Travis Walters

I didn’t get to do much reading for the past couple years because I was in college and not a lot of learning goes on there. That’s not true, learning goes on, but I’m pissed and taking my frustration out on it. I acquired a lot of books as gifts from my parents and girlfriend during this time and they stacked up one beside the other on my book shelf.

My girlfriend hounded me about not reading them for weeks. My guilt swelled and I began to read. I decided to start on the left side of the shelf and move right. This meant the first book was The Story of Edgar Sawtelle.

I should have known not to get it because it has Oprah’s seal of approval on the front and, as is widely accepted, she is the devil. It’s not so much that she’s boring and predictable and does terrible interviews and is generally annoying, it’s that she’s amassed a cult like following of people who’ll do whatever she says. For instance, they’ll give books five-star ratings because Oprah’s satanic iconography defaces the cover of a book.

I should have known not to get it because it’s the first novel of a guy straight out of an MFA writing program and it’s about dogs. Let me summarize the book for you now and then I’ll continue. David Wroblewski thought one day, “Hey. I had two dogs once that were really awesome. Wouldn’t it be cool if I wrote 562 pages about dogs.” He didn’t really have a story to go along with his dog fan-fiction. I mean, he did, there’s 562 pages, but nothing is resolved. Nothing.

I should have known not to get it because Stephen King wrote a nice little blurb on the back of it about how amazing the story is and that he’d read it again. And, Stephen King wrote that shitty book about that fucking clown that was a spider. That was a stupid fucking piece of work. In case you were on the fence and weren’t sure, I’m telling you, it fucking sucked.

The book is a long string of the words Wroblewski learned in his MFA program coupled with short poems he likely wrote about nature and later repurposed for this book.

The ending… it’s not even an ending it’s literally like he just stopped typing and sent it to the publisher and they printed it. I don’t care if in the end everyone died, or lived or if all the dogs became zombies so long as it’s explained. Except it isn’t. Nothing is explained. This book is Hamlet for dogs. Two of the characters are even named Trudy and Claude. At the same time it isn’t Hamlet because clearly Wroblewski started to read Hamlet and couldn’t finish for lack of puppies licking people’s faces. So he thought, “Fuck you Shakespeare. My Hamlet will have puppies.”

This book is awful. I’m never buying a marked book again, or one by a writing student.

In my daily quest for food, I went to my neighborhood Food Lion. This sign greeted me. I knew then that this would be a good day.

I always feel a subtle twinge of guilt when I shop in a grocery store. Do we really need that many different kinds of ice cream? I always think of the images of children I see dying of starvation and disease in less developed countries and imagine what these people might do on stepping foot in an American grocery store.

I looked over many items and thought of the many things I could make, each one better than the last, and each better than the dirty rocks some poor child in Namibia is eating. Then I came across this most American of foods.

A complete meal in under 15 minutes! Everything I needed they provided for me in this convenient bag. The meal consisted of chicken, potatoes, broccoli and a cheese mixture you poured over it then topped it all with bits of bacon. How could I pass this up!

It's "as easy as 1, 2, 3!"

I dutifully followed each step. I placed the frozen cheese mix in a bowl of warm water to defrost it. I put 2 tbsp. of oil in the frying pan for two minutes then I poured in the chicken and potatoes and fried them for six minutes, then the broccoli for four, then the cheese for another two and then done! That’s just 12 minutes! They meant it. No false advertising there.

The product doesn’t look like the image on the bag, but does anything ever? I can’t expect that to happen.

Doesn't quite look like the image on the bag.

I didn’t expect it to taste good. I have a built-in bitter cynicism that prevents me from thinking happy thoughts. I wouldn’t be disappointed. It tasted like a rock that a child in Namibia might tongue while trying to forget it’s starving to death. What are we eating in America?

The whole time I was walking through the store; when I picked up this item to test it out; while I cooked it, and just before I put the first spoonful of cheesy dirt in my mouth I could only think of this haunting melody…