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Food for Thought

Daniel Richardson

Professor Jesse Miller

Writing 110 H-4

Favorite Meal Essay

20 September 2017

Taco Tuesdays

Tuesdays are terrific. A typical day is started with unpleasant morning awakenings for work, or school. Next would come the motley stew of the busy day, and taking orders at work, followed by the unpalatable ride home. To top off most ordinary days, I would just go home and rest for the next day, rinse, repeat. But tonight is Tuesday and I will be seeing Justine, my girlfriend, masterchef, and best friend, after work. Together, we have taken on Senior year. From humble beginnings, to being inseparable English partners, to becoming best friends, to becoming winterball king and queen, concussions,  graduating high school, and everything inbetween. While we have been through so much together, one thing that has always been a constant for us is Taco Tuesday. This amazing “staple in our diet” consists of making tacos together every Tuesday. It can happen at either of our houses, but it is more common that we cook at her house. Although one unfamiliar with our time honored tradition may dismiss it as just another alliteration-inspired marketing ploy by the food industry, to us it is a celebration of happiness, relaxation, relation, reflection, and above all making yummy food and  memories alike.

It’s 5:45 pm and I am sitting in the chair, eyes on the few beach patrons in the water. I have spent almost the past 8 hours lifeguarding, I am tired, lonely, and hungry. Bored out of my mind, the only conversation that I know is that of the life that is going on below me. I am as a gargoyle statue on the roof, all seeing, but never speaking. My body, encrusted in thick layers of the oily white sunscreen, is stone. The sunscreen has carried into the air. I know only the smell of “SPF 30”, cigarette smoke, and the boiling gatorade next to me. The next 15 minutes pass by as hours. I can’t stand to look at my watch. I finally do. It’s only been two minutes. More people yell and blow smoke into my face. The beach patrons do not agree with the rules. Sorry folks, I do not make them. I would run away from home if I had some of these people as parents. Stop looking at your phone, watch your kids. Yet, I am actually jealous of these people. I wish that I could spend my summer days as they are, and enjoy it with my friends and family. I have sparsely if even at all seen them this summer. “BOYS DON’T DRAG EACH OTHER UNDER!”, I yell. At this point the day is toning down, so I’ll only call the major infractions. I hear my stomach rumble. The glare off the water is blinding. I cannot see even see my watch at this point.  My will to get out of this terrible place, and my excitement for tonight are the only things that get me through it.  Finally six o’clock rolls around and begins the mad dash to pack up and leave this seemingly terrible occupation.

I leave the park with windows rolled down and proceed to turn onto RI 44-East. After roasting in the sun all day, the cool breeze is a welcoming feeling. Turning onto Durfee Hill Road, I find myself staring only at trees, very few house. When I reach the end of the road, I shift into four wheel drive, and begin down the dangerous and windy dirt roads until I reach the turn for Willie Woodhead road, where Justine lives. I take the sharp left, take a big gulp and pray that I can make it up the rocky uneven slope of their driveway. I have learned the hard way that if I take my foot off the gas even for a second, I will begin to slip back and fall down the hill only to be padded by the surrounding trees.

Thankfully making it up the driveway, I am greeted a chorus of barking, courtesy of the welcoming party of the dogs, Buddy and Bailey. I can hear Justine’s dad, Luie, on the backhoe in the back, however I note his presence more by the foul, but familiar stench of his cigar. I ignore it as best I can. Laboring since getting home from work, he will go to church and then band practice with Justine’s mom Patty. Patty is most likely resting in her room to prepare for the long night ahead.  I will probably not see either of them for the rest of the night. Walking to the door, I hear the gravel crunching under my feet. With every step I take, a little more skin is chiseled away from my face until I am overtaken by smile. No butterflies in sight, they are all inside me. Fluttering around in my stomach, I feel them traveling up into my chest. My heart beats until it matches the tempo of the butterflies.

As per usual, Justine is waiting for me at the door,I know that she’s been waiting all day for this. My excitement is reflected in her eyes. I grab her and give her the tightest embrace that I can, so close that I can smell the apple shampoo in her hair. In her arms, I find myself immediately in a different welcoming world of peace. I give Justine a hug and kiss, her tied back hair smells of apple shampoo. I run up the stairs and throw my things down quick, scaring the cat as I dart back to the kitchen. We sit down at the table for a few seconds and discuss our respective days.

“How was your day?”, I ask. “Well you know…First I had to help Patty with this, but I got yelled at before I even could help, then I had to drive her, then I came back. So yeah… I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day”, with a slight frown. I cannot help but feel pained in my heart at hearing this, but I know that there is still hope for the rest of the night. I give her another hug and say “Me too. Me too” and add a delayed “I love you.” Finally her smile begins to resurface. Our somber, but friendly chatter is especially meaningful, as it is my first of the day. While we values our chats, we know that we can do it as we cook. Putting our list of ingredients together, we break and race to gather supplies.

