Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Sunday, November 1, 2009
summary
In "Out of the Kitchen, Onto the Couch" Michael Pollan illustrates the benefits of home cooking how it shaped his household. Pollen also analyzes the rise of corporation food and how it’s affecting our population. In regards to home cooking shaping his family household, Pollen owes it all to "The French Chef", Julia Child.
It was her famous french dishes that began to sprinkle in with their weeknight dinners. It wasn’t just her delicious recipes that made Julia Child an idol to almost every woman across America at the time. It was her honesty and rawness in the kitchen, her show was live and unedited. Child gave women confidence in the kitchen and "took the fear out of cooking". She also radiated confidence on her show. Her lesson was that you will never learn unless you try, or "the only way you learn to flip things is just to flip them" Pollen discusses how Child always seemed to take pleasure in actually breaking a sweat and working hard to make her concoctions. You could tell just from watching her that she cooked to please herself and no one else. The Food Network stars seem to take pleasure in making everything as quick and convenient as possible - all while trying to please others. The nostalgia of watching one’s own mother cook hits home for almost everyone. Thanks to Julia, she made this possible for Pollan due to his mother trying out all of her recipes. And lastly, was the sheer satisfaction that cooking gave Child. Pollan closes his love and respect for Julia Child with this question, how many people do you know these days get "such a gratifying and tasty sense of close" from cooking?" The answer is no one.
The next question that is puzzling to Pollan is why do people like watching cooking shows but they’re not willing to cook? The rise of fast food and convenient processed shortcuts contribute to the decline of home cooking. Along with the decrease in cooking from scratch, it also leads to obesity. Since people don’t watch t.v to learn, why would they learn how to cook from a cooking show? The Food Network took this into consideration and made more shows about eating and competition rather than cooking. These competition shows such as "Iron Chef" and "Chopped" are attracting more of a male crowd.
Another reason why cooking is decreasing is because Americans have been working more, about 167 more hours a month. In turn, we have relied more on processed food. Food is not the only reason why cooking shows are so fascinating, cooking identifies us as humans. It sets us apart from animals, and it developed us. We became tamer and more socialized by sitting around a fire and eating together. Our brains became larger from absorbing more nutrients from the cooked food and our abdominal areas became smaller because it takes less time to chew and digest cooked food rather than raw food.
It was her famous french dishes that began to sprinkle in with their weeknight dinners. It wasn’t just her delicious recipes that made Julia Child an idol to almost every woman across America at the time. It was her honesty and rawness in the kitchen, her show was live and unedited. Child gave women confidence in the kitchen and "took the fear out of cooking". She also radiated confidence on her show. Her lesson was that you will never learn unless you try, or "the only way you learn to flip things is just to flip them" Pollen discusses how Child always seemed to take pleasure in actually breaking a sweat and working hard to make her concoctions. You could tell just from watching her that she cooked to please herself and no one else. The Food Network stars seem to take pleasure in making everything as quick and convenient as possible - all while trying to please others. The nostalgia of watching one’s own mother cook hits home for almost everyone. Thanks to Julia, she made this possible for Pollan due to his mother trying out all of her recipes. And lastly, was the sheer satisfaction that cooking gave Child. Pollan closes his love and respect for Julia Child with this question, how many people do you know these days get "such a gratifying and tasty sense of close" from cooking?" The answer is no one.
The next question that is puzzling to Pollan is why do people like watching cooking shows but they’re not willing to cook? The rise of fast food and convenient processed shortcuts contribute to the decline of home cooking. Along with the decrease in cooking from scratch, it also leads to obesity. Since people don’t watch t.v to learn, why would they learn how to cook from a cooking show? The Food Network took this into consideration and made more shows about eating and competition rather than cooking. These competition shows such as "Iron Chef" and "Chopped" are attracting more of a male crowd.
Another reason why cooking is decreasing is because Americans have been working more, about 167 more hours a month. In turn, we have relied more on processed food. Food is not the only reason why cooking shows are so fascinating, cooking identifies us as humans. It sets us apart from animals, and it developed us. We became tamer and more socialized by sitting around a fire and eating together. Our brains became larger from absorbing more nutrients from the cooked food and our abdominal areas became smaller because it takes less time to chew and digest cooked food rather than raw food.
