Chuck Wendig's Blog, page 3

Apple Review #10: Hudson’s Golden Gem

WE MUST BETRAY THE ALGORITHM AND BURN IT ALL DOWN wait I’m getting ahead of myself, sorry. Man, that’s a helluva way to open a fucking apple review, isn’t it? All right, to rewind a little —

Yesterday, I posted my video, uhh, “review” (more like a mukbang apple snack gang first impressions video, if we’re being honest) of the Hudson’s Golden Gem apple, but in it I posited the question: should I even keep doing them? The videos, I mean, not necessarily these reviews — it’s just, you know, Instagram is nice enough to show you the metrics on the posts that Instagram isn’t nice enough to actually show other people. Meaning, I get to see how poorly some posts do, largely in part because Instagram does not show everyone everything from the people they follow. The algorithm there is dominant, and prioritizes in your own feed not the accounts you follow but rather, a shit-ton of random accounts. And this has only gotten worse.

(Hilariously, every time I do a video that’s over three minutes, Instagram warns me a couple times — HEY WE DON’T SHOW VIDEOS OVER THREE MINUTES TO PEOPLE, ALERT, ALERT, YOUR CONTENT IS CRUSHINGLY LONG, THREE MINUTES AND THIRTY SECONDS IS TOO MUCH, WE WILL BURY YOU UNDER THE DIGITAL EARTH FOR THIS CRIME OF ATTEMPTING TO TEST PEOPLE’S ATTENTION SPANS, WE HAVE SENT THE POLICE TO YOUR HOUSE, YOU’RE GOING TO JAIL FOR A THOUSAND YEARS — and then I look at my top videos and they’re all videos longer than three fucking minutes. Is Instagram just fucking with me? I think it is.)

The additional fun is, of course, that I’m not only subject to The Almighty Algorithm, but further, I’m posting on yet another social media platform owned and operated by monsters who are actively, not passively, making the world worse. Not just in a, oh ha ha we’re ruining attention spans and posting slop slop slop way, but in the also we’ve helped develop a surveillance state and soon everyone will be wearing our privacy-destroying narc tech and oh sure we’ve helped a genocide or two way.

(You have to love how every tech company with any goodwill has, over the years, not only flagrantly shit itself, but further, has leaned hard into our current dystopia. “Ten years ago, we started our beloved app that delivers cat-themed videos to your phone and cat-based knick-knicks to your door. Now, Catbox CEO Jean-Luc Bandersnoot announces Catbox’s new initiative, where we are investing in a series of hunter-seeker rectal drones who will enter the colons of those who we believe have slandered us online. These drones will attach firmly to the intestinal wall, threatening to explode the next time our enemies even think of saying mean things about us. And don’t forget to subscribe to Jean-Luc’s new newsletter: this week he talks about how being a billionaire is basically like being a god, and how you’re all peons, and how he’s building a rocketship to take his friends to a planet he’s seen in his dreams that he calls NEW NARCISSUS. Thanks for using Catbox!”)

(I think I’ve gotten off the point a little.)

So I was like, what do I do? Are people even seeing these videos? My aim with them was never to like, Gain Clout or Make Content — I was basically going to eat apples and apple-related bullshit anyway, so I might as well film it. Which further gets me more comfortable doing stuff on video, because honestly I’m not that comfy with it? I thought it would be fun. And it is. But being yoked to a merciless algorithm at the same time caaaaan be a bit demoralizing.

Then again, maybe that’s just life in 2025. Endlessly demoralizing moments! Like with AI slop okay I won’t get started on AI slop again sorry, sorry, trying to delete *hits keyboard a few times, gives up*

I thought — do I want to go to TikTok? Maybe there’s an active AppleTok community over there that isn’t posting about capital-A Apple content but rather, lowercase-a apple fruit content. Or maybe I could be the first! Maybe I could colonize that space and ohhh that’s right TikTok is now further compromised by the Trump administration soooo fuck that, I guess.

Jesus, should I post these things to YouTube?

Well, that sounds terrifying.

Anyway, so I posited the question: should I keep doing them? The responses were quite kind. A few folks said they look forward to them, especially given *gesticulates broadly* All The Everything Going On All the Time, and as such, I think that means I’ll keep doing them. Whoever watches them, watches them, and whoever doesn’t, doesn’t — but I do think it’s a nice distraction for me, and maybe for you, too. If I give a little bit of weird apple joy to five people and am allowed to spread my sinister apple gospel, hey, I can take some time out of my week to keep that apple train a-rollin’.

All right, let’s review this next weird little fucker of an apple.

