Featuring...
pre November 2018
muse-letter \’myüz-‘le-tər noun
1: a personal message, inspired by a muse of one's own creation, addressed to a person or organization, in the course of which, the sender becomes absorbed in thought, especially turning something over in the mind meditatively and often inconclusively.
2: a letter from a poet, or one who envisions oneself as such, in which he or she “muses” on that which is perceived to be news, or newsworthy, usually in some ironic or absurd way.
pre November 2018
Parts of the site under reconstruction
Oreo is Shooting for the Moon
Just over a year ago, I did a piece on Oreos that was driven by my having reconnected with this cookie, after a 40 year hiatus. And upon my return, I wondered what might have been going on with this addictive unhealthy indulgence, in my absence.
What I discovered was an explosion in style and substance; choices to satisfy every sweet-tooth prediliction. I stopped counting at around 50 variations. Though that number appears to be much understated. It's closer to 85, according to a guy online more anal than I. Though many of these varieties are in short supply. (Rhyme, unintended).
But my curiosity now turns from, I wonder how many flavors they make? ,..the child in me, to I wonder how many dollars they make? …the adult in me. A place where a BBA with a major in marketing still lives. A friendly neighbor across the way from that right brain guy who’s into the arts, writing poetry and reads The New Yorker.
The left lobe too, is a place where numbers incubate. And take on a life of their own. And when astounding enough, they can become a sort of poetry in their own right. For example, when one discovers that Mondelez International, through its Nabisco division, sells 34,000,000,000 Oreos a year! That’s a lot of baking. Even for 29 factories worldwide, serving 100 countries.
Trying to wrap my head around that 11 digit number, i.e. tens of billions, I resorted to that old chestnut of measurable context: “If laid end to end…etc.” Which in this case would translate to 201,000 miles. Give or take a few billion cookies. 85% of the way en route to... The Moon.
Only within 38,000 miles till touchdown. A journey taken, cookie by cookie, each 3/8th of an inch thick. And speaking of the moon, of course Oreo issued a special limited edition cookie in 2019 to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the lunar landing. With, no doubt, The Right (Marshmallow) “Stuf.”
Sales last year rose to $3.28 billion, which is a Guinness Book World Record for a cookie brand. A figure accumulated at 10 cents a cookie. “Oreo continues to 'wow' with its growth” exclaimed one financial expert, after the CEO of Mondelez heralded the company’s current success, and its ambitious plans for the future. Which include an increase in sales by another billion by 2023. Which would put him on the moon, metaphorically speaking. O' the wonder and joy of business visionaries and that good old-fashioned American way.
All of this is rather remarkable for a company that’s been around for 110 years. (More on that in a bit). You would have thought the uniqueness of an Oreo with its debated option on how best to eat it (the “twist, lick and dunk” method preferred by the majority), would have worn off by now. But with aggressive marketing strategies designed to reach their lofty overarching goal, "To lead the future of snacking," they have kept this 1912 brand vibrant. In part, by creating special cookie editions and events that are in tune with the pop culture.
Last year in January, came the pink Lady Gaga Oreos inspired by the singer's "Chromatica" album.
Followed later in September, by a teaming up with Nintendo.
Which featured a promotion that had 16 Pokémon characters, each etched separately on the outside of a cookie. Then randomly packaged, with the tantalizing question on the wrapper: Which designs will you find inside? And a frenzy ensued to collect them all.
“One listing in particular, reached $13,000 following bidding, though proceeds
were noted to be going to charity. This sale has helped fuel an emerging market
for the rare Pokémon x Oreo variation.”
And now this ever self-congratulatory company, is at it again.
“It was announced last month that in honor of Oreo turning 110 on March 6th, it will celebrate with a new flavor in the form of a limited-edition, Chocolate Confetti
Cake Cookie. (With a delicious alliteration).
It is extra festive because it features rainbow sprinkles both in and on the cookie
and also, a double layer of creme."
It bears repeating: sprinkles both in and on the cookie! The eyes get moist at the thought of the concept. And the kid in me returns.
Hardly surprising though. In case you missed it, the company came out with the limited-edition Birthday Cake Oreo ten years ago, on its 100th. And it became a permanent flavor. It’s still available at my local supermarket.
