course. Cinnamon is an amazing little powdery spice. Mix it with sugar or even use it without and you have a wide array desserts you can make. You can bake it into bread. You can mix it into the eggs for your french toast. Cover a hot, greasy scone in it. Put it on waffles or pancakes, crepes or toast. Add a little sprinkle to hot chocolate, even put it on ice cream. Oatmeal cookies, snickerdoodles, cinnamon swirl cake, coffee cake, the uses are simply endless. I even add cinnamon to frosting sometimes and put it on graham crackers. A lot of cereal companies are catching on; they have discovered cinnamon is a welcome addition to their basic product. Cinnamon is definitely a welcome addition to me. Oh how I love cinnamon.
Texas Roadhouse is another place they have come up with a brilliant use for cinnamon. They have added it their butter. The cinnamon butter is such a treat, you don’t even need to order dessert. It is the perfect compliment to your meal, and it is just sweet enough that dessert becomes unnecessary. Whoever suggested whipping cinnamon into their butter was a genius. It is one of the many things that draw people in to that place, or maybe specifically me.
There is only one thing that someone can do to ruin a cinnamon dessert and that is to add something to it. Specifically, raisins are often added. Somehow people think that cinnamon and raisins go together like pen and paper. I say they are wrong. They are much better separate. I won’t eat a cinnamon roll with raisins. It is now ruined. It is best to go with the wonderful, yet simple flavor of cinnamon and leave it alone. Cinnamon doesn’t need any extra additions. It doesn’t need to be tampered with. Cinnamon is a perfect spice all by itself.
There is nothing quite like the enticing aroma of a fresh baked cinnamon roll hot out of the oven. It is so tantalizing to the senses, my mouth starts salivating. I can’t wait to get my hands on one. The anticipation of escalates as I put the best looking cinnamon roll onto my plate. I drench it in frosting. The gooier the cinnamon roll, the better. I savor every single bite of the cinnamon roll melting in my mouth. I can almost feel the fat attaching to my thighs with each bite I take. It’s so full of flavor and delicious to the taste, I can’t stop myself from eating every last bit. Without pausing to think about it, I clean the remnants off my plate.
There is only one place to get the best cinnamon roll. That place is Cinnabon. No one comes close to duplicating the extraordinary cinnamon rolls they have there. There used to be a Cinnabon in the University Mall, but for some reason, it shut down. I find it hard to believe it was struggling with business. There is, however, a Cinnabon in Vancouver, WA, where I am from. When my husband and I went to Washington on vacation, we ate Cinnabon for two different meals. Not exactly healthy, but it makes a great subsitute. All I have to do is walk by that place and smell the cinnamon rolls and the next thing I know I am in the store ordering. The closest Cinnabon I know also have Cinnabons in Salt Lake City International Airport. Every time anyone in my family takes a trip, the first thing they are asked when they arrive home is if they brought home Cinnabon. Sadly, when we returned from Vancouver, the Cinnabon was closed, so we couldn’t get any to go.
What is the secret ingredient that makes the cinnamon roll so irresistible? The cinnamon, of course. Cinnamon is an amazing little powdery spice. Mix it with sugar or even use it without and you have a wide array desserts you can make. You can bake it into bread. You can mix it into the eggs for your french toast. Cover a hot, greasy scone in it. Put it on waffles or pancakes, crepes or toast. Add a little sprinkle to hot chocolate, even put it on ice cream. Oatmeal cookies, snickerdoodles, cinnamon swirl cake, coffee cake, the uses are simply endless. I even add cinnamon to frosting sometimes and put it on graham crackers. A lot of cereal companies are catching on; they have discovered cinnamon is a welcome addition to their basic product. Cinnamon is definitely a welcome addition to me. Oh how I love cinnamon.
Texas Roadhouse is another place they have come up with a brilliant use for cinnamon. They have added it their butter. The cinnamon butter is such a treat, you don’t even need to order dessert. It is the perfect compliment to your meal, and it is just sweet enough that dessert becomes unnecessary. Whoever suggested whipping cinnamon into their butter was a genius. It is one of the many things that draw people in to that place, or maybe specifically me.