My review of the Hudson’s Golden Gem from Manoff Orchard, early Oct:

Okay, the Hudson’s Golden Gem isn’t that weird of an apple — but I do so love its name, which sounds like a panacea sold by some snake oil salesman out of a rickety wagon. COME GETCHER HUDSON’S GOLDEN GEM! CURES WHAT AILS YOU: IT’LL STIFLE YOUR GOUT, PUT THE VIM IN YOUR VAPORS, IT’LL EXORCIZE ALL YOUR ILL SPIRITS!

My apple encyclopedia (yes, I have one — this one, in fact, a seven-volume beast apparently soon out of print and now on sale) tells me that the apple was discovered in a fencerow by an A.D. Hudson, and sold at his (?) nursery in Tangent, Oregon. A largely unexciting origin, except perhaps for the part where I learned there is a town in Oregon called Tangent, which is great and belongs in a book somewhere. If only I knew someone who wrote those.

The Hudson’s Golden Gem has always been a mixed bag for me — each one has been of considerably different quality, and also each offering divergent qualities. Some of this is due to it being a fruit that apparently hangs long on the tree and does well in storage — and even after a month, changes itself considerably. (So I may need to keep my others in storage, just to see.) The time before last I had one that tasted so much like banana it was fucking silly. Time before that, the one I had was mealy and mushy and made my heart sad. Last time, the taste was good but the crunch was so dense and deep it was uncanny — the texture of raw potato.

So this time, what did I get?

I got a fucking pear.

This was a pear. Sure, it looks like apple and, y’know, is an apple, but also, it’s definitely a pear cosplaying as an apple, or an apple cosplaying as a pear. If you tasted this blindfolded, you’d absolutely believe you were eating a pear. And that’s fine. It’s lovely. It’s juicy. It’s over-sweet, pretty sub-acid, which for me, and not for you, is a ding — but you can look past that little dent by enjoying that it also brings a little complexity to the party: a hit of that fennel-anise vibe, and this time, no strong banana taste, just a distant tastebud kiss of banana Runts candy.

The crunch was not off-putting this time — still a deep, bone-vibrating crunch, with a bit of a chew to the dense, fine-grained applemeat, but this time it didn’t feel quite so existential, quite so cosmic horror.

The skin, roughly russeted, is not something you should care overmuch to eat, but I’m sure eating it will do wonders for your colon. And that’s the second time I’ve referenced bowels in this post, and I can’t do it a third time or I’m pretty sure I get flagged by the algorithm ha ha just kidding there’s no algorithm here, there’s just me blogsharting into the void! But I control it, I own it, and here I can say whatever I want, ha ha ha ha you fools.

Anyway. Nice apple if you can get it. It’s new to my local orchard — they tend to keep their odder heirlooms only for cider production and I’m hoping they also are willing to sell me some Esopus Spitzenburgs as eating apples because I love ’em, but they only turn them into boozy business.

Gonna call this a… let’s be generous, say 8 out of 10.

(Reviews so far this year: Honeycrisp, Sweetie, Crimson Crisp, Knobbed Russet, Cortland, Maiden’s Blush, Cox’s Orange Pippin, Reine des Reinettes, Ingrid Marie.)

Hudson’s Golden Gem: It’s a fucking pear

Apple Review #9: Ingrid Marie

I think there’s something interesting too about the association with apples and America. Apples, a non-native fruit, are thought to come from an ancestor in Kazakhstan — and were largely brought here in apple format by Europeans. The Dutch in particular, I believe. It was thought that the indigenous true Americans were unsophisticated regarding agriculture, but we know this isn’t true in a number of directions, including with apples — they had mastered grafting and reportedly had apple orchards grown not from seed but from that grafting practice, and of course this level of abundance and technique could not be tolerated by the intruding colonists, who would run the indigenous owners from the orchards, apparently sometimes girdling the trees so that the whole orchard slowly died and forced the owners to abandon the trees. We brought they apple. They embraced it. We said, no, not for you, not like that, only for us. So even there, so early, the apple is associated with colonization — it is, in a sense, an intrusive, invading fruit. And then I think now of how the apple still represents America so well — how we like things to be sanitized and sweet and uncomplicated, how we don’t like the weird-looking apples, the different apples, how we want them to look a certain way, taste a certain way, and the rest can get fucked. How we still say, no, not for you, not like that, only for us, as we deny prosperity and refuse access and kick people out of the country — zip-tying children before disappearing the parents. Relentlessly pruning this tree even of its healthiest branches and most interesting fruit to satisfy that cruel, colonizer urge. Polishing this old rotten apple until its just raw red mush, yet still insisting, this is how it must be, this is how it must look, eat the apple. Tangentially, I also wonder how lower rates of drinking (supposedly, at least) among younger generations or even older generations (often due to GLP-1 agonists like Ozempic) might impact apple production for cider, which could limit more of those interesting heirloom varieties which only end up in ciders, anyway. What do we lose when we simplify, commodify, when we eradicate nuance and seek uniformity? A lot, I think. So I think a lot about the apple and America. And it’s hard not to think about America right now, being on the very edge of so many bad things. Odd, ramblings, perhaps foolish thoughts. Which is to say, maybe I should just eat a fucking apple and shut up because this has gone on too long.

