Listen up, Americans. If you haven’t turned on the radio in the last couple weeks, or haven’t been to a grocery store recently, you probably have no idea that the United States is in the midst of a crisis. A crisis of epic proportions that will leave you in wide-eyed shock once you discover the culprit behind the mess.
PUMPKINS ALL OVER THE U.S. HAVE GONE ON STRIKE, JUST DAYS BEFORE THANKSGIVING!!!
What would happen if China ran out of moon cakes on Chinese New Year? What if the whole supply of India’s fireworks disappeared before Diwali? Chaos. Mayhem. ANARCHY. You get the idea…
Having no Libby’s on Thanksgiving has sent a devastating message to the American people: that the recession, global warming, and Iraq are NOT the only issues which we should be concerning ourselves with at this time. Its two days before Turkey Day and the people of this country want to know just one thing… “where the hell is all the Libby’s?!”
Well, pumpkins, what’s your deal?
While certain tree-huggers have blamed the lack of pumpkins on environmental reasons (“just a bad harvest” my ass), members of Homeland Security tapped into the Pumpkins’ communication lines to discover the truth behind the matter. What they discovered was a bitter, resentful Pumpkin collective. The Pumpkins were overheard recording an angry speech, presumably to be aired on Pumpkin Patch Podcast for the American public. The following was transcribed from the conversation:
“We, the pumpkins of the United States of America, wish to hereby announce a temporary strike. We have worked tirelessly to provide U.S. citizens with only the finest, purest pumpkin for the past couple hundred years, and while it’s no secret that people in this country enjoy our smooth texture and nutritional properties, we have not once received the credit we deserve. We feel strongly that Americans have lost touch with the nature of pumpkin picking and eating, and consequently, have abandoned their tradition and cultural roots. We are boycotting our support for Libby’s this year, as we are saddened by Libby’s ‘survival of the fittest’ policy. Libby’s uses only the best and brightest of pumpkins, throwing out perfectly delicious pumpkin equivalents with, albeit, somewhat aesthetically-imperfect qualities. OUCH Libby’s, and OUCH Americans for crying a river when your beloved Libby’s can’t be found on the shelf. What happened to Americans tilling their own soils, and baking their own pies from scratch? …….If you’re lucky, you will hear from us again, but not until next season. Till then, why don’t you do as the Pilgrims and Indians did, and make your own goddamn pie!!”
Immediately after their statement was released, conservative groups all over the U.S. declared war on all pumpkins, stating that “Anything and anyone who questions American principles, values, and ideals should be considered a terrorist- or at least a quasi terrorist- and should be detained accordingly.”
My thoughts? I hear you conservative America, I really do. But if pumpkins are sent to Guantanamo, how will we ever rectify the problem of pumpkin shortages in the future? I believe that we should ban together, and help President Obama devise the most appropriate method to handle the pumpkins in a just and humane way, and assure that this be the first, and last time, Americans go a Thanksgiving without Libby’s.
Happy holidays everyone…
Give Thanks.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Thursday, November 12, 2009
U.S.A
Oh hello, it’s me again.
While I do enjoy a good “blog alias,” for the time being I’ll reintroduce myself as the owner and author of this blog, Ms. Katelyn. For those of you who don’t know, I returned back to the U.S. about 2 ½ weeks ago, after a long stint abroad. I know I haven’t written in a while, but I’m thinking better late than never to get this going again.
For starters, here's a bit of what I wrote after one week back at home.
Enter week one. I suppose it’s about time I write, in part to answer the question suspending high above my head: “how does it feel to be back home?” To this, I would suggest that the question be restated in the negative. How doesn’t it feel to be back home might be easier to answer. It had been 10 months since I last stepped foot in the U.S. Ten months…which at times felt like an eternity. I wish I could compartmentalize my memories better and categorize the late Mae Sot evenings searching for Thai tea and trying to out-bike the monsoon- from the three rupee, packed-like-sardines-bus rides in Chennai. To my dismay (or fortune, I am not yet able to say), these past ten months suddenly feel as though they’ve been shrink-wrapped…dramatically reduced so as to fit inside the confines of home, here in New England.