Friday, October 16, 2009
ethnography
When I started my first job I was intimidated. I was scared and nervous I wouldn’t make any friends or that I would get lost in the continuous aisles of groceries. In the front end of the Super Stop & Shop in Seekonk, I was tagged as "the new girl" and was the center of everyone’s attention. I was doomed until the next new person came along. Being very shy and quiet around people I’m not comfortable with, I hated my job for quite some time.
As time went on I eventually started talking to people and along with that came some new friends I never knew I would make. As my pals accumulated, I got to know everyone at the store. It became apparent to me how peculiar and different everyone was in their own special way, which is why I wrote my ethnography about my work. Observing all these different people made me understand and appreciate how beautiful and strange human beings can be.
One Saturday morning I sat down at a table in the break room. I chose Saturday to observe because they are the busiest day of the week for Stop & Shop. Break time was the only thing I could look forward to after hours of ringing up groceries. Just as I unwrapped my granola bar, Jared and Steve burst through the swinging door. Steve stared at me with his cold, almost venom-like eyes. His black stare and the cold hardness of his lip ring sent a shudder down my spine. I quickly looked away. He pulled his coat off and I examined his rebel flag tattoo on his forearm and nicotine stained finger tips.
"Mondor" he said gruffly, nodding to me. I guess this was his way of saying hi.
"Hey" I squeaked back. Jared flashed me his perfect smile of pearly white teeth. He had this cool as a cucumber vibe that instantly put me at ease. Jared’s good boy persona was the exact opposite of Steve’s severity, it made me wonder how these too could be such good friends.
A parade of old ladies from the bakeshop and the midget that pushes carriages come in next. Julie and Cathy are both in a fit of shrieking laughter. Cathy is quite the spit fire, her vocabulary is always sprinkled with various swear words. Julie is almost like a grandmother to me. Her words of kindness and sincerity are enough to warm me up on a cool day.
"Hello dear!" Julie calls to me, smiling. I smile and wave back. The midget, Bob, is not really a midget at all. He’s just abnormally short and he kind of looks like one of Santa’s elves, due to his long white beard and rosy cheeks. He doesn’t say anything to me, he’s usually off in his own little world. He has a snickers bar and an orange soda everyday, even in the morning.
Off in the distance I can hear the distinctive laughter of my really good friend, Catherine. She sees me and comes bounding up towards me, her hazel eyes are lit up.
"Thank God we’re working together!" We both exclaim together. Her black curly hair bounces as we high five each other. One of my supervisors, Ashlee, sticks her head in the room.
"I can hear you guys a mile away, you really need to calm down" She said crossly. She sounds harsh but we can both see her fighting back a smile. All three of us burst into laughter. Ashlee catches herself, and then returns back to her poker face. I know she has to be tough because she’s our supervisor but I know she just wants to act like giggly ten year olds like the rest of us.
Almost like a warm tropical breeze, Chris drifts into the crowded break room. His lazy smile and goofy personality always puts me in a good mood. He puts our his hand and we do our normal handshake, we slap each other five. We usually try to do it as hard as we can to see whose palm gets redder.
"What’s up Lindsay?" He says, his smile widening. I look at his shaggy brown hair that is forming into knots and tangles.
"How are those deadlocks coming along?" I know Chris’s dream in life is to be a Rastafarian. Judging from his oversized red plaid flannel, I’m not sure how he can be a lumberjack and a Rastafarian at the same time. I think his mismatched style is cute in a dorky kind of way, so I don’t mind. He pulls at his hair and nods in satisfaction.
"They’ll come in time, as long as I don’t brush my hair" he retorted. I wrinkle my nose jokingly. This results in a playful jab in my left side, a kidney shot. I still don’t mind.
