Archive for May, 2008

Have you ever heard of a Grapple?

I hadn’t.  I mean, I’ve heard of a grappling hook.  And I have heard of “grapple” as a verb: it’s something one does with a large monster or comic book villain. 

Apparently, now it is also a fruit.  A hybrid fruit.  Apparently when an apple and a grape love each other very very much…  well, you get the idea.  Somehow they (presumably evil scientists) have genetically engineered a fruit that is a grape-apple hybrid! 

Obviously more research is warranted.  So far my research has consisted of stumbling across them in the supermarket, yelling “OMG GRAPPLES” to my perplexed mom, and consuming two of these futuristic fruits (when I got home, not while I was still standing in the produce section).  Now, beyond the concept, they are not so terribly exciting.  But they are quite tasty.  And they smell super grapey!  I could just sit there with one and inhale for a good 5 minutes.  And I did.  At work.  They’re used to me.

Anyway, they look like apples, smell like grapes, and have an extremely pleasant taste that fuses the two flavors quite elegantly.

I can’t wait for them to do this to other fruits!  I mean, hello, strawberry-banana anyone?  How fantastic would that be?  Orange-raspberries?  The possibilities are endless.

It’s too bad that coconuts are not a fruit, otherwise we could fuse it with a pineapple and have a pina colada in fruit form.  Sadly, bacon is not a fruit either.  If bacon fusions became a reality, I would probably need to go lie down for a little while.

People, we are EATING THE FUTURE!  Today, grapples.  Tomorrow, flying cars!  I mean, you can’t eat flying cars, but you get the idea.

So, I have two questions…

**What hybrids would you want to see created?

**Does anyone have any moral objections to this?

Also, an edit:  much to my dismay, I have learned that they are probably pronounced “grape-ells.”  Oh well.

I grew up in the Northeast. Born in Queens, where I lived until I was 10. Then I moved to out the suburbs in New Jersey. Did a year of school in Pennsylvania. Lived a year in Connecticut. Worked in Manhattan for 6 years.

Then I decided to pack up and moved to Knoxville, TN.

The differences in lifestyle between there and here are sometimes little things. I never had the sensation of being given a sweet tea, instead of unsweet, until I moved here. I never really understood the difference between Texas and Carolina BBQ. I still don’t understand how one area can have so many Teetotalers while half the people I know also have locally distilled moonshine.

That said, there are some times where I occasionally have to step back and say “Really? Did that really just happen?”. This may very well be the first in a series of a posts about those moments.

This past weekend I purchased a lawnmower. It made me feel very domestic. It also made me feel kind of old. Regardless, the 3 foot grass around my house needed to be chopped down. After looking around Home Depot, we decided to purchase this fine model. However, we also needed some new shrubs and soil. This ultimately meant 2 trips to Home Depot. After dropping Lindsay, 5 shrubs, and 2 bags of dirt off at the house, I made my way back to Home Depot.

After finding a flatbed, I walked to the lawn mower section. There was actually an employee there who offered to me get the box down off the shelf. Something to be expected at a store like Home Depot, but a little surprising that someone was actually there to help. With my new mower in hand, I then decided to take a lap around the store, just in case I saw anything that caught my fancy. While I didn’t find anything else worth buying that day, I did encounter 3 other patrons of the store. All 3 made some comment along the lines of “Looks like someone has a lot of work ahead of them, har har har”. Did I mention that all 3 also had nice big wads of tobacco shoved into their cheeks? I kindly just chuckled at all of them and made my way through the checkout to the car, where the thought of “OK, now how do I get this thing in here all by myself” finally occurred. Not 2 seconds go by after I open the trunk when some random stranger walks up and says “Need a hand with that? I always find that 2 sets of hands are better than one.” I kind of looked stunned for a moment, said that I’d really appreciate it, and the two of us easily haul the thing into the trunk.

Now here I am cynical New Yorker thinking “OK, whats the catch? There has to be a catch. The guy at least wants the flatbed.” At which point the guy just turns around and walks away. I thank him again and get into the car. I’ve never had this happen to me before. Someone just offering to help for the sake of being a nice person. Maybe he was paying it forward. I know that I sure will.

So that’s my first “Do things like this really happen here?” story. Maybe next time I’ll recount the story of how I was proselytized on a plane ride or how I amassed a collection of tracts left in the bathroom stalls of my office over a few months time.

What are some of your “Did that really happen?” stories?  Is my cynicism just from the Northeast, or do Californians feel the same way?  Anyone out there from the south but now living near NY?

Recently (okay not so recently - it’s called procrastination, ever heard of it?) I wrote at length about an article called Treat Me Right, which was featured in GQ magazine, and has had me rankled ever since.  You did read my previous post, didn’t you?  You did?  Great, what was your favorite part?

Ah-ha, I KNEW you didn’t read it!  Well, go back and read it.  I’ll wait.

Okay?  Okay.  So, I certainly gave all those possibly female panelists a piece of my mind, since I am 100% positive that they read this blog.  I paid very little attention to the men (assuming, of course, that the men were not writing the females parts and setting up their own jokes, as suggested by commenter Michael).

So, in a list of sixty-one “bits of wisdom,” the editors made a whopping thirteen annotations.  Way to burn the midnight oil, boys.  I would say that a good four out of the thirteen are solidly decent contributions.  And when I say “solidly decent,” I mean “kinda mediocre but harmless.”  Another four out of the thirteen are complete garbage: unhelpful, unnecessary, annoying.  And a whopping five out of thirteen are the comments that are argumentative, childish, misogynstic.  Now, I’m not saying that they all had to be gems, and I’m not saying that I had to agree with them all.  But I can say unequivocally that I believe that the number of editor comments falling into that last category should have been zero. 

So, with no further ado, I bring you The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly.

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