On corn dogs and other things

This is my last column of the year, and I feel pressure to talk about something important. John Milton's final work was a long, fractious religious tract outlining his heretical views on Christianity; Geoffrey Chaucer died while trying to create The Canterbury Tales, one of the greatest works in the English language. And so I write this, my final column of the year, in these two great writers' shadows. In light of all this, and in light of everything that has happened since I wrote my last column two weeks ago, today I want to talk to you about corn dogs.

Corn dogs are really pretty delicious. If you've never had a corn dog, you are seriously missing out; if you have eaten a corn dog, then you know what I'm talking about here. Corn dogs can be dipped in ketchup, or mustard, or both; I even saw someone dip his corn dog in hot sauce, which I don't personally agree with, but which I respect, nonetheless.

A corn dog, as we all know, consists of a Popsicle stick shoved into the end of a hot dog, which is then wrapped in a pouch of fried corn bread, thereby creating the most sexually suggestive food product of all time. Though its origins only go back about 60 years, corn dogs are extremely popular at Renaissance fairs, as though Michelangelo, lying face-up on his scaffolding in the Sistine Chapel, would say to one of his assistants while furiously painting, "No, Giovanni, I won't be stopping for sleep tonight, but if you bring me a pail of water and three corn dogs, I should be fine."

You may now be wondering why I chose this week, of all weeks, to write about corn dogs. No article on CNN.com has ever featured the words "corn dog"; The New York Times hasn't written about the food since October 2006. I personally haven't had a corn dog in four, maybe five years. Searching for other words on those sites would garner many more results.

Two weeks ago, I wrote about the men's basketball coaching situation, and I received a letter from a gentleman who was concerned that I hadn't written about the Don Imus controversy. I've gotten emails like this before when I don't write about the "big stories"; I just might get them again this week — just maybe. Personally, I had nothing more to add to the public fiasco, no opinion about the event beyond a single thought: "He was wrong." This simple thought, though perhaps poignant, is 747 words short of my quota, and it is not very compelling reading. Other writers in other papers and on other websites can stretch this thought out until it rips, but I would prefer to avoid that. I would rather write about corn dogs.

Currently, University dining halls do not serve corn dogs, and I think this is a mistake. A recent student poll asked what food we would most like to see served; corn dogs were not even an option. Chipotle-style burritos were a plurality winner, but I bet that corn dogs could have taken that fight. It would have beaten corn souffle stuffed with zucchini, anyway. I know it would have. Who wouldn't love to eat a corn dog every now and again?

And now my word count nears its upper limit; the end draws high; the lights grow dim. I know that there was probably something else that I was supposed to write about this week but didn't. There are some columns that can't be written, and a column that says "This is terrible" or "I am so sorry" isn't a column at all. Those words have already been written with more eloquence and with more insight than I can possibly offer. When one of these somethings happens — which it undoubtedly does, year after year, month after month — in light of everything said before, there is often nothing to add, nothing more to say. And when that time comes, it becomes redundant to even try to express anything new or beneficial. The limit has been reached — one might as well be writing about corn dogs. Jason O. Gilbert is a sophomore from Marietta, Ga. He can be reached at jogilber@princeton.edu.