“Dan, can you get the…”, Justine begins “Meat and seasoning?, I finish her sentence, “No problem, I’m already on it.” “Okay! I’ll get the pan!”, she responds.

While cooking may be dear to both of us, it holds especially close to Justine’s heart. Early in Justine’s childhood, her mother was diagnosed with Lyme Disease. The state of her condition is debilitating at times, leading Justine to have to learn to cook and to support her family at an early age. She however has turned obligation into inspiration and hobby alike. It may be hard at times, and there have been some breakdowns along the way, but it has made her a much stronger person as a whole. It is often that friends of the family remark that they cannot believe that Justine is smiling when we see them.

Thinking back, I realize how miserable she always used to look in school. I hope that this more hopeful attitude has something to do with me. Who knows, maybe something as simple as taco Tuesdays give her something to look forward to, after all the  kitchen is both her workspace and her preferred office of therapy. It is only there that she may distract herself, while productively contributing to the household.  It is this sense of finding comfort in the kitchen that brings us together. Cooking is our couple’s activity and we love it. To us, cooking is similar to writing a cookbook together. Every recipe we make, strengthens the binding of the book. Standing there at the counter, Justine gets to thinking

Taco Tuesdays have become almost like a holiday for us. The time we’ve spent in the kitchen together is some of my favorite memories. From browning the beef to cutting up the lettuce and tomatoes, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. The process of creating tacos really does bring us closer.

It’s a simple process, but a rewarding one. First comes the sizzle of the meat as Justine throws it in the pan. The scent is rich, I hear my stomach growl. Justine hears it too and we both start laughing.  As the meat begins to brown, I come to life. I purposely begin to stir the meat excessively to get a rouse out of her. Soon enough I begin to dance around and lift her above my head, running across the kitchen in a figure 8 pattern carrying her. I am no longer a statue, but a beating heart and moving body. Putting her down as I pretend to drop her, I run back to the kitchen and begin to stir obscenely again.

As I mind the meat and set the table, Justine gets out the cutting board  and proceeds to carry out her gentle but precise, practiced rhythm of cutting tomatoes and lettuce. Her work is that of a practiced surgeon, each cut more defined than the last. After cutting, she systematically places each and every “topping” into coordinated bowls. All the while, I want to make a joke about her perfectionism, but I hold off.  It would get a laugh out of her, but I am running out of these jokes, so I need to cherish every last one of them. Instead, I turn my attention to draining the fat from the meat, turning the hot water on in the sink to avoid a clog. By the time I stir in the water and seasoning, the air is filled with a whole new sensation. The feast has just begun to come together. We lay the bowls across the counter, and carry napkins to the tray tables waiting for us in the living room.

While the process of cooking may be our strong suit, all chefs need to enjoy their own creations and appreciate their peers every once in awhile. Rightly so, we plop spoonfuls of meat onto our tortillas, and top them off with salsa, lettuce, tomato, and cheese. Each new topping adds a new sensation. It is as we have just finished baking a birthday cake and it is time to decorate it. The tomatoes the crisp texture that Justine seeks, the salsa because it incorporates a little bit of everything, for me, a jack of all trades.  We then head to the couch. As she characteristically does, Justine puts the television on low volume for background noise. After a long day of sitting in the sun for 8 hours, nothing feels better than sitting down and talking a loved one. I savagely start digging into my meal, meanwhile Justine is much more delicate in her eating. After chowing down a couple of bites, Justine turns to me with a sarcastic grin and says “Do you like it?”. I go “Of course I do! Tacos are the best!” I notice a sparkle in her eyes, a real smile, followed by a more sarcastic one where she bares her teeth and closes her eyes. I reciprocate.  While a moment of happiness, this is also a time of reflection. Justine breaks her smile a little, but lets the sparkle in her eyes show through in almost a sad way. She looks at me and says,

I love the process of cooking, but I also love just as much how this dish can bring family together. Maybe we differ, we customize our toppings, but at the end of the day we eat the same thing, together, it is a great representation of while we are all different, we can come together as a group and share common ground.

As I will not see my family tonight I know equally that we will most likely not interact with her family tonight. A concept that is sad to me, but relatively normal for them. Her parents will have church and then band practice, we will leave plates out for them. Her older brother Nathan will be out with his friends. Austin, her other brother, only 2 years older than us is finally back stateside after 18 months in South Korea, but stationed in North Carolina. I feel a tinge of sadness, the house, moreover the world suddenly seems so empty.

While this initial emptiness may loom, my mind begins to slowly flood with memories, some happier. Of my childhood at home, with friends and their families, and of course Justine. I begin to think of the sheer impact that taco Tuesdays have had on my life. They have given me not only good food, but great times, and priceless memories since December. I look at Justine and I let my face convey my feelings, I hope she understands my facial expressions. Still hungry I dumbly say “I’m so thankful for tacos”, and give her a peck on the cheek.