I expect that on its 125th, it will go one step beyond. I can fathom the introduction of a limited edition Oreo that is flecked with gold. I hope to see and partake of it. God willing. And if I can keep by blood sugar level in check.
Word of the Month
)
Rhyming Schemes ala Dante e Billy Joel
I found myself writing a poem recently in the style of Dante’s terza rima, which he employed in his epic poem Divine Comedy. That is to say, three line stanzas with a rhyming scheme of aba, bcb, cdc etc. Picking up the second line in a stanza, and using it to start a new rhyming scheme in the next stanza. Concluding with an added line at the end of the poem to complete the pattern. With each line in, or near, iambic pentameter "as required." Got that?
Entitling my poem A Terza Rima in Search, it opens with an epigraph. In which I offer great apologies to Dante, in his native tongue, for my having the audacity to attempt this form that he invented. How it wound up like this, I’m not sure. It certainly didn’t start out that way. And as for the inspiration?
While walking down the street on a sunny day not long ago, a girl from about sixty years ago suddenly popped into my head. I wonder whatever happened to her? I got home and started writing. First in prose. Then in free verse. And it ended up where it did. Much shorter than that first conception. And taking a few "side streets" along the way. So that it ended up far from home, in a manner of speaking.
All of this then reminded me of a poem I wrote years ago, also in three-line stanzas. It might be called "mock-Dante rhyme"... just for the hell of it: aab, ccb, dde, ffe, etc. It was loosely inspired by that Billy Joel song, Scenes from an Italian Restaurant. Though he uses this form only briefly in the opening and closing stanzas of that song.
Though Joel’s restaurant was never identified, I called my place, Destino’s. A made-up name of a restaurant (I've since learned actually exists), that seeks to play off a faux translation of an Italian word that sounds like it could mean destiny. In actuality, it means destination. Finally, there's also an underlying sense here of another Billy Joel song at play, Uptown Girl.
Entitled A Winter’s Tale at Destino’s, I posted it in a MuseLetter four years ago. But like a renovated house, a wall has been taken down here or there, and some sight lines rearranged.
Poems should stand on their own. But as both of these are essentially narratives steeped in memory ("partners in time"?), toying with notions of romantic love— the seeking of it and the obstacles in that search— it seemed apropos they be offered in tandem. Especially, with Valentine's Day coming up.
I’ll start with the “Joel version” as it ends on a bittersweet, inconclusive note. Followed by the “Dante version” which concludes optimistically.
A Winter’s Tale at Destino's
I’ll meet you any time you want
In our Italian restaurant
Things are okay with me these days
—Billy Joel
Where did you come from when I was sitting back there,
alabaster beauty with your peek-a-boo hair,
as if channeling Veronica Lake?
To stoke an imagined pursuit still in play—
I wish you'd have noticed me back in the day—
sampling the wine and sizzling steak.
Yet it takes heart and the equipment to make a move
like these two hundred snowplows now in the groove
to battle the bomb cyclone that has arrived.
No tail between legs now, nor lamentation,
just snow adrift in poetic intimation;
the wonder of the memories that have survived
as summers have turned into a blinding snow,
with forks in the roads; which way to go?
I wonder where she sleeps tonight?
Sip and sup and contemplate
the game of tag we play with fate;
it's really coming down with no end in sight.
*
A Terza Rima in Search
con grandi scuse a Dante
She was but a whisper that might never have been heard,
Such a moment in the salad days might’ve disappeared,
In a gust of time passing through undeterred.
So too the first dance in that past perfect year,
Can get lost in the missteps of the present tense;
Even a tango can wind up in low gear
When the music of love becomes one of pretense.
Then there are the words in code that can’t be deciphered,
Though translations might not offer any recompense,
For such writing on the wall there is no advisor.
Nor for the fleetingness of novelty gifts;
To the unexpected joy buzzers, one must get wiser—
A divorce is like being shoved off a cliff.
Even in survival broken bones will never heal
Nor the best of intentions can ever mend the rift.
Yet at water’s edge, having gone far afield
In the alpenglow of a mid-December sun
New love can be found that borders on surreal
And what could never again be has only just begun.
Quote of the Month
A Return to the Toy Hall of Fame
A little over seven years ago I discovered that there actually is a Toy Hall of Fame. My first reaction, as I wrote at the time was...