My shift comes to an end. I am tired, my feet hurt, and I’m starving. I am back up in the break room one last time to write down my schedule for next week. Clarence, the porter, comes in whistling a tune. He sounds like he’s from the South. He reminds me of Robert Johnson, the blues guitarist from Mississippi who was the main influence of an entire generation of rock’n’roll and blues musicians. He wipes down a few tables and limps away, humming to himself. He is by far one of the most interesting people I will probably ever meet and I don’t think I’ll ever put my finger on why. I believe humans are unique in their own special way. Whether they are a Rastafarian, a snake, or that they just don’t have a care in the world.
As time went on I eventually started talking to people and along with that came some new friends I never knew I would make. As my pals accumulated, I got to know everyone at the store. It became apparent to me how peculiar and different everyone was in their own special way, which is why I wrote my ethnography about my work. Observing all these different people made me understand and appreciate how beautiful and strange human beings can be.
One Saturday morning I sat down at a table in the break room. I chose Saturday to observe because they are the busiest day of the week for Stop & Shop. Break time was the only thing I could look forward to after hours of ringing up groceries. Just as I unwrapped my granola bar, Jared and Steve burst through the swinging door. Steve stared at me with his cold, almost venom-like eyes. His black stare and the cold hardness of his lip ring sent a shudder down my spine. I quickly looked away. He pulled his coat off and I examined his rebel flag tattoo on his forearm and nicotine stained finger tips.
"Mondor" he said gruffly, nodding to me. I guess this was his way of saying hi.
"Hey" I squeaked back. Jared flashed me his perfect smile of pearly white teeth. He had this cool as a cucumber vibe that instantly put me at ease. Jared’s good boy persona was the exact opposite of Steve’s severity, it made me wonder how these too could be such good friends.
A parade of old ladies from the bakeshop and the midget that pushes carriages come in next. Julie and Cathy are both in a fit of shrieking laughter. Cathy is quite the spit fire, her vocabulary is always sprinkled with various swear words. Julie is almost like a grandmother to me. Her words of kindness and sincerity are enough to warm me up on a cool day.
"Hello dear!" Julie calls to me, smiling. I smile and wave back. The midget, Bob, is not really a midget at all. He’s just abnormally short and he kind of looks like one of Santa’s elves, due to his long white beard and rosy cheeks. He doesn’t say anything to me, he’s usually off in his own little world. He has a snickers bar and an orange soda everyday, even in the morning.
Off in the distance I can hear the distinctive laughter of my really good friend, Catherine. She sees me and comes bounding up towards me, her hazel eyes are lit up.
"Thank God we’re working together!" We both exclaim together. Her black curly hair bounces as we high five each other. One of my supervisors, Ashlee, sticks her head in the room.
"I can hear you guys a mile away, you really need to calm down" She said crossly. She sounds harsh but we can both see her fighting back a smile. All three of us burst into laughter. Ashlee catches herself, and then returns back to her poker face. I know she has to be tough because she’s our supervisor but I know she just wants to act like giggly ten year olds like the rest of us.
Almost like a warm tropical breeze, Chris drifts into the crowded break room. His lazy smile and goofy personality always puts me in a good mood. He puts our his hand and we do our normal handshake, we slap each other five. We usually try to do it as hard as we can to see whose palm gets redder.
"What’s up Lindsay?" He says, his smile widening. I look at his shaggy brown hair that is forming into knots and tangles.
"How are those deadlocks coming along?" I know Chris’s dream in life is to be a Rastafarian. Judging from his oversized red plaid flannel, I’m not sure how he can be a lumberjack and a Rastafarian at the same time. I think his mismatched style is cute in a dorky kind of way, so I don’t mind. He pulls at his hair and nods in satisfaction.
"They’ll come in time, as long as I don’t brush my hair" he retorted. I wrinkle my nose jokingly. This results in a playful jab in my left side, a kidney shot. I still don’t mind.