Since going away to college, it is exactly this feeling of unison that I miss the most. The simple summer days, the anticipation of 6:00. Every Tuesday that goes serves to remind me of these happier times. I can picture Justine standing at the counter carefully slicing the tomato, smell the meat as it sizzles, laugh at our conversations, but I cannot touch any of it.. I know now only the dank scent of the dorm, masked by bad cologne, the sound of my alarm and muffled conversation coming from the hallway, the plainness of the walls that entrap me. The bland Decary food represents the absence of not only taste, but the absence of loved ones. The sad “chicken tacos” that they serve, are not the same. Even if the food was good, it would be lacking the key ingredients to me. As I walk slowly back from the library tonight, and stare southward, I shed a tear, forever missing all that I hold dear. While the path is dark, the few scattered stars provide my light, my hope. Reaching Avila hall, I run up the stairs and into my room, quietly as not to gather any attention. I kiss my few framed memories goodnight and close my eyes.

Recipe for Simple Ground Beef Tacos

Ingredients:

3 pounds of ground beef

2 cups of water

3 packets taco seasoning

1 container salsa

1 tomato

1 packet cheese

1 packet soft tortillas

Breadcrumbs (optional)

 

1)      Ready all your ingredients

2)      Take medium to large frying pan and heat it up on the stovetop until pan is noticeably warm

3)      Open package of meat, remove from package with hands, and crumble meat as you throw it into the pan in handfuls

4)      Stir meat occasionally, leave it in the pan until browned

5)      While meat is browning, cut up tomato or other optional vegetables as you choose. Pour salsa and cheese into their own bowls. Place your tortillas on a plate. Set your eating area.

6)      When meat is browned, drain the fat residue, by either draining the meat by using a strainer over a separate bowl or the sink if you hove hot water running in the sink before, when, and after when you drain the fat into it. (You can also diminish the fat in the pan by throwing breadcrumbs into the pan to suck the fat up as an option.)

7)      If meat is still in the strainer, dump it back out into the pan, keeping a low heat going. Add water and stir in seasoning.

8)      Once seasoning is thoroughly mixed into the meat, remove from heat.

9)      Your meat is ready, let sit for a minute, add to your tortillas.

10)  Add toppings as you choose

11)  Enjoy!

 https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B9t-k1rJ4UWDd3Z5ZTFSLTVOQlI0UVMyZlIzQy1UcVVvUHhv

Journal 8

Daniel Richardson

10/4/17

 

Journal 8

           

            Throughout the process of writing my Favorite Meal Essay, I would have to say that the things that I spent the most time revising were the body paragraphs of my paper. While I felt like I had a good frame work, it was strongly encouraged that I keep adding detail to my paper. This is what led me to have a one-page introduction, and a nine-page paper.

            If I was to go back and redo this paper, I would hope to find a way to make it shorter. It all stacked up so quick. Every day, I would go to edit, take some out, and add more. From my first draft of five pages, within four more days I had nine. I never intended to make my paper that long, but the biggest suggestion that my peers had for me was adding more details to tie into my story. This is what led my introduction alone to became one-page long. Overall, I would go on to rewrite my introduction three times. However, barely touching my conclusion.

In terms of the drafting/revising process, the biggest difference in this assignment, and anyone before it would be that I never have never had to do peer review the way that we have. While we did practice this specific form of peer editing, in the sense of marginal comments and summarizing letters, it was rare for us to conduct peer review outside of class. I do not believe that I have ever edited multiple people’s essays at the same time. I believe that editing multiple different papers was however motivating, because it allowed us editing to see the work of not just one, but multiple other of our peers to develop a broader perspective and ultimately provided better comparison for our own work.

Favorite Meal Essay Final Draft

Daniel Richardson

Professor Jesse Miller

Writing 110 H-4

Favorite Meal Essay

20 September 2017

Taco Tuesdays

Tuesdays are terrific. A typical day is started with unpleasant morning awakenings for work, or school. Next would come the motley stew of the busy day, and taking orders at work, followed by the unpalatable ride home. To top off most ordinary days, I would just go home and rest for the next day, rinse, repeat. But tonight is Tuesday and I will be seeing Justine, my girlfriend, masterchef, and best friend, after work. Together, we have taken on Senior year. From humble beginnings, to being inseparable English partners, to becoming best friends, to becoming winterball king and queen, concussions,  graduating high school, and everything inbetween. While we have been through so much together, one thing that has always been a constant for us is Taco Tuesday. This amazing “staple in our diet” consists of making tacos together every Tuesday. It can happen at either of our houses, but it is more common that we cook at her house. Although one unfamiliar with our time honored tradition may dismiss it as just another alliteration-inspired marketing ploy by the food industry, to us it is a celebration of happiness, relaxation, relation, reflection, and above all making yummy food and  memories alike.

