variations on apples: birth of venus, gala, wildly successful cultivars, steve jobs, eve, desperate housewives, fiona… apple, apple bottom jeans, little house on the prairie (little laura handing that mean teacher pa’s favorite fruit), snow white, this blog……… conservatopia……..
now i have to use all of those elements in a story.
Laura Ingles Wilder lived in a cabin on an empty plain except for a large sycamore that helped her find home when she climbed her favorite hill, with her friend, steve jobs. Steve recently arrived on the Pony Express from a gala he attended in Los Angeles for the World Wildlife Fund. He was raising money to cure the world of Australian accents and (separately) women clad in apple bottom jeans. The EVE…ning of the gala, Steve made a speech and said that he owed his success entirely to the wildly successful cultivars and that he had no control over the icon that kept appearing on all of his products. Frustrated with his lack of top down supply chain control, he took one bite. Conservatives from THIS BLOG were irate, and sent him to Elba to hang with Napoleon, Snow White (and her stripper dwarfs), and the annoying twins from Desperate Housewives. Little Laura could not find her way home from the hill because Steve chopped down the sycamore by accident on his way to find her on the hill. iTree will be released in 1897.
taking the day off. to warmify model shots of my houseplants (getting a lot of blog time lately, huh??), bake cookies and clean pigeon shit off my windows (simultaneously – a clorox to oven mitt tango dangerously ladled over my window ledge). gotta dodge the poop! this day is awesome! and it’s raining biblically, so after i’m done sexualizing my plants i’ll probably go outside and jump in puddles. thinking about wearing my apron and pigtails.
shouldn’t you do this stuff when you take days off? the opposite of professional, the “quintessence” of fresh (“quintessence:” new vocab from last night’s bachelorette).
*amplify edge blur* i can’t believe a year ago i was christening kenyon campus with my senior week spirit. i’ve spent this year cloaking my nostalgia in busyness but, alas, the circadian rhythm of kokosing breezes and new apt day drinking are clamoring up from below. long runs on gravel roads with kujo dogs chasing you beneath the din of oblivious tractor driving owners. skinny dipping in the kokosing. wearing man flannel to pierce. pierce. robin hood men in tights and sour patch kids. ghost walks raves and vi patio nights. PASS THE MAPLE SYRUP, I’M FEELING SAPPY. luckily this is a celebratory month! visits from gaither, mollie, kara, sophie (MAYBE?), and the one and only p dog ward. new york does a lot of things to squelch your pride, but my kenyon fervor is one lime that shan’t be squelched. one juicy lime!
My Name is Trouble – Keren Ann
“stick it in your closet and hope for the best!” is not something you’d expect to hear from a fanny-packed bontanist who is referring to anything besides plants, or the plant i was about to buy, schilfera. after confiding my failure to properly raise several houseplants this year to the woman wearing uteral luggage, i shed my airs and asked for something low maintenance. in plant speak: ” i need something…low light.” all at once the bluebells of brooklyn botanic garden synched in fear. the “avenue q” t-shirted brooklyn mom scoured from beneath her caladium. “imbecile” i heard her say. “she must be from the upper east side.”
but low light plants are tough. they are the phytoplankton riding the subzero currents of the sea, the mosses in the jagged crannies of the himalayas, the schlifera that would soon sit on the lightless windowsill of my sun-proof apartment. the fanny-packed woman assured me it would be fine, prescribed water and fortnightly growth seances for my new plant, took my $6, and watched me saunter off with the brave biotic toddler in my arm.
i rode the subway home from prospect park to 86th, an mta certified “long ass way,” staring at my schiflera. succulent radial leaflets of etherial grandeur. i just used all of the big words i could muster to make this plant seem extra great! granted the subway makes us all lose our marbles… but i actually started to feel like each of the little succulent petals were helping me navigate and mentally-assess the genuine craziness that was happening around us. i’m not just talking david foster wallace moment – “you suffer a grievous life of verdant liberal arts perception; e.g. that chair is actually the throne of corporate malice!” — or in this case — the mom telling her small child to shut the fuck up and to “stop sippin’ reggie’s juice!!!”, the guy next to me who’s iphone cricket ring tone rang for the duration of the the 1.25 journey, or the. No. In this case it was an unbeknownst feeling of plant fetishism that capsized me like a tide of alien invaders (picture those little green vending machine escapees from toy story) and said SARAH, IT’S OKAY TO LIKE PLANTS.
“and then i wondered” … is it okay to like kim kardashian and my plant? or am i simply living a lie