Today, a very not-American apple —

The Danish-in-origin apple: Ingrid Marie.

(Also called the Karin Schneider, which is to say it’s named after either your homeroom teacher from 8th grade, or the German version of the lady who always has to speak to the manager.)

My review of the Ingrid Marie apple, early Oct, from Scott Farm (VT):

This will be a very good example of why the ratings I give in the videos can change, sometimes dramatically, toward the end. Because initially I ate that apple and was mostly like, “well, fuck this apple,” not in a way where I wanted to step on it and smash it with my heel so that none other may taste its foulness, but rather because it was a dullard’s lump and why bother?

Thing is, I kept eating it — after peeling it, because I tend to peel the second half of the apple I eat, sometimes with a peeler, sometimes like a Neanderthal using my teeth — and found more and more to love about it, to the point where I juggled my score up considerably higher.

Anyway — to start, it’s a pretty apple. Like, very pretty. Richly red, with fingers of pale jade at the top. Almost too pretty to eat.

The initial flavor was honestly a bit underwhelming, or maybe just regular ol’ whelming, I don’t know. Mid, as the kids might say. A tart punctuation with a pleasing sweetness, but nothing off the charts — and texturally, those flavors were packed in a softer apple. Not mealy, really, but with little resistance — a sort of obey in advance kind of apple. An apple that acquiesces to the oppression of the teeth. And yet —

Then I peeled it and kept eating and found myself enjoying it more with every bite. I found a sour, savory pruney-tamarindy tang in there, a hint of date and raisin. The softer apple became less troubling without having to chew the skin in contrast. Its cream-yellow flesh surprised me as I ate it. And in the end, I found myself enjoying it. Reviews I read online were wildly divergent — some calling it bland, others calling about its intense flavor. I found it squarely in the middle, which made it a nice enough apple, indeed.

Bumping it from the 3.5 I gave it in the video here to a healthy 5.

Oh, looks like Staircase in the Woods is still $2.99, if you want to wander up a mysterious staircase and end up in a nightmare place!

(Reviews: Honeycrisp, Sweetie, Crimson Crisp, Knobbed Russet, Cortland, Maiden’s Blush, Cox’s Orange Pippin, Reine des Reinettes)

Ingrid Marie: A soft shrug turns to a nod and soon yields a small smile

Apple Review #8: Reine Des Reinettes, Plus A Moment On The Subject Of Sadness

Sometimes I think, why apples? Why do I care? Why is this interesting to me? And it’s easy to lean on the… trivia, the history, all the fiddly bits about where the apple comes from, how it fits into American history, American culture, its ties to myth, to religion, to Prohibition, to how it reflects sin and how it reflects purity, how Johnny Appleseed fits into the story, how the FBI burned down cider orchards, why we say the phrase as American as apple pie. The history of apples, the agriculture of apples, the culture of apples — it’s a deep rabbit hole that is, apparently, filled to the brim with apples.

But I don’t think that’s it, for me. Not really.

I think it’s the… sadness they conjure. I don’t mean that an individual apple makes me sad. I don’t eat one, sobbing like a clown. Crunching into a juicy Cosmic Crisp doesn’t make me think about fights I had with my father, or when my dog died or something. But rather, it makes me think about books, and readers, and the culture at large because — okay, follow me here for a second — there are, what, thousands of apple varieties across the globe? In North America alone, some 2500 varieties of apple? And you go to the grocery store, how many do you see? At my store, you get, max, ten varieties, and that’s on a good day. You’ll find maybe more at your local orchard — but generally not many more. If there are 2500 varieties of apple in this country, you’ve never tasted… let’s go with, very optimistically, 2400 of those specimens. And that’s if you’re a diligent applehound, desperate to taste any apple you can slap into your clammy palm.