It’s 5:45 pm and I am sitting in the chair, eyes on the few beach patrons in the water. I have spent almost the past 8 hours lifeguarding, I am tired, lonely, and hungry. Bored out of my mind, the only conversation that I know is that of the life that is going on below me. I am as a gargoyle statue on the roof, all seeing, but never speaking. My body, encrusted in thick layers of the oily white sunscreen, is stone. The sunscreen has carried into the air. I know only the smell of “SPF 30”, cigarette smoke, and the boiling gatorade next to me. The next 15 minutes pass by as hours. I can’t stand to look at my watch. I finally do. It’s only been two minutes. More people yell and blow smoke into my face. The beach patrons do not agree with the rules. Sorry folks, I do not make them. I would run away from home if I had some of these people as parents. Stop looking at your phone, watch your kids. Yet, I am actually jealous of these people. I wish that I could spend my summer days as they are, and enjoy it with my friends and family. I have sparsely if even at all seen them this summer. “BOYS DON’T DRAG EACH OTHER UNDER!”, I yell. At this point the day is toning down, so I’ll only call the major infractions. I hear my stomach rumble. The glare off the water is blinding. I cannot see even see my watch at this point.  My will to get out of this terrible place, and my excitement for tonight are the only things that get me through it.  Finally six o’clock rolls around and begins the mad dash to pack up and leave this seemingly terrible occupation.

I leave the park with windows rolled down and proceed to turn onto RI 44-East. After roasting in the sun all day, the cool breeze is a welcoming feeling. Turning onto Durfee Hill Road, I find myself staring only at trees, very few house. When I reach the end of the road, I shift into four wheel drive, and begin down the dangerous and windy dirt roads until I reach the turn for Willie Woodhead road, where Justine lives. I take the sharp left, take a big gulp and pray that I can make it up the rocky uneven slope of their driveway. I have learned the hard way that if I take my foot off the gas even for a second, I will begin to slip back and fall down the hill only to be padded by the surrounding trees.

Thankfully making it up the driveway, I am greeted a chorus of barking, courtesy of the welcoming party of the dogs, Buddy and Bailey. I can hear Justine’s dad, Luie, on the backhoe in the back, however I note his presence more by the foul, but familiar stench of his cigar. I ignore it as best I can. Laboring since getting home from work, he will go to church and then band practice with Justine’s mom Patty. Patty is most likely resting in her room to prepare for the long night ahead.  I will probably not see either of them for the rest of the night. Walking to the door, I hear the gravel crunching under my feet. With every step I take, a little more skin is chiseled away from my face until I am overtaken by smile. No butterflies in sight, they are all inside me. Fluttering around in my stomach, I feel them traveling up into my chest. My heart beats until it matches the tempo of the butterflies.

As per usual, Justine is waiting for me at the door,I know that she’s been waiting all day for this. My excitement is reflected in her eyes. I grab her and give her the tightest embrace that I can, so close that I can smell the apple shampoo in her hair. In her arms, I find myself immediately in a different welcoming world of peace. I give Justine a hug and kiss, her tied back hair smells of apple shampoo. I run up the stairs and throw my things down quick, scaring the cat as I dart back to the kitchen. We sit down at the table for a few seconds and discuss our respective days.

“How was your day?”, I ask. “Well you know…First I had to help Patty with this, but I got yelled at before I even could help, then I had to drive her, then I came back. So yeah… I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day”, with a slight frown. I cannot help but feel pained in my heart at hearing this, but I know that there is still hope for the rest of the night. I give her another hug and say “Me too. Me too” and add a delayed “I love you.” Finally her smile begins to resurface. Our somber, but friendly chatter is especially meaningful, as it is my first of the day. While we values our chats, we know that we can do it as we cook. Putting our list of ingredients together, we break and race to gather supplies.

“Dan, can you get the…”, Justine begins “Meat and seasoning?, I finish her sentence, “No problem, I’m already on it.” “Okay! I’ll get the pan!”, she responds.

While cooking may be dear to both of us, it holds especially close to Justine’s heart. Early in Justine’s childhood, her mother was diagnosed with Lyme Disease. The state of her condition is debilitating at times, leading Justine to have to learn to cook and to support her family at an early age. She however has turned obligation into inspiration and hobby alike. It may be hard at times, and there have been some breakdowns along the way, but it has made her a much stronger person as a whole. It is often that friends of the family remark that they cannot believe that Justine is smiling when we see them.

