Sunday, October 3, 2010

Apples and the Absurdity Addiction

It has been so long since I've been to this blog that my browser was confused when I typed "NOMO" into it just now. "Ann Arbor-based post-afrobeat dance explosion?" it suggested. (I listened. No thanks.)

Here are the past 4 months in a nutshell: DC, Virginia, Jamaica, Switzerland, England, Michigan, mediocre attempt at home tomato farming, successful attempt at home chili pepper farming, kickball league, book club, wine, yadda yadda. Once I let one of these things pass without blogging, I felt like I couldn't write about anything else until I'd blogged about that one thing, and then like so many of the dead hobos I have buried in my crawlspace I couldn't get to them all and I just ignored everything.

BUT NOT ANY MORE! Matt and I went apple picking on Saturday!

Do you know how many apples are in that cart there? Two large garbage bags of apples! $65...of apples! Apples, the cheapest fruit commercially available!

Boohoohoohoo so many apples. We just couldn't stop. There were so many different varieties. Jonagold. Braeburn. Sun Crisp. Pink Ladies "weren't ready" yet and were marked off with yellow tape, but, well, I snuck in there anyway (lacerating myself on several apple trees in the process) and picked the dozen or so that were.

Here is the worst part of it: I AM ALLERGIC TO APPLES. Mildly. (I can eat them, but itchily.) What is wrong with me? Why did I bring home all of these apples??

I think it's because I'm addicted to absurdity. Coors Light, and absurdity. If I have an opportunity to do something in comical bulk or quantity, I cannot say no.

It's not hoarding. I don't want these comical things around forever. It's just, well, the ha-ha factor. It's what guides me through life. The world's oldest ham. My dream vacation: indoor skiing in the desert.

This is why I don't shop at CostCo. It would be a disaster. This is why when Papa John's offered a stupendous twelve-toppings-for-$9.99 deal on pizza on Tuesday, I ended up calling the pizza place to order because the online ordering form only went to 7 and I was just so curious what twelve toppings on a pizza looked like. (It looked like grossness.) This is why the website Great Big Stuff (believe it or not, not NSFW) speaks to me on so many levels.

Anyway, I guess we didn't pick THAT many apples--Matt does eat about six of them a day, and we've already made an apple pie.

Also, when I said "oh my God, why did we pick so many apples" as the lady at the checkout counter rang us up yesterday, she turned to me with a world-weary look and shook her head. "Uh-uh," she said. "This is not a lot of apples. Believe me, this is not a lot of apples." Then she sighed and looked into the middle distance, clearly reliving some past trauma.

...Oh well, at least I'm not alone in my pathology.

* * *

Venue: Homestead Farm. Highly recommended!

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