'make my stamen go beserk'

On our deck grows a veritable orgy of pepper plants. As we hit the end of July, I was beginning to think it would be early November before we ever feasted from the fruits of this labor ("Labor" being dumping seeds into a pot of dirt. This farming business is tough! Credit to those of you who feed the world!) But then this past weekend - magic! Tiny little peppers started popping out! Perfection!

Now, my knowledge of science, math and biology can only truly be credited to three things - Grease 2, Schoolhouse Rock and Nan, and the common theme that seems to run through my lessons is that talking to your plants has the potential to help make your plants grow.

Seeing as I have this raging desire to make stuffed peppers and adorn my salads with bright green pepper rings (or play ring toss after the kids go to bed. "Put your pollen tube to work" and all that. What? Nutritionists recommend up to five servings or more of fruits and vegetables a day, after all), I'm willing to turn my pepper plants over as a means of testing this theory.

Purely through research and extensive grant application processes, I've found there are (is) some sound waves out there, some voices, that seem to prove this growth theory in humans. Raise temperatures and such. At the risk of my peppers exploding everywhere, of not being able to adorn my meatloaves, I say screw ethics and lengthy lessons. Hit repeat and keep talking!

------------------------------

Hi, Internet!

I'm sure you've missed me, and so you pop over this Monday afternoon and find this rambling! Sigh. Trust me. It's roots are well intentioned, but come after a delish sleep-deprived weekend. Additionally, I've busted out some pure randomness two weeks straight. Eventually, you had to expect I was going to get to talking about, well, peppers.

In the midst of this nonsense, I want to send you all over to my friend Chag at Cynical Dad, and compel you to question his logic in having me be his guest dj for his "Song of the Day" inclusions on his posts. Of course, if you go there (and I suggest you do), you can expect me to be giving up the 80s love for my pretend husbands and lovahs! No one loves Simon LeBon like I love me some Simon LeBon. Step off, all you wannabe playahs!

You get that, too, when you come here. Really bad urban slang from a girl who has never been past the Nebraska border.

Word.

I'll try to have better ones later this week.

But voices? They rock...