Thinking back, I realize how miserable she always used to look in school. I hope that this more hopeful attitude has something to do with me. Who knows, maybe something as simple as taco Tuesdays give her something to look forward to, after all the  kitchen is both her workspace and her preferred office of therapy. It is only there that she may distract herself, while productively contributing to the household.  It is this sense of finding comfort in the kitchen that brings us together. Cooking is our couple’s activity and we love it. To us, cooking is similar to writing a cookbook together. Every recipe we make, strengthens the binding of the book. Standing there at the counter, Justine gets to thinking

Taco Tuesdays have become almost like a holiday for us. The time we’ve spent in the kitchen together is some of my favorite memories. From browning the beef to cutting up the lettuce and tomatoes, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. The process of creating tacos really does bring us closer.

It’s a simple process, but a rewarding one. First comes the sizzle of the meat as Justine throws it in the pan. The scent is rich, I hear my stomach growl. Justine hears it too and we both start laughing.  As the meat begins to brown, I come to life. I purposely begin to stir the meat excessively to get a rouse out of her. Soon enough I begin to dance around and lift her above my head, running across the kitchen in a figure 8 pattern carrying her. I am no longer a statue, but a beating heart and moving body. Putting her down as I pretend to drop her, I run back to the kitchen and begin to stir obscenely again.

As I mind the meat and set the table, Justine gets out the cutting board  and proceeds to carry out her gentle but precise, practiced rhythm of cutting tomatoes and lettuce. Her work is that of a practiced surgeon, each cut more defined than the last. After cutting, she systematically places each and every “topping” into coordinated bowls. All the while, I want to make a joke about her perfectionism, but I hold off.  It would get a laugh out of her, but I am running out of these jokes, so I need to cherish every last one of them. Instead, I turn my attention to draining the fat from the meat, turning the hot water on in the sink to avoid a clog. By the time I stir in the water and seasoning, the air is filled with a whole new sensation. The feast has just begun to come together. We lay the bowls across the counter, and carry napkins to the tray tables waiting for us in the living room.

While the process of cooking may be our strong suit, all chefs need to enjoy their own creations and appreciate their peers every once in awhile. Rightly so, we plop spoonfuls of meat onto our tortillas, and top them off with salsa, lettuce, tomato, and cheese. Each new topping adds a new sensation. It is as we have just finished baking a birthday cake and it is time to decorate it. The tomatoes the crisp texture that Justine seeks, the salsa because it incorporates a little bit of everything, for me, a jack of all trades.  We then head to the couch. As she characteristically does, Justine puts the television on low volume for background noise. After a long day of sitting in the sun for 8 hours, nothing feels better than sitting down and talking a loved one. I savagely start digging into my meal, meanwhile Justine is much more delicate in her eating. After chowing down a couple of bites, Justine turns to me with a sarcastic grin and says “Do you like it?”. I go “Of course I do! Tacos are the best!” I notice a sparkle in her eyes, a real smile, followed by a more sarcastic one where she bares her teeth and closes her eyes. I reciprocate.  While a moment of happiness, this is also a time of reflection. Justine breaks her smile a little, but lets the sparkle in her eyes show through in almost a sad way. She looks at me and says,

I love the process of cooking, but I also love just as much how this dish can bring family together. Maybe we differ, we customize our toppings, but at the end of the day we eat the same thing, together, it is a great representation of while we are all different, we can come together as a group and share common ground.

As I will not see my family tonight I know equally that we will most likely not interact with her family tonight. A concept that is sad to me, but relatively normal for them. Her parents will have church and then band practice, we will leave plates out for them. Her older brother Nathan will be out with his friends. Austin, her other brother, only 2 years older than us is finally back stateside after 18 months in South Korea, but stationed in North Carolina. I feel a tinge of sadness, the house, moreover the world suddenly seems so empty.

While this initial emptiness may loom, my mind begins to slowly flood with memories, some happier. Of my childhood at home, with friends and their families, and of course Justine. I begin to think of the sheer impact that taco Tuesdays have had on my life. They have given me not only good food, but great times, and priceless memories since December. I look at Justine and I let my face convey my feelings, I hope she understands my facial expressions. Still hungry I dumbly say “I’m so thankful for tacos”, and give her a peck on the cheek.

Since going away to college, it is exactly this feeling of unison that I miss the most. The simple summer days, the anticipation of 6:00. Every Tuesday that goes serves to remind me of these happier times. I can picture Justine standing at the counter carefully slicing the tomato, smell the meat as it sizzles, laugh at our conversations, but I cannot touch any of it.. I know now only the dank scent of the dorm, masked by bad cologne, the sound of my alarm and muffled conversation coming from the hallway, the plainness of the walls that entrap me. The bland Decary food represents the absence of not only taste, but the absence of loved ones. The sad “chicken tacos” that they serve, are not the same. Even if the food was good, it would be lacking the key ingredients to me. As I walk slowly back from the library tonight, and stare southward, I shed a tear, forever missing all that I hold dear. While the path is dark, the few scattered stars provide my light, my hope. Reaching Avila hall, I run up the stairs and into my room, quietly as not to gather any attention. I kiss my few framed memories goodnight and close my eyes.