It’s weird that after only a few days of being home, nearly a year’s worth of experiences feel so small. They are no longer part of the present. Like a laconic short story or a scrapbook, they can only be reenacted in my own head. Any common traveler will tell you the same thing…that there are numerous, invaluable and inexplicable things that occur out on the road which just can’t be put into words. Precious moments of time where you are afraid to blink because you might miss out on the essence of a new place. If only photos and words could express these moments in their finer details, in the very way my memory, albeit subjectively, strives to capture them.
Home signifies a comfort that I think I could search for the whole world over and never find anywhere else. Home to me is a million of the small, taken for granted pieces of assurance and familiarity that occur every minute and every second of the day. The seemingly irrelevant, otherwise unnoticed “small things” that anyone who has left home, and returned, is familiar with.
Have I learned a lot in this last year? Undoubtedly, my answer is yes. I’ve never been one to sit down and identify life lessons from an experience, though maybe I should try. Instead, I tend to look at the bigger picture. Did I meet amazing people, learn a new language, help out a good cause, fall in love, and come home alive? YES. For me personally, it’s been a journey well worth the ride.
I don’t have plans to go anywhere soon. For the time being, I am going to concentrate on finding a job, as well as re-discovering my inner American (I no longer have a twang in my slang).
Wish me luck!
While I do enjoy a good “blog alias,” for the time being I’ll reintroduce myself as the owner and author of this blog, Ms. Katelyn. For those of you who don’t know, I returned back to the U.S. about 2 ½ weeks ago, after a long stint abroad. I know I haven’t written in a while, but I’m thinking better late than never to get this going again.
For starters, here's a bit of what I wrote after one week back at home.
Enter week one. I suppose it’s about time I write, in part to answer the question suspending high above my head: “how does it feel to be back home?” To this, I would suggest that the question be restated in the negative. How doesn’t it feel to be back home might be easier to answer. It had been 10 months since I last stepped foot in the U.S. Ten months…which at times felt like an eternity. I wish I could compartmentalize my memories better and categorize the late Mae Sot evenings searching for Thai tea and trying to out-bike the monsoon- from the three rupee, packed-like-sardines-bus rides in Chennai. To my dismay (or fortune, I am not yet able to say), these past ten months suddenly feel as though they’ve been shrink-wrapped…dramatically reduced so as to fit inside the confines of home, here in New England.
It’s weird that after only a few days of being home, nearly a year’s worth of experiences feel so small. They are no longer part of the present. Like a laconic short story or a scrapbook, they can only be reenacted in my own head. Any common traveler will tell you the same thing…that there are numerous, invaluable and inexplicable things that occur out on the road which just can’t be put into words. Precious moments of time where you are afraid to blink because you might miss out on the essence of a new place. If only photos and words could express these moments in their finer details, in the very way my memory, albeit subjectively, strives to capture them.
Home signifies a comfort that I think I could search for the whole world over and never find anywhere else. Home to me is a million of the small, taken for granted pieces of assurance and familiarity that occur every minute and every second of the day. The seemingly irrelevant, otherwise unnoticed “small things” that anyone who has left home, and returned, is familiar with.
Have I learned a lot in this last year? Undoubtedly, my answer is yes. I’ve never been one to sit down and identify life lessons from an experience, though maybe I should try. Instead, I tend to look at the bigger picture. Did I meet amazing people, learn a new language, help out a good cause, fall in love, and come home alive? YES. For me personally, it’s been a journey well worth the ride.
I don’t have plans to go anywhere soon. For the time being, I am going to concentrate on finding a job, as well as re-discovering my inner American (I no longer have a twang in my slang).
Wish me luck!
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