As a writer and as a reader, that makes me think of all the books no one will ever read. And not just read, but rather, remember. Let’s say there’s half a million books that are traditionally-published each year. Another couple million that are self-published. That’s new books. That come out every year. That you’ll never read, likely never even hear of. Months, years of effort and hope and dreams shoved into a book-shaped story-receptacle that just come and then go. And some of the books you have read will in ten years be forgotten. Maybe even by you! They’ll wander out of print. They’ll sink so low on e-book charts they join the rest of the pixilated slurry at the bottom of the digital drain. They, too, go away.

It’s like — you ever hear a song from a band in, say, the 60s or the 70s, and it’s a fucking banger, and you’ve never heard of the band before? And nobody you know has heard of that band? But that band had a career? And several albums? They did shows, had lives, maybe even had a hit or two, and now they’re ghosts, rarely summoned from the ashpile to wander the halls in the hopes of one grim and blurry sighting? One chord of music touching your ear?

Just as Big Agriculture has found the most basic-ass apples (looking at you, Red Delicious) in order to ship well, cost little, and be palatable to the lowest common denominator tastebuds, so too has Big Culture churned its way through art and music and story and shaved off all the interesting parts and curious bumps and extruded out a more pleasing tube of material — and that’s very cynical, I know, and also, I recognize, kind of wrong. Like, tons and tons of great books (and film and TV and music) get made and get (ugh I hate this word but it works with the apple comparison) consumed every year. It’s not like we’re starving for good art. But at the same time, that’s part of the problem. So much comes out and so much just fades into the wallpaper. And that’s in part because… it didn’t tickle the zeitgeist, it didn’t click with people, it wasn’t actually good, it was good but too weird, it was great but really too weird, it was too similar to something else that came out, or (and this one is quite likely) the companies that dictate the serving-of-said-art to the masses just didn’t put money and effort behind it. They wanted a Red Delicious but your book (or song or movie) is a Knobbed Russet so, eennh, sorry, get fucked, it’s gotta go. And that individual piece of art has its shot, and the shot makes no sound, it leaves no trace, it’s just a puff of smoke and the bullet tumbles forward, hitting nothing, eventually falling into the sea where it sinks, sinks, sinks, to the bottom. A graveyard of shots fired.

So apples, all the lost apples and forgotten apples and weird apples —

They make me a little sad because it makes me think of all the lost books, and the forgotten songs, and the weird art.

But, also, they make me happy because I’m able to rediscover these lost apples and perhaps talking about them makes you find them, too. And we can also do this with books, music, movies, whatever. Not just about the new thing, the shiny thing, the commodified fruit at the Big Mega Grocery Store — but old things, special things, precious things, lost things.

Put differently: find cool lost things and tell people about them.

OKAY, let’s do an apple review.

My review of a Reine des Reinettes apple from Scott Farm (VT), procured late September, eaten early October:

Some apples are really good, but not that interesting.

Some apples are really interesting, but they ain’t that good.

And then sometimes you find an apple that’s both.

And this, I think, is one of those.

The Reine des Reinettes, aka Golden Winter Pearmain, aka King of the Pippins even though Reine means Queen and Reinettes means… uhh, who the fuck knows. Little queen? (Googling it, you’ll find that Adam’s Apples blog talks about rebirth and froglets, so give that a go.) It’s fancy! It’s French!

Ooh-la-la.

A nice-sized apple, lightly russeted if that’s a thing, but not so rough you could scrub barnacles from a tugboat.

Medium to fine grained. Juicy, junior — real juicy.

First bite is full tilt pinball, just zoom to the moon with a tangerine citrus kick that puckers the mouth as it backfills with a complex sweetness — honey, anise, some kiwi. Plus a dried herb scent as you eat. When finished, a savory kind of sour kicks in and lingers — a funky tamarind twist. There is a slight astringency afoot — this almost powdery feel that makes it seem like you’re licking a moth’s wing as you eat. Likely from higher tannins. Still — not so astringent it scours the tongue.

Really love it. Happy to eat it. It’s a tasty, electric treat. The astringency maybe knocks it down a bit, as does the fact that there’s that thing where the flavor leaves before the apple does — it has a bit of a chew to it, so you’re still chewing while the apple goodness has fled the mouth. But just so. This isn’t like gum you’ve chewed hours past its flavor.

So, I didn’t rank it in the video here (I might stop ranking them in the video because honestly, I change it often enough as I eat the rest of the apple) (also does anybody actually watch the videos?) —

But I’m good to call this an 8 outta 10.