Journal 6

Daniel Richardson
9 October 2017
Journal 6
The most important suggestions that I gathered from my peers had to do with developing my characters and explaining the significance of certain details that I included in my essay. For instance, I my essay I talk about the importance of tacos to my girlfriend, Justine and myself, and my peers suggested that I should include not just my thoughts, or my day, but about how her day had been. They also suggested at hinting my relationship with her family. Other than that, the biggest suggestions had to do with making the story flow more.
I believe the best suggestions that I offered my peers would have to do with either restructuring their thesis little. For some peers, I suggested adding more detail, more meat to their stories, for others I recommended narrowing down what they mention in their essay and only focus on certain details relating to those narrowed down topics. I must say overall, I truly felt invited into the households of each of their stories.
I believe that the most important feedback/discussion points that came up in our discussion, but not on our pages, were not the specifics of what was said itself, but the many different perspectives that we could see in living color. Instead of my group saying to me on the paper, “Hey add more about Justine here.”, I could hear each of their takes on why, and they we could collectively come up with the best possible solution to our dilemma. We may be able to spit out our personal suggestions on paper, but it is easier to put them together in person.
Looking back at the peer review comments, I think that my group did a more than thorough job of critiquing/suggesting, however I wish that they focused little more on my introduction, as I have reworded it three times since writing. However, I feel like their other suggestions were infinitely more helpful.

https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B4r8vbvSCz6vTnBsUkZwLWZQMG8

Journal 7

Daniel Richardson

4 October 2017

Journal Seven

 

In pages 19-29 of They Say, I Say by Gerald Graff and Cathy Birkenstein, the authors highlight the importance of bringing up the view of others in your thesis and where to place it. This is a matter that had haunted me throughout my high school years, as in A.P U.S History, my teacher Mr. Stanley pounded “THESIS. THESIS. THESIS” into our heads. Unless we were to develop our thesis in another way that Graff and Birkenstein mention, if we did not include an “Although” or “However” at the start of our thesis, we would be marked down. And man, oh man if we didn’t bring up the view of others in said thesis. God forbid if our thesis sentence was not the last sentence of our introduction. I guess one could say that I am quite practiced at the thesis, as well as the introduction in writing. The body paragraphs are generally where I struggle.

However, Graff and Birkenstein touch upon some important writing tips that I did not practice enough in high school. One such instance of this would be “returning” to what “they say” throughout your argument, as on page 27. Graff and Birkenstein state that if one does not keep returning to what others say, or opposing views, that the reader will lose sight of those arguments and forget about it all together. I feel like their book-wide comparison of writing a paper to a conversation is the most helpful and significant part of this chapter. On page 20, Graff and Birkenstein remind us that when you enter a conversation you need to always begin by recapping by “what others are saying”, then introduce your own views later, and use the opposing as a gateway or a comparison for what you are saying.

I also found the pages on “Introducing and Ongoing Debate” (pages 26-27) interesting because in doing so, you do not always need to take a firm position from the get go. In fact, as they state on page 26,

…opening with a summary of debate can help you explore the issue you are writing about before declaring your own view. In this way, you can use the writing process itself to help you discover where to stand instead of having to commit a position before you are ready to do so.

You can use the writing process to produce research, and finding out where you truly stand, instead of just researching, then writing. I do not think that I have ever done that before.

Journal 5

 

Dear Sherley,
Reading your essay, I truly felt like I was in your kitchen with you, and your family gatherings afterwards. Your use of detail is amazing. From describing the process of cooking, the tradition, your family members, and how you feel about the dish, you truly include the reader. Also your introduction is powerful. You provide the history of the dish, while still putting it in context for you family. The only real things that I saw that could use work were some sentence structure and agreement issues. Overall you are on the path to an excellent piece! Thank you for inviting me into your kitchen through this work.
– Dan
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Dear Chloe,
I like how you lay out a whole feast for us, rather than one specific meal, and focus on family as the main point. You give us the readers, a very good idea of how things work at such a feast. I think my biggest advice to you would be just going back and adding more specific details to your paragraphs or scenes. Maybe you add a little more about the process that goes into making kit-kat cake? Reading this brings back memories of when my family would get together on easter and I got so excited when you would say things that would relate to how my family would gather! You truly show what everybody brings to the “plate”, and I feel like just going back and adding some more specific details will bolster this image, and your essay much more!
Dan

