Cloudberry

Dogma, Alanis Morissette, Edie Brickell.  Religion is a smile on a dog.

My sister's lacrosse stick just started leaking... ah, but on further inspection, I've discovered that the water's leaking on to the LAX stick from a hole in my ceiling that I'm pretty sure wasn't there the last time I checked.  But then again I rarely ever check, or pay any sort of attention to that neck of the woods (the woods being my computer room).  I've grown accustomed to the visual stench in much the same fashion as my perception of foul odors disappears after prolonged exposure to the smells.  Conditioning myself to the shoddy condition of my house promotes both the sanity of myself and the squalidness of my surroundings; if we stop noticing the holes, we'll never patch them up.  That happens in life too, eh? Thus leading to an inability or unwillingness to escape from deadbeat jobs, dysfunctional marriages, destructive habits, mundane activities, unhealthy relationships (but the catalysts that produce and maintain these situations are much more complex than I've made them out to be). Mostly we blame my dad's dearth of willpower for the ill-positioned wall-gashes that bleed water every now and then for good measure. Or more specifically, we blame my father's inability to cast away his his elder-sibling chutzpah long enough to coerce my Uncle Matt into performing "unpaid immigrant labor." There are numerous alphas, betas, gammas, and deltas.... but there is only one omega: Uncle Matt.  This was the first lesson that my father taught me about the Greek alphabet... and his view of the social framework as it pertains to relative age.  I love my Uncle Matt, even if he is a lowly pack member and only gets to eat what I regurgitate for wolf-pup consumption once I've picked over the caribou carcass.  I make sure to regurgitate some of the choicest morsels.  

Once my uncle told me that he lived with a herd of underground mole people who feed upon roots and insects and things, but I called him a liar because moles don't ever eat roots or plants.  The fact that his inaccurate description of a mole's diet was the only part that made me skeptical of his story is a testament to my pre-teen naivety... and a hint at the droves of inapplicable knowledge that I accumulated from reading non-fiction picture books.

   Guess what? Eastern moles commonly inhabit fields, meadows, and lawns throughout counties in the southeastern fourth of Minnesota.  Well gollyjee.  Nowadays google acts as an extension of my brain when it comes to inapplicable knowledge and tasty little factoids, so picture books are unnecessary.  Scissors beat paper, search engines beat reference books.  But only in regards to the efficiency and ease of the information exchange -- reference books are arguably more dependable.

Here are some fruits that I did not know existed: Kaki, Feijoa, Durian, Jackfruit, Cloudberry, Cherimoya, Mangosteen, Granadilla, Rose apple, Physalis, Sharon fruit, Tamarillo, Uglis.   I know about paw paws from that song about pickin' up paw paws and puttin' 'em in the basket that I learned in chorus class in some elementary school grade or other -- one of the years during which I could count my age (and my worries) with my fingers.  I don't actually have time to blog because I have to write a script about Teenage Dr. Gregory House diagnosing a case of strep throat within the span of three high school periods (equipped with his trusty pocket syringe).  Also, I have been forbidden from including mythological creatures or any type of drug or sex related scandals in the script... my friends know me far too well.  Also it is stupid to swear off love.