You are wildly underestimating my ability to go fucking feral about fresh produce. I don’t think I even brought snap peas into the house last year. Just ate them right off the vine.
Though I did end up freezing the strawberries/blue berries as they ripened, but even those were consumed within the week.
The only tough one was the potatoes, but that was resolved by just foisting potatoes on everyone I knew. Much more welcome than Zucchinis.
Oh this is why every gardening person I know keeps trying to give me the food they grow
That, and we love you. Homegrown produce is a love language.
Unless it’s zucchini. Then it’s a cry for help.
Tomato (June) - I think highly of you; treasured friend
Tomato (September) - you are a warm body that is nearby
Fresh new asparagus - romantic love
Artichoke - fondness
New rhubarb with leaves removed - flirtatious potential
Rhubarb with leaves left on - the bloom is gone
Swiss chard - I have made mistakes
Perpetual spinach - declaration of animosity between our houses
White-fleshed potato - you are a neighbor
Blue or red fleshed potato - as above, but with overtones of camaraderie/affection
Kale - you are a person who was nearby when I had kale
Raspberries - you are a person I admire
Strawberries - you are a treasure
Onion - I am confused
Young French beans or young peas - I thought of you especially
Runner beans - mild criticism; familial ties; gift from parent to child
Pumpkins - overt romantic, sexual or childhood-bestie interest; highest declaration of loyalty
Prettily coloured popping corn, I.e. glass gem - let this seal the breach between our houses
Zucchini/courgette - cry for help, resignation
Novelty pumpkins - marriage proposal
(chortle)
Me: huh. Why is this getting a rash of notes all of a sudden?
*discovers paper bag full of zucchini on doorstep*
There was a murder case in Ireland where the killer and the victim had had burner phones (they were in a secret relationship). Both Nokia, the old school ones.
The killer dumped them in a deep, very muddy pond that often froze over, had a ton of plants, fish, and algae, and the mud was very runny/could theoretically get into cracks easily.
Anyway those phones were down there ages. I can’t remember exactly how long, I’d guess a year or so. Police finally recovered them. They consulted data retrieval experts.
I kid you not, when they learned they were Nokias, they recommended just letting them dry out then trying to power them on.
Sure enough, those babies flashed right up. Like nothing had happened.
Above is true, by the way. I’m pretty sure they refer to the murder of Elaine O'Hara. The phones were found in a reservoir and had been there for little over a year.
there comes a point in some dudes ceramics careers where they start fucking with glazes so hard they spend their weekends hand digging rare minerals out of a desert deposit or a friend’s multi-acre lot so they can grind them up and put them in a glaze. I know at least three guys that do this.
I also knew this guy derrick who was an absolute beast on the wheel (threw an entire 40pc porcelain serving set w/ cups bowls plates serving dishes and casserole dish in ONE HOUR) who also rented out a backhoe so he could dig clay out of his yard and refine it. Unfortunately it had too many inclusions in it so he had to dilute it with industrially made stuff. when he did that though he found that the clay in his yard, when fired, produced it’s own glossy green glasslike ooze that vitrified during firing. he called it “self glazing clay”, and went back that day to go dig up more. hope hes doing well. I imagine he’s excavated his entire property by now
the sound of an orchestra tuning up makes me go crazyinsane it makes me start thinking about the eventual heat death of the universe and how someday somewhere an orchestra is going to tune up for the very last time. ever. and then the sun will swallow the earth & turn into a white dwarf & all the stars will go out & meanwhile a gazillion light years away sentient life will be evolving from silicon. and maybe they will have orchestras also
“When I first heard it, from a dog trainer who knew her behavioral science, it was a stunning moment. I remember where I was standing, what block of Brooklyn’s streets. It was like holding a piece of polished obsidian in the hand, feeling its weight and irreducibility. And its fathomless blackness. Punishment is reinforcing to the punisher. Of course. It fit the science, and it also fit the hidden memories stored in a deeply buried, rusty lockbox inside me. The people who walked down the street arbitrarily compressing their dogs’ tracheas, to which the poor beasts could only submit in uncomprehending misery; the parents who slapped their crying toddlers for the crime of being tired or hungry: These were not aberrantly malevolent villains. They were not doing what they did because they thought it was right, or even because it worked very well. They were simply caught in the same feedback loop in which all behavior is made. Their spasms of delivering small torments relieved their frustration and gave the impression of momentum toward a solution. Most potently, it immediately stopped the behavior. No matter that the effect probably won’t last: the reinforcer—the silence or the cessation of the annoyance—was exquisitely timed. Now. Boy does that feel good.”
— Melissa Holbrook Pierson, The Secret History of Kindness (2015)
finallygaveintothesirencall sent: 