Dear Madison,
Through your piece I can see the love that Da has for not only his potato’s, but also you. My biggest suggestion would be maybe capture more of what Da looks like in the process of making this dish. What is his process like, does he have a smile, crack a joke? I must admit, your introduction is great and I am incredibly jealous, you give a history on Da and introduce the dish in such great wording, its phenomenal! My greatest advice for this intro would be solidify your thesis. Instead of saying, “I believe that…”, say something along the lines of “Although to others mashed potatoes may just be a humble side, I hold them in high regards because of my Da and my cherished connection to him.”
Other advice I might have is don’t be afraid to meat up your supporting paragraphs a little, maybe talk more about your responsibilities, put us there in the room, give us insight into what its being like with only having those instant mashed potatoes at Decary, how you miss your grandparents.
Overall Excellent start!
– Dan

Journal 4

27 September 2017
“The Art of Quoting” Response

Picking out and integrating quotes effectively is a concept rather new to me. I do not recall integrating quotes until sometime in 11th grade, but I did not get to a novice level with it until writing my senior research paper senior year. After reading pages 42-51, in They Say, I Say, by Graff and Birkenstein, I feel like I have more of an idea of how to effectively integrate quotes.
One of the greatest lessons that I have taken form this piece is found on pg. 44, when Graff and Birkenstein bring up the “back-and-forth” relation between quotes you select and your argument. They assert that one changes their argument as the process for writing a paper develops, and in such a process many quotes that seemed amazing at the start crumble to be irrelevant. I find this to be one of the most frustrating things when I am writing. Spending all this time to find a “perfect” quote, just to have it be a non-factor by the time the paper is due. Sometimes I could get away with throwing extraneous quotes in my paper in high school, but I have quickly learned that that will not be the case in college.
One of the biggest trends that I am noticing with this book, is that of comparison of lessons to scenarios in real life. On page 44, Graff and Birkenstein, note that their colleague Steve Benton refers to unintroduced or unexplained quotes as “hit and run” quotes. They compare just grabbing a quote, to a driver who speeds away from a car accident and “avoids taking responsibility”. This helps paint a picture in my mind of why using quotes the wrong way is bad. If you use quotes badly, you just take from the author, sometimes do not credit them properly, and do not leave your input to help the argument come along.
However, I the best way to integrate quotes is the metaphor that Graff and Birkenstein describe on page 46, “the sandwich method”. The authors present proper use of quotations, as a sandwich. Introducing them serves as the top slice of bread, the quote the filling, and the explanation of the quote, the bottom piece of bread. In establishing this metaphor, Graff and Birkenstein compare an often-daunting writing skill with a friendly and well know object like a sandwich and the process that goes into making it. Most people can identify if you miss one part of a sandwich, so it is a metaphor that is quite relatable to the public.

Journal 1:

4 September 2017

Journal Entry One

            In his “Consider the Lobster”, David Foster Wallace briefly examines the history of eating lobster along the New England coast. Drawing from his experiences at the 2003 Maine Lobster Festival, he then poses questions surrounding the ethics relating to how lobster is “prepared”, and ultimately personal morals in how humans justify “preparing” lobster. In turn, if Wallace was to partake in our classroom discussion, I would have several questions to ask him myself. Starting first and foremost with “Do you eat lobster?”. I would then gauge his response and continue my interview. I would be very curious if he has ever “prepared” lobster himself and if so what his experience was like? Does he suppose that it appears more humane to the average person that having lobster served to them at a mass festival then when they prepare it at home? Wallace notes that there was a time in which eating lobster was thought of as “cruel and unusual” (Wallace 499), however today it is a “delicacy” (Wallace 500). I would like to know how he believes that this drastic change came about. Did pop culture or regional play a role? Or was it entirely made possible by a well marketed tourist attraction scheme? How may the psychology of one change to facilitate such a transition? Furthermore, why do we block out the knowledge that it is painful to animals when we kill them, be it by boiling or by mass raising chickens. Yet while I agree that it is wrong to harm animals the way we do. I love my steak. Many others, even Wallace himself feel conflicted.

While Wallace supposes many different scenarios on lobsters and whether they feel pain or not, his final assertions seems to reflect that lobsters do feel pain. But, as he backs up there are many different viewpoints on the subject matter. The problem with a solely written discussion is that one may never get to hear another express their true opinion. They will never truly understand each other’s backgrounds without interacting face to face. Nobody will listen to you until you will be heard, literally. If one simply traces history back and examines how Adolf Hitler came to power, it was through his ability to speak. While he did write Mein Kompf, it was his ability to capture the attention of a crowd and entice them that led to their trust in him, ultimately facilitating his rise. Writing is a great way to sit down and record ideas, but until we sit down and discuss a problem with others we will never truly understand it. While he recorded a great deal of his work, the Chinese Philosopher Confucius typically had other intellectuals to bounce his ideas off, and followers to carry on his legacy. Even a simple 18th century artisan shop in Boston requires a physical apprentice to keep the secrets of the master, the tools of the trade alive. Yet at some point the apprentices will ask themselves whether there is a better method that that of their master’s. This occurs in writing too. When I write I anticipate my audience to ask questions, I encourage it. I expect that they will question me based off their own stance, but I hope that they will question my writing to get a better understanding, or a broader view of the subject at hand.

