continued ruminations on the phenomenology of the stuffed animal sandwich
1) What does it mean that a toy for a dog is depicted as a sandwich? I risk tautology: the toy isn’t edible.
2) Why does sandwich have a face? Can sandwich eat self? If not self, what does sandwich eat?
3) Does stuffed animal sandwich exist for dog owner’s amusement? (consider this in terms of master/slave paradigm; I think, perhaps, of Foucault’s writings on the subject) Is dog secretly humiliated by being made to carry around sandwich? (I suspect not, but I promise you he would hate you if he knew.)
4) Does sandwich seem depressed? (am I depressed?) His eyebrows are a comical expression of worry, the way Woody Allen is depicted in caricatures. His eyes seem manic, almost drug-addled. We see the insanity of a Cookie Monster, not the stability of an Oscar.
5) Are the individual layers of the sandwich (the fake lettuce, tomatoes) part of the sandwich? Or do they have autonomy? Do we consider a sandwich as “whole” or are we really discussing the crisis of the bread with the smile? By not grappling with the layers, have I failed to consider the true complexity of the situation?
6) If you are represented in form as “sandwich” but your destiny is to never be eaten, does this result in an existential crisis? (cf. Derrida.) And to return to those Cookie Monster eyes—does his expression come from a hunger that can never be fulfilled?
7) Who’s ready for lunch?