Tag Archives: nature

Banana Split

First, she came for our bees. Now she’s back for our bananas. But what we repeatedly fail to see is we’re the ones she’s really after. Mother Nature’s making it personal, by killing off our most precious resources first, so she can watch us writhe and suffer and eventually die in a world devoid of flavor, nourishment and everything we ever loved. Not unlike God, after creating humans, the cherry on top of the beautiful garden he cultivated. Before he realized how badly he’d fucked up and decided to start over by mopping up the mess he’d made, AKA the holy flood.

Except unlike God and the flood, what we perceive as attacks by Mother Nature are indirectly our own doing. Just like when Mama used to take your toys away. You had to give her a reason to. You were probably misusing them. Maybe you were being too possessive of them. Perhaps you weren’t taking proper care of them. In any case, you were being naughty, and Mama had to teach you a lesson. Maybe we can have our bananas back if we learn our’s.

So what might that lesson be? I’m glad you asked.

The banana you know and love today is inferior in every way to the ones our parents and / or grandparents knew and loved a half a century ago. The Gros Michel, or Big Mike, as it was called—better-tasting and longer-lasting than today’s banana—was the world’s banana of choice until the mid-1900s. It was the standing champion of all bananas for decades of export and distribution, until it was struck by Mother Nature’s first blow to the groin of the industry. The Panama Disease.

The deadly fungus wiped out our beloved better-banana and left us only with a shittier runner-up. The Cavendish, another cultivar of the same fruit, which is inadequate in every way except for its immunity to Panama disease. Granted, it’s still delicious and one of the most-consumed crops across the globe. So we proceeded to breed a global monoculture of Cavendish bananas, when we should have been breeding  more genetic variation, on the off chance that the Panama Disease adapts a new, more deadly strain that threatens the one and only banana we grow.

Which is exactly what predictably has happened. The “second coming” of the fungus, known today as TP4, has already swept across South-east Asia and is spreading fast. Containing the fungus is unrealistic, considering it spreads naturally in storms. Facing the imminent death of the Cavendish banana, we must determine an alternative.

Knowing, as I do, nothing about the breeding of bananas or parthenocarpy or any of that genetic crap, I’m in no place to determine or even speculate such an alternative. But someone better. And surely, someone will, but depending on who, and how, I have my doubts about the soundness of whatever solution might eventually be proposed. Nature already gave us a second chance with the Cavendish after we fucked up the Gros Michel, by relying globally on a single genetic variation of our favorite fruit. And what did we do? The same exact thing. Round two. And what happened to our second-chance banana? The same exact thing.

So surely the answer is to breed more variations of bananas, so if one strain falls victim to the plague, we will have others to replace it. Easier said than done, I’m sure. I always sucked at biology, but the psychic in me foresees a looming opportunity for Monsanto. Genetic modification of food is another dangerous game we like to play, that’s already costing us some of our favorite toys. Take corn, for instance. Go try to buy some genetically unaltered corn. Good luck. Genetically modified corn threatens to dominate and wipe out natural varieties, because it’s bred to be superior. Survival of the fittest. (Or at least that’s as far as my limited and somewhat abstract understanding of GMOs can conceive.) How long before No-GMO is no no longer an option? How long before Mother Nature takes all our original toys away? How many times does the banana have to split before it’s gone forever?

Imagine it. A life with no bananas. No more banana bread. No more banana splits. No more banana milkshakes. No more banana pancakes. Jack Johnson’s famous hit. Every cartoon character that’s ever slipped on a banana peel. Every dick joke that’s been born from this gorgeous, phallic fruit. All meaning will be lost on future generations, born into a sad, cold, potassium-deficient world.

Now imagine the opposite. Imagine a world full of bananas as diverse as man and their dicks. Bananas of all varieties of size and shape and color. Subtle differences of texture and taste. Where before there was only one, there would be a menu of options. A breeding ground of creativity for culinary geniuses. And me, devouring their new creations.

As I said before, I’m no expert on genetic bio- banana stuff. And I’m no psychic either, as much as I may delude myself to be. Ultimately, I’m just a blogger, and a lover of bananas, and I just want you to know that they’re in trouble. And just to drill my message in a little deeper, here’s some internet-wisdom to remind you just how much you love bananas, and how sad you’d be to see them go.

When men are staring at you while you’re eating a banana..

Posted by WTF did i just watch?

Last Meal


Sometimes, I like to get away from people. Sometimes I like to hike in the woods, or dip in the ocean, and be alone in the natural world, untouched by the reckless, destructive hands of other humans. Naturally, animals like doing these things, too. So on the off chance that one day I become a meal for a hungry critter passing by, I just want it to be known, for the record, that my dying wish is for the animal who ate me to go free, and not be euthanized.

I’ve fallen victim of no such snacking, so far, but I say this now because if and when I do, I’ll be in no condition to espress this dying wish after the fact. Cause I’ll be dead. So if it happens, I just want you all to know I am at peace with the circumstances of my passing. The animal who ate me was right to do so. The animal was hungry, and I was delicious. Plus, I’m the dumbass who wandered alone into the wild. Not your land. Not my land. The shared, free land we all inhabit.

The animal who ate me only did what the universe put it here to do: Survive. Sometimes, surviving involves eating. You and I both know this. This shouldn’t come as news. This is Fat Saturday, for fuck’s sake. A day reserved exclusively for food-related news.

People eat to survive. Some people eat animals. Animals eat to survive. Sometimes, animals eat people. It’s called the circle of fucking life. It’s only fair. So whether I die in the jaws of a shark or the claws of a grizzly bear, let the record show that the animal who took my life is not at fault. Don’t let it  pay for my life with its own. Don’t make me the killer. Don’t make me responsible for the death of an innocent being. Having gone my whole life (so far) without murdering anyone, it would be a real bummer to discover my final act on this earth resulted in a murder, compromising the clean record I’ve worked my whole life to maintain. Should my body be an animal’s last meal, you can rest assured that justice was NOT served.

In fact, dying to feed a hungry wild beast comes second only to dying warm and cozy in my bed of old age. I want to die doing what I love, seeing the world, exploring the wild. When I die, I want my body returned to earth as soon as possible. Being digested and shit out by a family of bears would certainly speed up this process. And if I’m dying anyway, why not make a meal out of it? Feeding the hungry would be a noble way to go.

Lastly, I just want to remind you all the land you walk, the body you walk in, and the life you live are borrowed. Not owned. Not unlike the food you eat. Humans live by their own rules of possession, entitlement, justice, right and wrong, but at the end of the day, we die by nature’s rules. If you can hunt an animal, an animal can sure as fuck hunt you. Don’t think you call the shots just because you hold the gun.