Lightly Battered Sanity In Esoteric Git Sauce Gently Braised With Tofu on H1B

Free-thinking Tomatos Perfecting Yoga
(with all apologies to: www.dansonseed.com)

I am just back from dinner with a friend. Conversations at the dinner table varied from the usual work related bitching to organizing a guided tour of the mall for grocery related rendezvous. And it just hit me. The typical scene at V's on me Saturdays. Ambient music playing in the background. Me ---> harmlessly pushing my cart in slo-mo under the fluorescent lights looking like an angel surrounded by walls of canned food and condiments. I can see the mirage rising at the check out stands. Well, anyways.

So, the lady with the sexy voice was cooing about how this certain brand of toilet paper is gentle on your exalted, overrated, desertstorm-roughened bedouin rear while that brand of dishwashing liquid is good enough be used as rocket fuel. Advertising is pretty much like snake charming. You think you're the venomous, deadly reptile bobbing its head from the basket to smell the coffee. The dude in front of you plays an instrument in a circular motion like he's trying to sync his mental waves with you. You idiot! He's taking you for the proverbial ride and getting paid while at it! Uh, digression. Then came the topic of hand-picked tomatos at V's.

Well, I mean no disrespect to anyone. Not even tomatoes. The narration of the lady with the sexy voice turned into a demure, monosyllable drone reminiscing better times. When tomatoes were considered for bravery awards and paratrooping. "Our handpicked tomatoes are fresh, picked by gentle hands and smell of the very vine they've been picked from.. the vine that they smell of." Quite clear. These tomatoes are personally trained to maintain their weight and frequent facials help them maintain their complexion. Fragrant tomatoes, tomatoes for Valentine's day and tomatoes that make you coo love songs from the 80s. How could you be cruel enough to buy ketchup? You heartless bastard!

Then came the topic of herbal tea. Hand-picked tea leaves, dried and trimmed at the Ritz, etc, etc. My heart leapt like a retired drill seargent frog. It... It... t'was only tomatoes for Godzzz-sake! It's not like the vines physiologically imparted the smell in little pouches to the aimlessly hanging tomatoes. Or was it?? The farmer would have to pluck each tomato and hold it up to inspect it like a diamond with a frown. The inspection would last a good 16 hours while the other tomatoes sit around and massage their one day stubbles. If any anomalies were found, that tomato will be sent to secret location for further processing. Life. Strange. Unfair.

I guess I'm just an ignorant, indifferent idiot. I just can't seem to appreciate the finer things in life. ERBAL tea for instance. Decaf coffee for seconds. Or how about AND-picked tomatoes? Umm, and badgers that can swim in a formation while reciting poetry penned by Alfred Lord Tennyson...

Sigh.