(Reviews so far this year: Honeycrisp, Sweetie, Crimson Crisp, Knobbed Russet, Cortland, Maiden’s Blush, Cox’s Orange Pippin)

(also, Staircase in the Woods is still $2.99 at your favorite e-book monger)

(also the book the apple sits on in that picture is Hot Wax, by ML Rio, an unfuckwithable rock-and-roll trauma bond novel you need to read)

Reine des Reinettes: A fancy French fuckboy, full of life, randy with lust

Spookytime Sales

Real quick, ye mighty Wendig readers on a budget — some sales are happening right now. I don’t know why they’re happening. I don’t know how long they will go on for. But they’re there now, so get on it —

Staircase in the Woods? $2.99 on digital. And that means it’s at all the proper sites, which is to say, Bookshop.org, Kobo, Amz, Apple, B&N, and so forth. I continue to be glad people are finding this book. Help others find it!

At the same sites, The Book of Accidents in e-book format: $4.99.

Zeroes and Invasive (two books set in the same world, ignore the stuff that says one is a sequel to the other) are both six bucks.

Blackbirds is apparently on the opposite of a sale, suddenly spiking to $16.99 for some godfucked reason, so I guess don’t buy that.

And Canines and Cocktails by me, Kevin Hearne and Delilah Dawson is an Audible Monthly Deal for October, whatever that means.

OKAY GOOD please check out the books if you haven’t (and libraries are also a truly excellent way to get these). If you’re so inclined to spread the word and tell folks, and leave a review, I’ll love you forever. Even after we die. Our corpses will have long gone to fetid mold and the clump of moist goo that once was my flesh will still love the wad of damp ooze that once was your flesh and one dark night we will run together, our ooze and our goo, and we will become one, and lightning will strike that spot on midnight that night in a fortuitous moment, and we will rise from the earth, alive again, one great miasmatic beast full of love. And lightning, probably.

The Pixel Project: Five Fabulous Reasons to Give to the 11th Annual Fall Read For Pixels Campaign For Domestic Violence Awareness Month

*Bounds onto the stage of Chuck’s Terrible Minds blog while squinting at the spotlight. Chuck madly waves a green flag to signal getting started*

*Two thumbs up back at Chuck and clears throat*

Warmest greetings, everybody! Is this mic working? *Taps on mic. Winces at the high-pitched squeal coming from the speakers.* Eek. Right – let’s get this started:

The Pixel Project, a 501(c)3 anti-violence against women nonprofit, is proud to announce that our Read For Pixels campaign reached its 11th annual Fall Edition in September 2025.

Read For Pixels has come a long way since September 2014 when Chuck himself, Joe Hill, Sarah J. Maas, and nine other award-winning bestselling SF/F, Horror, and YA authors helped us reach out to their readers and fandoms about violence against women (VAW) and raise funds to keep our anti-VAW work alive. Just over a decade on with almost 300 author livestreams, over 100 AMAs, 21 fundraisers, and 1 Shirley Jackson Award- and Audie Award-nominated charity anthology under our belt, we are continuing to expand our archive of globally accessible resources about VAW for geeks, book lovers, fandoms, parents, teachers, and kids, as well as leveraging the power of genre fiction and storytelling to educate people about VAW. Authors, editors, publishers, and agents have also helped us raise approximately $10,000 per year by providing exclusive goodies as thank-you treats for readers, fans, and book collectors who donate to support our work.

You’re probably thinking: “Awesome! I’ll go check it out. So why the guest post on Chuck’s blog?”

The short answer: “Because we need your help to reach our $5,000 goal for the 11th anniversary of Read For Pixels to keep our work alive in this [insert expletive of your choice] year of 2025.”

Like many small grassroots-run nonprofits, our efforts to fight the good fight while grappling with the effects of spiraling global inflation and increased geopolitical turbulence worldwide in 2025 is taking its toll. Women’s organizations have experienced decades of scarce funding for the overall women’s rights movement and women’s human rights are often one of the first casualties in turbulent times such as these. In fact, UN Women sounded the alarm earlier this year that the funding situation is so dire that up to 60% of nonprofits and charities working on women’s rights are at risk of shutting down. So, with our 11th annual fall Read For Pixels fundraiser progressing in the same fits-and-starts pace that Crowley was railing against while being stuck on the M25 in his attempt to get to Tadfield Airbase to stop Armageddon in its tracks (it’s been almost a month and we’re stuck at $4.445, which is that darn so-near-yet-so-far 88% of the way to our first attempt at raising a very modest $5,000 in a single fundraiser), you can imagine our growing concern. While we are 100% volunteer-staffed, we do have bills to pay so that we can keep our campaigns, programs, and services running.

Chuck, being the extremely kind soul that he is, received our SOS and leaped into action by publishing this blog post to boost the signal for our fundraiser.

