My infatuation of bilingual carbohydrates

As I writer I see myself as a comical observationalist taking moments and events from my ordinary life and extrapolating upon said events to the point where even the most mundane trip to Wal-Mart becomes an exciting endeavor in which most people interested in a good time would wish to feast their eyes upon. Where upon further examination a tale of love for “Dora the Explorer Spaghetti-Os” becomes an infatuation of bilingual carbohydrates where the reader is magically transported to a wonderland of tomato substitute and Riboflavin all brought to you by the wonderful people at Campbell’s food all for the affordable price of .87 cents on the dollar. I feel that I have grown as a writer through practice and taking time throughout my day to just sit down and let my thought flow out of my body on to some tangible piece of media. Whether or not my actual “voice” has gone past the stage of the awkward not quite falsetto not quite baritone point I cannot say, I feel that my voice has always been there but I just haven’t taken the time to sing aria’s with it.

Through taking this class I have realized that the greatest writing appeal I use is pathos. While I don’t necessarily tug at the heart strings I try my darndest to get the reader laughing in order to get my point across simply because if the writer is entertained then their writing reflects that and people only want to read something that is interesting and because writers are narcissistic people who love to hear their own worlds arranged methodically to a beautiful melody that will forever play among the ears of their readers they do their best work when interested in their own topic. Therefore I believe that “good work” is a piece of work that is interesting to the author because a writer shouldn’t pander to an audience, that is not where the secret of being successful lies, a writer or any artist for that matter must pander to themselves while leaving wiggle room then an audience will come.

Tales of from the fish market

Tales of teenage debauchery and tom foolery litter the memories of most college students, I am no exception to this rule, this can be seen by the many artifacts from random escapades I have lying around my room, weather it is the smirking lawn gnome, or the statue of Saint Francis found at a convent in western Nebraska all of these items have an interesting tale and personal memory attached to it from a night that I will never forget with close friends. But the jewel of my collection is not a statue or decoration but a mere street sign.

Hanging proudly in my room is a two foot by fifteen inch metal sign that on its plain white back ground with read lettering reads “Fish Market Parking Only Mon. Thru Sat. Until 6 P.M.” On the white surface there are many cuts and scrapes along with yellowed patches scattered about the face of the sign. There are two holes, one that rests at the top of the sign and one mirroring it at the bottom. The holes are speckled with rust which is a product of having been exposed to the elements for several years. The sign was daringly rescued from a fish market located in the old market of Omaha Nebraska, it’s quite the coveted piece of art work, I can count on more than two hands the number of friends I’ve had who told me they tried to steal this very sign, but luckily this piece of Omaha rests securely among my other belongings that I am able to sit back with and reminisce in the great stories I have from accomplishing such feats, while reveling my many dusty old memories.