Monthly Archives: July 2014

Peaches and Screams

“Do I dare eat a peach?”-T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

“No, turns out I’m allergic.”-D.J. Fitzpatrick, Peaches and Screams

Giant Peach

 

Approximately 63 million Americans suffer from some kind of disability. And I’ve got the worst luck of them all.

I’d woken up early last Saturday morning, around 10:30, and I was in need of sustenance. I headed downstairs and reached for the fruit basket. There were so many different paths I could take to start my day within this rich cornucopia: the friendly banana, the resilient apple, the voluptuous cantaloupe, the socially clueless eggplant (technically a fruit, but not one you want to put in a smoothie).

Yet, none of these won me over, and so I settled on the peach, a perennial summer favorite. Its meat was sweet and tangy, and I rubbed its juices all over my face and naked forearms. Then something strange happened. Deep inside, my ears began to tingle. My eyelids started to itch and burn a little bit. To perfectly candid, it was kind of annoying.

Seconds later, it hit me. This irritation was not normal. None of the other fruits treated me this way—they were gentle and respected me for who I was. And this sort of reaction was not unique, I realized. In fact, it has happened every time I have ever eaten a peach.

I typed my symptoms into Google in a panic (I am not a licensed physician, but I know my own body best, and any person who says otherwise is either an idiot or a charlatan). The Internet confirmed my worst suspicions. I have a minor allergy to raw peaches, and it is terminal.

In between hysterical weeping spells and a few more bites of the peach, I have somehow managed to carry on since then.

Perhaps the most horrifying aspect of my handicap is that I suffered through all that discomfort for entire life without any idea it was there. Sure, Tiny Tim couldn’t walk or grow properly, but at least he had the crutches to remind him that he was broken. His family even paid him the courtesy of naming him “Tiny” so that he would never forget his irremediable frailty. I, on the other hand, have had to go through these twenty-one years thinking that I was invincible, and that peaches were my friends. How I envy that little fictional cripple boy, with his oversized hat and earnest Cockney charm and lack of existential crises.

Just the worst.

Just the worst.

 

One might even say that eating that peach was my original sin. Destiny never meant for me to fly so high or dream so big. Maybe somewhere along the line I missed a divine message commanding me never to consume the fruit of a certain tree. Even so, it would have been nice for God to drop just a hint of rationale, like, “The peach will not unlock some forbidden knowledge, but it will make parts of your face a little itchy.” I would have been cool with that.

Still, I do not blame God for my curse. How could I? For God is not some jealous spirit who strikes down any wretched mortals who seek to match his glory. No, God is more like a giant old man sitting on a cloud, who cries when people touch themselves or eat meat on Fridays.

What I mean to say is that the world is not a logical place. I am learning that I am not perfect, that I have flaws. But that does not mean that I still can’t be better than everyone else. That is the choice I’m making. I promise to jump, fight, laugh, and love three times better than the folks with twice as much luck as me (I did the math, it checks out). As long as I believe in myself, I can have my cake and eat it too. Just as long as there aren’t any peaches inside.

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What is Your Dog Trying to Tell You?

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“Speak, Fido!” If only communicating with man’s best friend were that easy. Fortunately, a crack team of scientists and from Yale University has assembled to decode the doggy dialect for our benefit. As expected, their findings have resulted in some shocking translations. So here’s what your pooch really means when it is:

 

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Wagging its tail:

You’re at the park with your young daughter, and she’s delighted about a “friendly” puppy running up to her and wagging its tail. Bad news. That dog is basically waving its middle finger. It’s given you no choice–you basically have to kick the ass of that son of a bitch. Here’s a hard truth straight from the horse’s mouth: no dog is allowed to flip the bird, or else I will have a cow.

 

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Chewing up furniture:

Dogs are renowned for their keen sense of smell, so if your mutt is tearing up your possessions, it is no coincidence. Chances are, there’s a hidden treasure somewhere in your home! Might as well help out and rip apart every floorboard and cushion in your home, all of which will be quadruply paid for once you’ve located Black Bart’s lost gold somewhere around your futon.

 

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Growling and bearing its teeth:

Judging by its snarled grimace and gravely voice, your pooch is doing a fantastic impression of singer-songwriter Tom Waits. My advice is to lock yourself in a small room with that animal and tape a pork pie hat to its head, because in the morning, you’re likely to come out of it with a gold record.

 

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Shouting, “Please untie me! Can’t you see I’m human!?”:

Your dog is in the midst of an existential crisis. It can be sad to see your best pal in such a confused state, but sometimes the best option is tough love. If muzzling him doesn’t calm his angst, it may be best to purchase a take-home neutering kit.

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America’s Founding Fathers With and Without Makeup

Every Fourth of July, we proudly honor the courage and ideals of the great men that established these United States of America. But while their bravery is forever, their beauty may only be on the inside. Is your national hero a patriot, or just a patry-ICK? We snapped some candid shots of the boys to give you informed Americans the inside scoop.

 

George Washington

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I cannot tell a lie–our first President could use some major work! Forget about the cherry tree, he needs to chop down those jowls. And Georgie, just because you’re only on the one dollar bill doesn’t mean you can’t buy some real teeth, honey!

 

James Madison

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Smooth, sleek, refined. Some pleasures just never wear off, and J-Mads is one of them. He may already be the Father of the Constitution, but he still wants to be your daddy. No matter what size your state is; The Great Compromiser will impress you all the same.

 

John Adams

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Ouch! Even when they try to get John all dolled up for the big screen, he turns out as Paul Giamatti. It’s only fitting for the guy who passed the Alien and Sedition Acts to look like Alf with a neckerchief.


Samuel Adams

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With or without some cosmetic magic, Sam was always the looker in the family. In fact, he looks even more youthful and vibrant in the au naturel photo, giving further proof to the theory that beer is the cure for every ailment. And for that, he’s the greatest American of them all.

 

Thomas Jefferson

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We’ve got ol’ TJ sporting a feisty red ‘do over on the left, but does the carpet match the drapes? Apparently not, since his hair is white as snow in the unaltered shot on the right. Also, he should have sent Lewis and Clark to explore some new hair styles, because bangs are not his look.

 

Betsy Ross

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Gotta give some credit to the ladies, y’all. We all know the story behind the creation of the American Flag–Washington personally handpicked Betsy Ross because she was the hottest babe in all of Philly. Even without the fancy power and wig, she is a true beauty with a rad bod. It’s like they always say–E pluribus unum, meaning “nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.”

Alexander Hamilton

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No matter what state he’s in, Hamilton is a big old hunk of handsome that you can take to the bank! The cameras just can’t stop shooting this guy. Unfortunately, neither can Aaron Burr.

 

 

Paul Revere

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No need to add a second picture here. Evidently, Paul Revere is just Jack Black. It’s been a refreshing career change for a guy whose biggest claim to fame was riding a horse for a few hours.

 

 

Benjamin Franklin

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Acclaimed statesman, diplomat, writer, scientist–he must have had a great personality. Big Ben’s not a catch in the looks department by any stretch, but he did (supposedly) die of syphilis, so he must have had something going on for at least one gal. Too bad for him, lightning doesn’t often strike twice!

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