My shift comes to an end. I am tired, my feet hurt, and I’m starving. I am back up in the break room one last time to write down my schedule for next week. Clarence, the porter, comes in whistling a tune. He sounds like he’s from the South. He reminds me of Robert Johnson, the blues guitarist from Mississippi who was the main influence of an entire generation of rock’n’roll and blues musicians. He wipes down a few tables and limps away, humming to himself. He is by far one of the most interesting people I will probably ever meet and I don’t think I’ll ever put my finger on why. I believe humans are unique in their own special way. Whether they are a Rastafarian, a snake, or that they just don’t have a care in the world.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Personal essay
It was the summer I turned 15. A field in Rehoboth, a marching band practice. We both had the same pair of shoes, and that’s how I first noticed him. Looking back on this today, that day felt like a dream. As if everyone around us didn’t exist. Almost like God created that field for the sole purpose of us meeting. He had long hair and glasses. I also had glasses. Our shoes, high top chuck taylors were both dirty and worn. His were black and mine were green. I still have those shoes, even though I have long since grown out of them. That day was truly love at first sight for me, and I later came to find out the feeling was mutual. I had found my dream boy, the stars were aligned.
Growing up, I was never really outgoing or talkative. I was rather shy and quiet. It took me awhile to eventually come out of my shell. I never had the stylish clothes, or the designer purses, or the perfect looking hair. It wasn’t that I couldn’t afford it, it just wasn’t my thing. And that sat just fine with me. I liked what I liked, and that was that. Though I might have been plain, I never complained about my looks. I had what God gave me and that’s all I’ll ever have. It’s not having what you want, it’s wanting what you’ve got. In fact, I don’t even think I thought about my physical exterior all that much. It turned out dream boy liked how I was, just like I liked how I was. It was simple, and so perfect.
This dream boy turned into my best friend and my boyfriend. We went through everything together, from the death of his grandmother to even the death of my beloved black Labrador. Throughout highschool we had our ups and downs, I loved him and I hated him. He was a godsend and an abomination. He was everything to me, and I put my heart and soul into our relationship. In my sophomore year of highschool everything started to change. The girls at school starting caring about their outward appearance, makeup and fashion was the topic of their latest conversation. I, on the other hand, was completely oblivious. All they wanted to do was chat and text on their new cell phones, while mine was strictly used for emergencies. Their hair was glossy and straight, mine was always a mess. They had the newest Coach bag to carry their books around in, while I still had a backpack from middle school. This never bothered me, in fact, I don’t think I even noticed what the other girls had and I didn’t. This all changed one day.
I saw dream boy chatting up a storm with one of my classmates one day. She was laughing at something he said. Jealousy wasn't something I practiced, but I still couldn’t look away. She was outgoing, dressed to perfection, and gorgeous. Everything I wasn’t. The conversation between them was innocent and friendly, but I still never forgot that day. I then highlighted my hair, wore makeup, and bought new clothes. I thought doing all this would impress my dream boy and make him happy. I thought it was what he wanted. I became jealous when he talked to other girls, and repeatedly asked him why I wasn’t enough for him. My self confidence went down the drain. I was a completely different person. It was not what dream boy wanted.
One day, I was complaining about something. Me and dream boy were spending time together, a rare occasion due to the fact that we hadn’t been getting along so well. I was complaining about him talking to a girl, a girl we have both been friends with for a long time. It was a totally unnecessary and stupid, back then I used to complain just to complain. I went off in to asking him what was so great about her and what he saw in her. He was watching tv, until he turned it off and looked at me. He didn’t say anything, he just sat there, scratching his head. In his eyes I saw a pleading look. The kind of look you would get from a stray puppy begging for a home, almost like he was begging me not to be the way I was being. He didn’t have to say anything at all, I knew what he meant. I naturally started to cry. I cried because I didn’t know who I was. I cried because I tried to impress him, and everyone else. I cried because I didn’t need to do all this. I didn’t need to change who I was in order to be accepted. I didn’t know it then, but I was already accepted. Dream boy liked me the way I was, before I changed. He fell in love with me when I didn’t care about what other people thought about me. He loved me when I loved myself.
Realizing this, I was finally happy again. One beautiful fall afternoon, we rode quads around his woods in his backyard in Dighton. I charged through a puddle of mud and soon we came upon a clearing. We stopped and jumped off the quads to look at the spectacular view. My dream boy took one look at me and burst out laughing. I joined in when I felt the mud in my hair and smudged all over my face. I was covered in it. He pulled me in close and whispered in my ear, "Your beautiful". Standing there, covered in sweat and mud, I silently agreed. I knew from that moment on I’d always remember what dream boy taught me. I will conclude my story with a question that can be relatable to anyone, If you don’t believe in yourself, then who will believe in you?
