A V O C A D O!

March 14th, 2007

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Ben, guess what?

A V O C A D O!

Man, these are fruits apparently, but their taste. Their texture, my god. Turns out, this is what they make guacomole out of. I had no idea, and you certainly didn’t tell me. How can you stand idly by while your stupid, uncultured best friend smiles and shovels ashes into his mouth, and all the while you know about avocados? Would you save me if I was drowning, Ben? Even if I asked you to? Anyhow, I put some of it on a slice of pumpernickel last night with some pepper jack. Nature is craaaazy. Finally, some produce for me.

Another thing about avocados: did you know that, like apples, planting avocado seeds will produce fruit bearing trees with little or no resemblance to the avocado they came from? It’s true! That means that the various avocado varieties (Hass, Fuerte, Gwen, Pinkerton, etc) and hundreds of apple varieties (Bailey Sweet, Cooper Market, Dumelow, Nickajack or Peck Pleasant to name a few), all began with a single tree, and branches from that tree have been grafted onto others so that the same fruit would be produced. Every single granny smith apple is the product of one master, mother Granny Smith tree. In fact, grafts from the Hass avocado mother tree account for 95% of the avocados grown in California! It first bore fruit in 1926, but finally succumbed to root rot in 2002. But without humans, these trees would live and die and just be single trees. We’re the ones that decide which apples and avocados are the ones that survive. But every fruit hedges its bets, and tries totally different, insane genetic ideas out with each seed, assuming that at least one of these monsters would survive.

For more information, use your computer and go to avocado.org. Or even better, go to a used book store and grab a copy of Botany of Desire by Michael Pollan. It’ll blow your mind.

As far as that week off after the party goes, that does sound sweet, I’ll have to wait and see what happens around here first. I’m definitely saving a week to take off for the week of July 4th, which I’ve spent with the Serbs for the past two years for some weird reason. But, I suggest you keep it open as well, at least July 3rd. In Plymouth, you know, where the fucking pilgrims landed. It’s insanity on the beach, Boston accents, bonfires, illegal fireworks, drinking, and the cops turning a blind eye to any nonsense that goes on, so long as you live in a house on White Horse Beach, which we WILL. There’s also ping pong in the basement, a small sailboat, a small motorboat, and a coke machine that serves the old glass bottles. See you there.

Hey how aaahh yeaaaaa,
Summer Charlie