Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Ratt 'Invasion Of Your Privacy'
I don’t know anything about apples. For the most part, I don’t care for apples. I can eat applesauce, but I don’t. I drink apple juice like I’m trying to drown the parasites living in my guts. But I just can’t bring myself to eat apples fresh out of a bag or picked from a tree.
A lady friend of mine has a tree in her backyard. There were apples in a bowl on her dining room table and a pie in her fridge. She was eating an apple and cutaway a small slice for me. I didn’t want to eat it, but she forced me into it. Women are able to get me to do things I don’t want to do for some reason… Before I could grasp the piece of fruit with my fingers, she took it away and said that it was too “milly”. I had no idea what she was talking about.
Like I’ve stated before… I don’t know anything about apples. Apples are merely scenery or props scattered around the landscape of my life. They’re not on my short list of fruits that I eat, so my desire for an apple is at the same level as getting a stab wound.
As a child, I was forced to eat apples from time to time. The same thing would happen every time I tried them… The crunchy and chalky (yes, it’s chalky to me) texture of the apples would cause me to gag. Applesauce didn’t cause that reaction. The texture problems were cooked out of the apples, but I wouldn’t eat it out of sheer principle. It was still too much apple and I had to make a stand.
But when it comes to drinking the blood of the apple… That’s a different story. I LOVE apple juice and cider.
For me… There’s nothing better than downing a 64 ounce container of apple juice after an all-night session of drinking alcohol. The juice kills my thirst and helps with the condition known as a hangover (which I rarely get).
Before I left my lady friend’s house on Sunday, she gave me a bag of apples to take to my family. I had told her that I was the only member of the family that didn’t eat apples. My parents and siblings will eat almost anything with the word “apple” attached to it. Everything from fritters to iPod.
They’re the same way with those ungodly and unclean things called pickles… I still maintain the belief that there would be world peace if pickles didn’t exist.
But back to apples…
I tried the apple slice and I didn’t gag. I didn’t find the texture as putrid as I had before, but I didn’t want another slice. The apple just doesn’t appeal to me.
The time just isn’t right for me and apples to become one.
My parents were delighted to have some fresh apples. They started talking about how the cost of apples have skyrocketed. So it seems that they’re constantly looking to purchase them. I, on the other hand, didn’t know about the rising cost of apples. Nor do I care.
My lady friend told me that her apples could be of the Stayman variety, but my parents shot that down. Then she said they could be Rome apples and again that theory was snuffed out like a roach’s life. So I decided to start making up names for apples just to screw with my folks…
“They’re Chevrolet apples!”
Not even a snicker or a snort of disgust.
“They could be Euro apples…”
“Ugandan fertility apples?”
Not even a glance my way. My parents are a tough audience, ladies and gentleman.
I had no idea that there are oodles of apple varieties out there growing in the world until I Google’d. And none of those sites have a concise list of apple varieties, so there’s no telling how many types are out there. There may even be Wayan apples.