Growing up, I was never really outgoing or talkative. I was rather shy and quiet. It took me awhile to eventually come out of my shell. I never had the stylish clothes, or the designer purses, or the perfect looking hair. It wasn’t that I couldn’t afford it, it just wasn’t my thing. And that sat just fine with me. I liked what I liked, and that was that. Though I might have been plain, I never complained about my looks. I had what God gave me and that’s all I’ll ever have. It’s not having what you want, it’s wanting what you’ve got. In fact, I don’t even think I thought about my physical exterior all that much. It turned out dream boy liked how I was, just like I liked how I was. It was simple, and so perfect.
This dream boy turned into my best friend and my boyfriend. We went through everything together, from the death of his grandmother to even the death of my beloved black Labrador. Throughout highschool we had our ups and downs, I loved him and I hated him. He was a godsend and an abomination. He was everything to me, and I put my heart and soul into our relationship. In my sophomore year of highschool everything started to change. The girls at school starting caring about their outward appearance, makeup and fashion was the topic of their latest conversation. I, on the other hand, was completely oblivious. All they wanted to do was chat and text on their new cell phones, while mine was strictly used for emergencies. Their hair was glossy and straight, mine was always a mess. They had the newest Coach bag to carry their books around in, while I still had a backpack from middle school. This never bothered me, in fact, I don’t think I even noticed what the other girls had and I didn’t. This all changed one day.
I saw dream boy chatting up a storm with one of my classmates one day. She was laughing at something he said. Jealousy wasn't something I practiced, but I still couldn’t look away. She was outgoing, dressed to perfection, and gorgeous. Everything I wasn’t. The conversation between them was innocent and friendly, but I still never forgot that day. I then highlighted my hair, wore makeup, and bought new clothes. I thought doing all this would impress my dream boy and make him happy. I thought it was what he wanted. I became jealous when he talked to other girls, and repeatedly asked him why I wasn’t enough for him. My self confidence went down the drain. I was a completely different person. It was not what dream boy wanted.
One day, I was complaining about something. Me and dream boy were spending time together, a rare occasion due to the fact that we hadn’t been getting along so well. I was complaining about him talking to a girl, a girl we have both been friends with for a long time. It was a totally unnecessary and stupid, back then I used to complain just to complain. I went off in to asking him what was so great about her and what he saw in her. He was watching tv, until he turned it off and looked at me. He didn’t say anything, he just sat there, scratching his head. In his eyes I saw a pleading look. The kind of look you would get from a stray puppy begging for a home, almost like he was begging me not to be the way I was being. He didn’t have to say anything at all, I knew what he meant. I naturally started to cry. I cried because I didn’t know who I was. I cried because I tried to impress him, and everyone else. I cried because I didn’t need to do all this. I didn’t need to change who I was in order to be accepted. I didn’t know it then, but I was already accepted. Dream boy liked me the way I was, before I changed. He fell in love with me when I didn’t care about what other people thought about me. He loved me when I loved myself.
Realizing this, I was finally happy again. One beautiful fall afternoon, we rode quads around his woods in his backyard in Dighton. I charged through a puddle of mud and soon we came upon a clearing. We stopped and jumped off the quads to look at the spectacular view. My dream boy took one look at me and burst out laughing. I joined in when I felt the mud in my hair and smudged all over my face. I was covered in it. He pulled me in close and whispered in my ear, "Your beautiful". Standing there, covered in sweat and mud, I silently agreed. I knew from that moment on I’d always remember what dream boy taught me. I will conclude my story with a question that can be relatable to anyone, If you don’t believe in yourself, then who will believe in you?
Monday, September 21, 2009
Idea for personal essay
I got my idea for my personal essay from just hanging out with my bestfriend. Seeing him made me realize how special he was to me and how much I value our friendship. He's a great person and I look up to him alot. We've been through some hard times and he's always been there for me, like I've been there for him. My essay is basically about how our friendship affected me and how I view things in life.
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