Food Review From A Fattie (Journal Entry 3)

Ah, food. The staple of every little fat kid such as myself. Does dessert count as “food”? I would say it does, for it is consumable. There is a special strawberry cake that my mother makes every few times a year. It is special because she invented it herself while trying to recreate a cake one of my brothers was so fond of as a teenager. What she does is she makes two layers of strawberry cake and between the layers she puts strawberry icing, Cool Whip, and sliced strawberries. She covers the top and sides with the whip and the berries and it ends up being this massive mound of sugar with an ending result of a dry mouth. It took me two years, roughly five cakes, to tell her that I wasn’t a fan of all the icing she put in the middle, for I felt it was too rich of a cake already. But I still loved it.

Mom makes it for Thanksgiving, and if we ask nicely, for Christmas Eve at her mother’s house every year. An additional cake would be made for the birthday I share with my niece, Payton. It wasn’t fun at first, sharing a birthday with a new baby, who everyone doted on, and myself already having terrible low self esteem and being the youngest of five. But I love her very much, and we love that cake. When she was about a year old, we all went to the store, Payton in the basket on top of the cart, and we wouldn’t let her eat the strawberries being sold at the store, so she cried. But the thing is, she faked the tears! About two tears fell down her cheeks while she threw a fake tantrum. Little brat.

For her ninth birthday, I baked our cake myself and took it to our joint party. When I showed up with our cake, she simply said, “you can put it with my other presents”. Uhm? What? You are a child? I don’t know. The cake represents too many memories is all I can say.

Blood Music? Yeah (Journal Entry 2)

A song that has become part of my bloodstream has to be one that I can listen to repeatedly, until even when I am annoyed by it, I still wait for it to end until I switch to a different tune. A song in my blood would have to be one that I listen to no matter the mood; and for that, I feel like it must be one I have heard all my life. While going into this blog entry, I was initially going to promote the always wonderful “Just Right” by the Korean-Pop boy band GOT7. (A true bop, I say, always listen to this, dear reader. Go investigate.) But if a song has truly become a part of me, it would have to be “Desperado” by the Eagles.

I was raised on the five or six CDs my mom kept in her car, whenever me and my siblings had to go along for the ride. My parents had gone to the Hell Freezes Over concert tour by the Eagles and had the soundtrack to prove it; and being good parents, wanted to start thier children out right. Desperado is the last song on that disc, a tale of a loner walking around, just going with the flow, never finding real love or friendship, just doing what he can to pay the bills and not living life to the fullest. As a kid, I just thought it was a slow song and accidentally learned the words after hearing it for years upon years. As I went into high school, the song became a coping strategy for me as I learned to be more social. As I understood what anxiety was and how to handle it. As I heard the news of what felt like half my family dying the first semester of freshman year. I would have all these emotions, and I would listen to “Desperado” as I sang softly to myself. Whispered the lyrics when my father would be a daily drunken asshole. Rocking back and forth to the slow beat after my aunt’s funeral. I would pace the floor and twiddle my hands before I went on stage to act, reminding myself of the words used in the song.

As much as I love K-pop, my blood was boiled due to Hell freezing over.

Sherman Alexie's Article (Journal Entry 1)

The first thing that really stood out to me in the article "Why the Best Kids' Books Are Written in Blood" by Sherman Alexie was a few paragraphs in when he says that he reads every single letter sent to him by fans. (In not so may words, granted.) I find that to be true dedication; even if it takes him a couple months- that is honestly something to boast about. His boastful tone surprises me a bit, especially when he talks on the "depravity" found in his own autobiography. I myself have never read his book, but if ten year olds are enjoying the true tales of murder and mayhem this man went through, I don't see why I shouldn't read it. I mean, I like a good novel that reminds me of the horrors of my home life as much as the next gal. 

I must agree with Mr. Alexie in a thought he proposes at the end of his article, "They aren't trying to protect the poor from poverty." It's an old argument that has many sides, where if kids see violence on television, they will reenact it for themselves in play, not realizing the dangers and moral complications. But, my bros, children are smart enough to realize for themselves that even an autobiography isn't saying "go do the drugs right now, Little Billy", it is warning them of the future implications it has. I feel as though Alexie is speaking on the topic of how people will shelter the good and pure little white kids from ever seeing poverty and drugs and rape, but do nothing to help the children already affected.

I have gone over the word count, so imma just stop here before my babble over takes.

Favourite quote from this reading: "Does she believe a dystopian novel will frighten a kid who already lives in hell?"