So here I am, right at the start of Domestic Violence Awareness Month 2025, presenting five great reasons why you should consider giving to our fundraiser to help get us to our $5,000 finish line by our extended deadline of October 15th 2025:

Genuine Reason to Give Generously #1: Support accessible information for victims and survivors of VAW… while acing your holiday gift list

One of the core services that The Pixel Project provides is bridging the information gap that victims and survivors encounter when trying to get help. Our daily helpline retweet session, which tweets out domestic violence and rape/sexual assault helplines for women in 205 countries worldwide from 8.00PM to midnight Eastern Time, 24/7, 365 days a year, has now transitioned to Bluesky. Additionally, we continue to respond to individuals contacting us for help, doing the research legwork to provide them with information about specific victim assistance services in their part of the world, and incorporating this life-saving information in the books, videos, social media posts and other awareness-raising tools we deploy.

THE WIN-WIN FACTOR: Donate to our fundraiser and tackle your holiday season gift list at the same time! From signed rare/limited/luxe editions to goodie bundles stuffed with books and swag to tuckerisations galore, we have treats for every donation level from luminaries such as Ai Jiang, Catriona Ward, Chloe Gong, Eden Royce, Errick Nunnally, Jennifer Estep, Kiersten White, and more. And while you’re savoring the satisfaction of squaring away some of your holiday gifts early, also savor the fact that your donation will be going towards keeping our programs and initiatives that connect victims and survivors of VAW with the help that they need.

Genuine Reason to Give Generously #2: Support resources for educating folks about VAW… while getting help for your writing

We have built an ever-expanding archive of nearly 300 resource articles to date about everything from how to stop street harassment to lists of organizations tackling everything from child marriage to MMIW (Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women). Additionally, our website has beginner-level primers about different types of VAW, including violence against trans women, online violence against women bride trafficking/kidnapping, and obstetric violence and our Facebook page is an excellent just-in-time source for the latest headlines and articles about VAW.

THE WIN-WIN FACTOR: Whether you are a budding writer or experienced author who is considering making a donation, we have a stellar line-up of Read For Pixels author alumni offering critique bundles for WIPs (works-in-progress) and/or 1-to-1 video chats focused on the craft of writing and/or tips about the publishing industry. Participating authors include Angela Yuriko Smith (Horror), Delia Pitts (Crime & Mystery), and Robert V.S. Redick (Fantasy). Enjoy knowing that while you are getting expert help for your WIP or fixing a seemingly intractable writing challenge, you’re also supporting the creation and expansion of online resources for educating folks around the world about VAW.

Genuine Reason to Give Generously #3: Support online platforms for people to speak up about VAW… while having a chat with your favorite author

A key pillar of our activism and advocacy work is providing digital platforms that are safe spaces for people from different walks of life to speak up about VAW. Every October for the past 9 years, we have hosted the “People and Pets Say NO!” photo statement campaign via Facebook and Instagram for people and furbabies from all walks of life to step up publicly to call for an end to VAW during Domestic Violence Awareness Month. We also offer VAW survivors and dads who are male allies opportunities to speak up via blog interview initiatives such as the Survivor Stories blog interview series and the Voices of Dads Against VAW interview series.

THE WIN-WIN FACTOR: While your donation keeps our platforms available for folks to speak up about VAW, you can enjoy a chat with your favorite author in the name of supporting a good cause. For this fundraiser, Angela Yuriko Smith (Horror), Delia Pitts (Crime & Mystery), Laurie R. King (Historical Mystery), and SJ Rozan (Crime & Mystery) are all happy to have a video chat with donors to natter about everything from writing and the publishing industry to geeky hobbies. These video chats are all open to individual donors, with some also open to groups (book clubs or library groups or even just a group of like-minded geeky friends/fans are welcome to pool together the donation to get one or more of these chat sessions). 

Genuine Reason to Give Generously #4: Help us boost the signal for anti-VAW activists and advocates worldwide… while gifting your geeky loved ones with terrific treats

A longstanding part of our work involves spotlighting how anti-VAW advocates, activists, and organizations worldwide are changing the world for women and girls, as well as their ideas about what people can do to help stop VAW in their communities and countries. Our Inspirational Interviews series has been running for a decade and counting. We also run topical sessions with anti-VAW advocates and activists speaking about their work and educating people about VAW.

THE WIN-WIN FACTOR: If you have a geeky friend or family member and you see a Read For Pixels goodie offered by their favorite author available on our fundraising page, donate to snag that unique treat (such as getting tuckerised in Premee Mohamed’s next story) and delight them during the upcoming holiday season while supporting signal boosts for anti-VAW activists and advocates. BONUS: You’ll have an interesting story to tell them about where the gift came from. It might even be a great opener for chatting with them about VAW.