Journal 2:

11 September 2017

 

            Throughout high school, it was often that we would be assigned writing assignments. This motley of work included a vast array of poems, essays, and reading responses in English, as well as informative and argumentative pieces for history. Typically, before Junior year I would try to just put a draft out there, I would edit it nonetheless after having it handed back. On a usual basis, I would find myself writing only two drafts, a rough copy and a final.

            When Junior year came around, I opted into taking A.P U.S History. This class would be the death of my heart and soul, however I learned much of my writing skills from it. In class, we found ourselves bombarded with essays, one due every other night. I found myself at first striving to complete the projects thoughtfully and thorough, but as time went on I just wanted to get them over with. Most of the time I would revise my paper and resubmit it. There was no peer editing in that class. Other times, the workload would just pile up, on top of the business of life, and I would find myself being satisfied with only one draft, not my best work. I admit, some of it was laziness. By the end of the year, I could easily bang out an essay a night. I felt that I had greatly improved as a writer, but I had much more to learn.

            It is fall of senior year and Ponaganset High School has just acquired a young, yet well-practiced and well-traveled English teacher. Ms. Carvalho. With her Ms. Carvalho brought a new outside understanding of the writing and editing process. From analyzing text, all the way to handing papers in, she was extremely helpful. Possibly her most helpful skill lied in critiquing and her methods. This came in clutch when we had to write our school-required Senior Research papers. It was often that she would spend hours with us workshopping our papers as a class. If not in class, she was critiquing and giving us helpful feedback, paragraphs of it on not just papers for her class, but for scholarship essays, Common Application essays, speeches, you name it. We would practice methods of thoughtful editing and suggestion all throughout. As she had our own, every single one of us had suggestion for each other. Many times, our class would break itself off into groups revise, switch groups, revise, and repeat. I am happy to say that this method of critiquing allowed me to revise my Senior Research Paper three times and receive a score of a 93. By the end of this long and seemingly dreadful assignment, it all started it piece together. A first draft is only the framework of a true paper. To create a stronger and more desirable “house” you need various problem-solving methods to determine how to best build it. Often you are required to go back to the drawing board. The architect needs to ask his engineer for suggestions, and the engineer then in turn needs to consult the foreman. When the foreman encounters a problem, they bring it up with the engineer, and so on.  Their focus is to build something that applies to not just them, but the “buyer”. Such can be used as a metaphor for the writing process. With the writer, the “architect”, and the reader, the “buyer”. While ultimately, I did learn the importance of the editing process, I will say that I am still guilty of not proof-reading my own work. But I promise, I will work on it and hopefully keep learning. There’s always room for improvement, and that’s that.

 

Journal 3:

18 September 2017

 

At one point in time, I may have believed that writing should come solely from the writer themselves, from their own heart and mind, with no outside help. However, upon thinking deeper, we have all learned generalized writing formats and strategies from outside sources throughout our whole lives. In They Say, I Say, Gerald Graff echoes this sentiment, stating that “most creative forms of expression depend on “patterns or structures”. In his introduction, Graff provides a connection of this statement to reality. He observes that when you master a familiar activity, you “no longer have to give much thought” to “the series of complicated moves that go into it”.

I believe that Graff is entirely right, and that this personal connection, allows the reader to better understand this point. Furthermore, I believe that he is also correct when he says that this same concept can applied to academic writing. For our whole lives, we have held our own views, influenced by society and its patterns, but still our own. When we go to school, do we not learn about how to structure our writing, and patterns that we should follow? I have no doubt that the “templates” that Graff and Birkenstein do nothing, but enhance the writing skills of the reader. As Graff states, “it becomes much easier to write creatively” when we learn such patterns.

In addition, Graff underlines the crucial connection to man and his society. To get more specific, he talks about the importance of being about to relate and successfully communicate with your audience as a writer. Just like you need to know the basics guidelines and structure of Spanish sentences, before you speak it, you need to know the structure of Academic writing to be successful at it. To me, the most important elements of the book are the examples of academic writing which are included. I found Dr. King’s “Letter from Birmingham Jail” to be most insightful to myself. I feel like having an idea of the conflict at hand helped my understanding. While such a conflict, a disagreement is present in doctor King’s letter, he takes the time to explain his opposing audience, and still relate to them, yet disagree on an amicable note.

But most of all, I find it interesting how Graff puts his own “they say/I say” technique to use through the chapter. Quite ironic. One such example would be in describing how others who dismiss it, and how he himself disagrees with their sentiment. I myself feel infinitely more enlightened by this text so far.

(See what I did there?)

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