When there’s something I want to say but can’t quite grasp of how to say it, there’s only one place to visit. Where there’s an argument I want to make but don’t have enough of the basic facts, there’s only one destination to consider. When there’s a theory I want to test but don’t understand any of its precepts, there’s only one way to progress. And when there’s a point I need to make but can’t seem to find the right words, there’s only one thing left to do. Pick a cherry. Should you be at a similar intellectual loss, flapping between the twin gusts of confusion and embarrassment, might I suggest locating the nearest cherry tree for a closer examination?
Cherry-picking is a healthy lifestyle and a foolproof rhetorical strategy – since I haven’t changed my mind yet and don’t plan on it.
Making friends is a harrowing exercise, which involves sifting through resumes, reviewing letters of recommendation, and interviewing character witnesses. The whole process is extremely exhausting and could have the side effect of causing someone to long for their previous situation, utterly friendless and totally alone. What if I told you there was a better way? Once you find something good about someone, stop looking, stop digging and simply choose to be satisfied. If you’re out at dinner and they leave a sizable tip, take that as a sign of their upstanding moral character and ignore the rest. In other words, pick a cherry instead.
You want alien life. I want alien life. Even aliens, well, they want alien life. But the unrelenting need for evidence gets in the way of a good, no, great story. When you see a blinking light in the sky, don’t check the FAA or some app that shows you it’s nothing more than a wayward weather balloon. Commit to it being a UFO. If you’re picking cherries, inconvenient facts aren’t inconvenient at all – they’re just ignored as extraneous. Thanks, but no thanks. Don’t go out and buy yourself a more powerful telescope for a closer look at the night sky. Your optic nerve is perfectly satisfactory.
If you’re buying a building, the façade is enough to make a down payment. Don’t let the presence of toxic mold, a cracked ceiling and a legion of charming squatters spoil what could make for a lovely Christmas card. The outside is plenty to impress your friends and disturb your enemies. So pick a cherry and stop right there.
Can’t you tell that it’s cherry-picking season again? By the air? By the smell? By the sounds of squishy fruit compressing between the oily palms of highly-enthused orchard-goers? Or by the shocked yelps of people who’ve forgotten about the existence of pits? I know that there are those more excited for apples and peaches, but cherries are big enough to fit in a standard pocket and leave you not asking for more information or more fruit.
George Washington even knew a thing or two about cherry trees. Or so I’ve been told.
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