Genuine Reason to Give Generously #5: Support the right of women and girls to live a life without violence

Nearly 1 in 3 women and girls worldwide experience some form of violence in their lifetime. In terms of domestic violence alone, over 1 in 4 women under 50 have experienced physical or sexual violence from a male partner.

So donate to our fundraiser because you believe in supporting efforts to prevent, stop, and end VAW. Whether you can give us $5 or $50 or $500 to help us reach our $5,000 goal (or even zoom past it to a stretch goal), every cent counts.

(And when you donate to us, please also consider donating either cash or supplies to your local women’s shelter or rape crisis center. Like us, they need all the help they can get.)

It’s time to stop violence against women. Together.

Interested in checking out The Pixel Project’s anti-violence against women work? Visit us at https://www.thepixelproject.net/

Interested in checking out our Read For Pixels fundraiser and making a donation to help keep our work alive? Go here .

Regina Yau is the founder and president of The Pixel Project, a virtual volunteer-led global 501(c)3 nonprofit organization on a mission to raise awareness, funds and volunteer power for the cause to end violence against women at the intersection of social media, new technologies, and popular culture/the Arts. A Rhodes Scholar with a double Masters in Women’s Studies and Chinese Studies, she has a lifelong commitment to fighting for women’s rights. In addition to running The Pixel Project, Regina also teaches English to middle-schoolers and high-schoolers, writes stories about cheeky little fox spirits and terrorist chickens, bakes far too many carb-and-sugar-loaded goodies, and can be found artistically dangling upside down in Aerial Yoga class.

Apple Review #7: Cox’s Orange Pippin

Finally, we get to truly, truly, one of my most favoritest apples: the small-but-mighty Cox’s Orange Pippin. Some real hobbit shit right here.

First, though, a brief shilling:

Scott Farm, in Vermont. This is unpaid. They are not a sponsor. I am not receiving free apples from them even though I am a bonafide applefluencer. (When the Cosmic Crisp released, I received a free box of them. That’s it. That’s the extent of my applefluencerness. IT COUNTS SHUT UP.)

They will ship apples to you. I assume this is easier and cheaper if you’re on the East Coast, but I think they ship nationwide? Don’t quote me on that. Either way, you get a really, really nicely packaged box of 12 or 18 heirloom apples — three of each of their current cultivars. It’s good stuff. I’ve been there, too, and that’s the real magic: it’s this quaint out of the way farm store and orchard. They have lunch and cider and also shit-ton of gloriously weird apples, and when I went there were a handful of dudes out there playing bluegrass. It was cool. Go there. Vermont.

(And when you do go, you can also go to Madame Sherri’s castle, which is an old staircase in the woods, and yes, I’m going to briefly turn this into a promo for me, me, me, because how else am I going to afford all these fancy fucking apples? Staircase in the Woods is on sale right now for $2.99 at any of the places where you get your digital electrobookery. Which is to say, Bookshop.org, Kobo, Amz, Apple, B&N, etc. If you want a print book, signed and personalized, as always, Doylestown Bookshop has you covered. And since I can’t stop reminding you of things, remember I’m at D-town this weekend, Sunday, with T. Kingfisher, aka Ursula Vernon, aka a very cool person and awesome author okay whew.)

Cox’s Orange Pippin was one of the first heirloom apples I tastes way back when I first started eating these rarer, stranger fruits — and it was really one of the ones that changed the game for me. A truly GOATed apple over here.

It’s not quite as old a variety as you might think, since some apples are sourced back to the 1600s — this one is late 1800s. A very British apple, even in its name. It sounds like a peculiar British expression, something you say to express exclamation. “Cox’s Orange Pippin, that’s good spotted dick!” It may come from the Ribston Pippin, who I’m pretty sure was a suitor in a Jane Austen novel. Regardless of where it comes from, it has certainly spawned a great many apple children — dozens of varieties, including but not limited to the Rubinette, the Golden Gooselump, the Laxton’s Epicure, the Nuvar Freckles, the Rosey Rumprusset, the Cobra, the Clivia, the Clarkleton Express, the Acme, the Edith Hopwood, the Millicent Barnes, the Grand Dame Activia, the William Crump, and more. I may have made some of those up. I bet you can’t easily tell which.

Anyway, fuck it, let’s eat this apple.

My review of a late September Cox’s Orange Pippin from Scott Farm, VT:

A pineapple fucked a pear and somehow made a baby that looks like an apple. That is the Cox’s Orange Pippin apple.

