ode to fruit? or maybe just confessions of a fruitaholic?

My family loves bananas. I bought about 10 on Saturday night, and we are down to our last one today (it's Monday). I always thought our love for fruit was shared across the country, but recently discovered otherwise. Apparently, it isn't normal to choose a pear before a cookie, to consume a fruit with every meal, to eat clementines when you're bored. The summer after freshman year, I lived off of only bananas. I lived on my own in the city and bananas were cheap and convenient. I ended up eating 3-4 bananas a day. My physical therapist told me that's how I got fat. I would do it all over again if I could. That was one of my favorite summers, after the summer traversing Germany with wine gummies and apple in hand.

Despite all of our shortcomings, all of our differences, I think I finally understand just how my family stays together. Besides all the love, we manage to hold it together because no one else in the world loves fruit just as much as we do. I have to go back to the grocery store today, the second time in 2 days, just to buy some more bananas, blueberries, clementines, apples, pears, and whatever else calls out to me in the aisles. It's not so much a dependence on each other, but rather, a dependence on fruit that no one else can understand save the four souls living at 788.

I hear you are what you eat. I'm therefore either crazy or gay.

Take your pick.

2010: the People's Revolution

Another year has eluded us. 2010 came and went without remorse, without shame, without so much as a warning, as we all stood suspended in a disarray of broken limbs and broken hearts, of endless chills and heat strokes, of disillusionement and disorientation, and yet also in a chaotic frenzy of new lovers and old friends, of beach vacations and Netflix staycations, of life purposes and life goals. I thought 2010 would go on forever, and while I was still struggling to comprehend all the changes it imposed upon me, it suddenly ended. Enter 2011, the year before the famed apocalyptic global collapse.

Every year I think of new resolutions, the majority of which last all of 72 hours. One year, I wanted to be more assertive, while another year I wanted to be more artistic; once I was too busy with college applications to care about aspirational goals, and three years later I was too busy with my senior thesis to care about anything save breakfast and Kenyans. Sometimes I want to lose 5 pounds; other times I want to lose 6. I always resolve to be better, do better, better, better, better. And then January 3rd rolls around and I lose sight of my overarching annual goals and tend to focus only on today, on tomorrow, and on a hazy, confusing concept of "the future," which continues to disrupt my sleep every night.

Part of me doesn't want to think better, better, better, but rather, happier, happier, happier. 2010 was so kind to me I am almost afraid to keep any 2011 resolutions. I don't want to be resolute in anything I can't finish, in anything I don't want to accomplish. The 72-hour resolutions are good for nothing but carrying on weak conversations and inducing regret. I don't want 2011 to be a year of unfinished business, but rather a year of new discoveries and adventures, just like 2010.

So, no resolutions. No shame, no regret, no hesitation. And no resolutions.

My best friend keeps accidentally calling them "revolutions."

Go forth. Revolt. Write a book. Take a pole-dancing class. Go to Law School. Listen to your mind for two seconds, and then succumb to the recesses of your heart. Buy a hat. Eat apricots on Fifth Avenue. Enable a revolution, but forget the fragile resolutions. Revolt, not for the better, but for the happier. Rebel against yourself, and don't be afraid of 2011. It won't bite. It'll just happen.