There is only one thing that someone can do to ruin a cinnamon dessert and that is to add something to it. Specifically, raisins are often added. Somehow people think that cinnamon and raisins go together like pen and paper. I say they are wrong. They are much better separate. I won’t eat a cinnamon roll with raisins. It is now ruined. It is best to go with the wonderful, yet simple flavor of cinnamon and leave it alone. Cinnamon doesn’t need any extra additions. It doesn’t need to be tampered with. Cinnamon is a perfect spice all by itself.
Week 3 Prompts
A. Read your short essay out loud to a person not in our class. Give that person a copy of your essay so that he or she can follow along and mark what seems awkward or needs improvement. Make the necessary changes and note them in your journal. Write 300 words on how this activity helped you, what you learned, and how it could help others.
Prompt C
Preferred Rules of English
Write not of frivolous things or things which cannot be interpreted. Use not the language of poets in thy expression of thy inner emotions. Write simply the message you wish to convey and nothing more. For tis wasteful of time to read and interpret the ideas of ideas that are not of thy own making.
Further more, do not interpret past the meaning of your understanding of the author. For tis bad form to delve too deep into the meaning of the piece without the consent of said author. For who are we to inject meaning that was never meant?
Do not ask of others to interpret to deeply the thoughts and feelings of others. For everyone has different thoughts and opinions on the works of others and it be the sole opinion of said persons, and if they wish not to express those opinions it shall be their place to hold them. Also, the persons asked to express those opinions may feel foolish when forced to interpret too deeply, and thats no good to anyone.
Preferred Rules of the Roommate
Leave not thy shoes upon the middle of the floor. For tis bad in the favor of thy roommates. Leave them there not upon Monday, nor Tuesday, nor Wednesday, nor Thursday, nor Friday, nor Saturday, nor Sunday, nor any day.
Be generous with thy food stuffs at all times. For under this roof shall the golden rule be applied. For I, as others, will also be generous with our foodstuffs as well, for the benefit of all.
Be not annoying unto those around you. How will one know, you ask? If one these phrases is uttered unto you then shall ye know if thy actions hath offended another. "Get thee out of here", "What is thy problem, pray tell?", "What the junk was that about?", or "Just who do thee thinkest thou art?"
For these things shalt thou follow even unto the end of thy freshman year. Even can one continue to use these rules past that time, even unto the end of time. Or until thou commence thy sophomore year. For tis for the benefit of all that the fulfillment of these things be carried though. For when these lamentations be carried though then shall we see happiness and prosperity flow throughout the land of Shane.
Write not of frivolous things or things which cannot be interpreted. Use not the language of poets in thy expression of thy inner emotions. Write simply the message you wish to convey and nothing more. For tis wasteful of time to read and interpret the ideas of ideas that are not of thy own making.
Further more, do not interpret past the meaning of your understanding of the author. For tis bad form to delve too deep into the meaning of the piece without the consent of said author. For who are we to inject meaning that was never meant?
Do not ask of others to interpret to deeply the thoughts and feelings of others. For everyone has different thoughts and opinions on the works of others and it be the sole opinion of said persons, and if they wish not to express those opinions it shall be their place to hold them. Also, the persons asked to express those opinions may feel foolish when forced to interpret too deeply, and thats no good to anyone.
Preferred Rules of the Roommate
Leave not thy shoes upon the middle of the floor. For tis bad in the favor of thy roommates. Leave them there not upon Monday, nor Tuesday, nor Wednesday, nor Thursday, nor Friday, nor Saturday, nor Sunday, nor any day.
Be generous with thy food stuffs at all times. For under this roof shall the golden rule be applied. For I, as others, will also be generous with our foodstuffs as well, for the benefit of all.
Be not annoying unto those around you. How will one know, you ask? If one these phrases is uttered unto you then shall ye know if thy actions hath offended another. "Get thee out of here", "What is thy problem, pray tell?", "What the junk was that about?", or "Just who do thee thinkest thou art?"
For these things shalt thou follow even unto the end of thy freshman year. Even can one continue to use these rules past that time, even unto the end of time. Or until thou commence thy sophomore year. For tis for the benefit of all that the fulfillment of these things be carried though. For when these lamentations be carried though then shall we see happiness and prosperity flow throughout the land of Shane.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