And why shouldn’t there be? There are Halls of Fame for just about anything else imaginable, including one for the Polka, Burlesque, Mascots, American TV Game Shows and Robots—including Hal 9000 who I would never have voted in after his horrid behavior in 2001: A Space Odyssey.
Not that it’s a slow news day. There never is any more, is there. I just thought it might be fun to escape to a world of toys. Virtually of course, as such a place is located in Rochester, New York. It's called
.
Beyond just a venue for toys on display, it contains a library and “Archives of Play” filled with materials by “scholars and educators who have significantly advanced knowledge of the role of play in learning and human development and the ways in which it illuminates cultural history.” In other words, taking the fun out of play. And it houses the Toy Hall of Fame.
In my first visit in 2014, there were three new inductees that year
(inductions are an annual event). Upon which I mused...
You could not find a more eclectic and incongruous mix to jointly enter the Hall than: Rubik’s Cube, Soap Bubbles and Little Green Army Men (save of course for 2013, when I learned that both Chess and the Rubber Duck were inducted on the same ballot).
And I went on to comment in part...
To begin with, Rubik’s Cube should be in the Torture Hall of Fame. It is not a toy. I was already well into adulthood when it came on the scene 35 years ago. I couldn’t solve it then, and I can’t solve it now. And I’m not buying the book that reveals its solution either. I have my pride.
On the other hand, there are the benevolent and ethereal soap bubbles. That even I can do. But of course if one is unable to blow soap bubbles, one should seek help immediately.
And finally, there’s that bag of plastic soldiers fighting for truth, justice and the American way. War is hell. But not for them. And if you saw Toy Story and its sequels, you know how lovable these little guys are.
Such decisions as to what plaything warrants being enshrined, are not frivolous. In order for a toy or game to make this hallowed hall, it must be nominated and judged by a panel of historians, educators, and other experts, who make their decisions on the basis of four criteria:
1) Icon-status: that the toy is widely recognized, respected, and remembered.
2) Longevity: that the toy is more than a passing fad and has enjoyed popularity over multiple generations.
3) Discovery: that the toy fosters learning, creativity, or discovery through play.
4) Innovation: that the toy profoundly changed play or toy design.
Given these stringent guidelines, it should be no great surprise as to its eleven charter members elected in 1998. In alphabetical order...
Now on to the class of 2021, as I know the suspense here must be almost unbearable. Three were chosen from a group of 12 finalists. They are:
Here are some thumbnails provided by the Hall on the reasons for their selections.
Sand: It’s been a vehicle for play since prehistory. Children recognize it as a creative material suitable for pouring, scooping, sieving, raking, and measuring. With wet sand, kids can construct, shape, and sculpt...providing unique opportunities for tactical, physical, cooperative, creative and independent free play.
American Girl Dolls: Created in 1986, they—and their accompanying books—explore America’s social and cultural history. Each historical doll comes with a unique narrative that fits her era.
Risk: Based on the French game Le Conquete du Monde, Risk translates the hobby of wargaming, into a mass-produced war and strategy board game. First published in the U. S. in 1959, it ignited renewed interest in strategy games in the 1970s and continues to influence the board game industry.
Phew.
Curious to know who lost out? They included Battleship, Cabbage Patch Kids, toy fire engine, a piñata (ethnic bias?), Mahjong (a game I only saw played by women in a coffee klatsch setting; never a kid), and billiards? (“Oh we got trouble. Right here in River City”).
Beyond the nostalgia and fun of reminiscing about childhood pastimes—and for that alone I applaud this museum/HOF—I wonder if any conclusions can really be drawn from the toys and games that we play? What role they actually serve, in helping to shape us as we slouch toward adulthood? Obviously, there can be no definitive answers. No one size fits all.
Approaching it personally... I played with toy guns. We’d say, “Let’s play guns.” And off we'd go. Bang bang, you're dead! But I never grew up with a desire to kill anyone. Not really. On the other hand, I never played with an erector set. Doing something constructive, in a manner of speaking. Does that explain why today I can hardly screw in a light bulb?
Beyond that panel of child expert judges, I wonder what that Hall of Fame Pediatrician Dr. Benjamin Spock might have said about that? Or why till this day, I won't let go of my hatred for LEGO?
finito
Capt. Nemo played by James Mason
in deep-doo doo in the deep blue sea.
Ron Vazzano
Ron Vazzano
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