blueberries epitome of incomprehensibility I went with my parents yesterday to a farm in a little Quebec town called Saint-Valentin. The town hall had an entwined wreath of two hearts as a logo. I saw it from the other side, too, because we were circling back trying to find the farm, and at the back of the building there were also hearts, but only shabbily outlined. (My tired mind is thinking "It's just not as committed to anal"; why is tired mind so filthy dirty today? Tsk tsk. Go clean your go-to metaphors and call me in the morning.) Anyway. The berry farm in the valentine town had a friendly employee who switched between English and French and weighed all our empty containers to subtract from the cost of the blueberries afterwards. Mom gave her six fairly large containers to weigh. I laughed, thinking we'd never fill that many. O ye (me) of little faith. See, I was picturing the wild blueberries up north in the Laurentians, small and growing on low bushes on rocky outcroppings or forest clearings. (This year the ones near us were mostly wiped out by spring freezes.) No. These were giant berries, about five times bigger than the other kind. There's a box of them next to me right now, with a sticky note on it saying "5 cups for pie." They're huge, the size of grapes - bigger even than the sweet-tart blue Niagara grapes. (Mmm. I want fresh Niagara grapes now. Wait a month or so.) They grew on large bushes too, some taller than I am, that looked more like trees. The upper ones were sparser, having been recently picked, but it was a novelty for me to stand up and pick blueberries. It was also easier on the back than crouching down. A couple of times, though, I found a large leaf from a nearby plant to sit on, saving the seat of my pants from purple stains of downed berries, and picked to the accompaniment of my thoughts. I was glad there was a narrative to occupy my thoughts, or else I'd have been terribly bored (we picked berries for about three hours). This narrative wasn't fiction, but the weird and surreal Roosh V Montreal incident(s) and the accompanying Internet battles. My thoughts were telling imaginary conversants that, no, someone who makes a point of looking for casual sex - a kind of hedonist, or pleasure-seeker - needn't be an affront to modern morality, but that THIS guy wasn't that, seeming more hate- than pleasure-motivated. Plus, a pleasure-seeker should be responsible where others are concerned. More Byron's Don Juan and less Mozart's Don Giovanni, who was vindictive and violent (or else the ending of him being dragged to hell seems like - anachronism approaching - mere slut-shaming). From what I remember of the stories. My mind moved to a quote from this Roosh character that he treats American women like disposable razors. It pondered this fact and concluded that he must have a habit of rubbing American women against his chin and then getting angry that doing so doesn't remove his facial hair. Or are American women hard to clean? Do they get dull quickly? What about American men? Are they more like women's razors: same problems, only pinker? Protests, now. People, including me, protested his ideas when he gave a speech in Montreal on Saturday. Why? Well... long story, and I'm not sure tired mind is up to analyzing things. There's a fair chunk of comedy, some anger-causing whatthefuckery, and a lot of weirdness. Anyway, he was exaggeratedly cautious about the location, changing it twice, and then holding his Top Seekrit speech in a restaurant and bragging about his victory over Montreal feminists on YouTube. Now, he's a private person and not a government or corporation so I didn't really take the going-after-him angle some people did, but I was curious to see if people could find out where he was having the thing. At the time they failed. But later, at night, he got beer thrown at him by a woman who recognized him, and then another beer from another person, and the incident was captured on camera. It made me laugh, then disapprove, then laugh again. Anyway, I was thinking about these things while picking blueberries. And different Don Juans, differently located hearts. The difference between WP (Would Pick) and WNP (Would Not Pick) berries: WPs are the right age, mainly, not to young (pink) or too old (wrinkly). But those are berries and people are more complicated. We filled most of the containers and today Mom counted 70 cups of blueberries. 70 cups! 150811 ... unhinged make some pudding with 1/2 cup chia seeds and 2 cups of coconut milk with agave syrup to taste. let sit in fridge for 2 to 3 hours. then serve with fresh blueberries and cinnamon. (this is currently my favorite breakfast. the blueberries are a vital part. the fresh sweetness cuts through the creaminess...sooooo good) 150812 ... e_o_i Oooh that sounds like a good idea. I could have it tomorrow - replacing the coconut milk with something else, but I have chia seeds. 150813 ... unhinged i'm partial to coconut milk but i think any milk would work 150814 ... e_o_i Chia seeds (mixed with another cereal) and milk and blueberries = very good. Added some cardamom for sweetness/spice. :) 150815 ... flowerock The chia pudding is something I need to make for often... I have a giant bag of organic chia seeds just sitting in the cabinet. Frozen Blueberries have less flavor, to me, but such a wonderful texture. I thought that frozen Blueberries would never occur in nature, but my lover pointed out that they might if it got cold enough for things to frost over. Now I really want to experience frozen fruits right from their vine or tree... 150815 what's it to you? who go blather from