Thursday, November 30, 2006
Friday, November 03, 2006
I Do Not Want To Pick My Own Pumpkins
Absolutely, I do not want to pick my own pumpkins.
Some may be charmed by the antiquated notion of choosing and picking one’s own pumpkin right out of a pumpkin patch. I am not one of those people and I find those that do pick their own pumpkins at the local pumpkin-patch (perhaps after a family hayride or some blithe apple-picking) to be irresponsible cretins.
There are many reasons this pumpkin-pickery peppers my hen so. I will share three with you. I hope that my reservations cause you to take a moment’s pause and think before choosing to pluck a pumpkin from the vine, electing instead to purchase one from your local grocer or bulk-goods discount superstore. If you are like me, you possess:
No pumpkin past:
Neither I nor any of my known relatives have been born and/or raised on a pumpkin farm. This being the case, I have no latent pumpkin memories to tap into. No charming reminiscences of pumpkin-pickings past. I do not imagine the act would hark back to my childhood in any fashion. Though I suppose it is likely that very few of the people that choose to pick their own pumpkins were raised on a pumpkin farm that is their emotional baggage to carry, not mine. I happen to think lying to yourself about your origins is wrong. I’m just moralistic that way.
No pumpkin acumen:
I am not professionally employed in the pumpkin-growing or picking industry, nor do I count pumpkin horticulture among my hobbies. For this reason, I am woefully under-qualified to pick my own pumpkins. I do not know what distinguishes a good pumpkin from one ravaged by invisible lesions, hail damage or even Microdochium blight. No expert would let an un-expert pick their pumpkins for them; the only things patch neophytes pick are lies. Amateur pumpkin-pickers use aesthetics as the sole pumpkin-selection criteria, which is tantamount to using appearance to determine which cow you will slaughter for a delicious beef dinner.
No tolerance of pumpkin patch milieu:
Where there are pumpkins, there are scarecrows; hay-stuffed fiends are an essential part of the garishly-embellished autumnal landscape. They are also, without question, harbingers of evil. These mannequins of the macabre haunt me. They haunt you too, regardless of your patch proximity. Pick your own pumpkin and you may be picking your own destiny- that of a gruesome, earth-hued, corn-husky death. Also, beneath the dirt, there are worms.
Remember that the next time you reflect upon the lie that is your life.
Some may be charmed by the antiquated notion of choosing and picking one’s own pumpkin right out of a pumpkin patch. I am not one of those people and I find those that do pick their own pumpkins at the local pumpkin-patch (perhaps after a family hayride or some blithe apple-picking) to be irresponsible cretins.
There are many reasons this pumpkin-pickery peppers my hen so. I will share three with you. I hope that my reservations cause you to take a moment’s pause and think before choosing to pluck a pumpkin from the vine, electing instead to purchase one from your local grocer or bulk-goods discount superstore. If you are like me, you possess:
No pumpkin past:
Neither I nor any of my known relatives have been born and/or raised on a pumpkin farm. This being the case, I have no latent pumpkin memories to tap into. No charming reminiscences of pumpkin-pickings past. I do not imagine the act would hark back to my childhood in any fashion. Though I suppose it is likely that very few of the people that choose to pick their own pumpkins were raised on a pumpkin farm that is their emotional baggage to carry, not mine. I happen to think lying to yourself about your origins is wrong. I’m just moralistic that way.
No pumpkin acumen:
I am not professionally employed in the pumpkin-growing or picking industry, nor do I count pumpkin horticulture among my hobbies. For this reason, I am woefully under-qualified to pick my own pumpkins. I do not know what distinguishes a good pumpkin from one ravaged by invisible lesions, hail damage or even Microdochium blight. No expert would let an un-expert pick their pumpkins for them; the only things patch neophytes pick are lies. Amateur pumpkin-pickers use aesthetics as the sole pumpkin-selection criteria, which is tantamount to using appearance to determine which cow you will slaughter for a delicious beef dinner.
No tolerance of pumpkin patch milieu:
Where there are pumpkins, there are scarecrows; hay-stuffed fiends are an essential part of the garishly-embellished autumnal landscape. They are also, without question, harbingers of evil. These mannequins of the macabre haunt me. They haunt you too, regardless of your patch proximity. Pick your own pumpkin and you may be picking your own destiny- that of a gruesome, earth-hued, corn-husky death. Also, beneath the dirt, there are worms.
Remember that the next time you reflect upon the lie that is your life.
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