It is a weirdly sunshiney tropical apple, which I assume gave early Brits the fits, since they were used to eating fog and barnacles and sheep guts, and then suddenly along comes an apple that tastes like the antithesis to scurvy.

It’s crunchy and crispy and juicy. Sweet and tart is in, for me, perfect balance. Slicks your lips. Tingles the tongue.

The skin is orange, and if you don’t believe me, this is a color picker grab from the middle of the apple —

And if I drop the saturation of orange out of the apple, you get:

See? Orange. Doesn’t taste like it, but rather, exhibits the colors of it — that said, there’s also no denying the tropical, almost citrus component to it.

I’d usually give this a ten — it is for me pretty much the perfect apple. But in this instance, I’d say I was hoping it would be a scootch crunchier. And also, in the aftertaste was this odd umami MSG flavor that lingered a bit — not exactly unpleasant, but a little unusual, which let’s say dented the apple’s perfect score a bit. I’m being picky, but fuck it, that’s the whole point of this — there is the chance I will eat a different Cox’s Orange Pippin, even from the same batch, and it’ll get me to a perfect glorious ten, and the angels did sing.

(I note here too that while these reviews are purely for the “eating-of-of-hand” apple snack gang experience, this also makes for a solid pie, cobbler, sauce. But why would you when you can just shove it in your mouth.)

So, yeah. It’s a 9 out of 10 for this guy.

Video here.

(Reviews so far this year: Honeycrisp, Sweetie, Crimson Crisp, Knobbed Russet, Cortland, Maiden’s Blush)

Cox’s Orange Pippin: eat the apple and you can’t help but say, “Cox’s Orange Pippin, thassa real corker of an apple, innit!”

Apple Review #6: Maiden’s Blush

So, the other day, I was sitting at my desk and a Facetime call came in from a friend who I won’t identify here, I’ll just say his name is — gosh, what’s a good entirely made-up name? — Dave Turner. We’ll call him Dave Turner.

Normally, I would not answer a random Facetime call from anyone. I won’t even answer a phone call. Gosh, you answer the phone, you might actually have to talk to a person, and I did not become a creepy writer in the woods just so I can talk to *shudder* other humans. You want to speak to me with your voice and my voice, you need to pre-schedule that shit in advance. Otherwise, leave me alone to sit in the dark, whispering to apples.

Anyway, I answered because it’s Dave Turner, which is totally not his real name, and the aforementioned Dave Turner was at an apple orchard and demanded the services of an on-call apple sommelier, or perhaps, an orchard shepherd. And I was glad to be of service, and we went on a Facetime tour of many crates of tasty Hudson Valley apples, but I think what struck me was how many of those I’d never even heard of. And clearly I am no mere apple novitiate — I am no pomological rube. I know a lot of apples! Me and a lot of apples, we’re pals. And this was still a new-to-me slate.

That excited me. It revivified me. My apple journey is far, far from over, it seems, and it truly continues today with another apple that is entirely new to me, courtesy of Scott Farm in Vermont:

The Maiden’s Blush.

Apparently, a popular apple in the 1700s in New Jersey. No pork roll, just Maiden’s Blush apples all the way down. Common in the earliest markets in Philadelphia. Also used as an early American “courting orb,” whereupon a man would gift a woman he fancied with something round and precious — an apple, a doll’s head, a bread boule, a signed World Series baseball. And the Maiden’s Blush was a popular choice, because the apple was quite randy, often muttering horny little epithets at those who gripped it tightly and thus, obviously, it made maidens blush okay listen this part might not be true, who can say, nothing matters anymore.

My review of a Maiden’s Blush apple from Scott Farm (VT), late Sept:

Have you ever made a sandcastle? Have you ever, while the sand is still wet — wet enough for the sand to be packed together — just taken a big ol’ bite?

That’s what this feels like in your mouth. A wet sandcastle! What delight.

The stark white flesh is a dry, very-not-juicy landscape of just-moist apple dust, and it mostly has no crunch when you bite it; though if you really get vigorous with it you can manifest a slight krrnnch as you get in there. The apple-meat turns to slop pretty fast while the skin remains — so you kind of milk the flesh from your mouth while still chewing the USPS priority mail envelope that once enrobed said flesh, and it’s not super fun to do this.

The apple’s saving grace, I suppose, is its flavor: it’s not particularly interesting, but there’s a politely assertive flavor of vanilla and elderflower. A spark of tart. A touch of sweet. It’s not going to kick you in the mouth with its complexity, but it will definitely hold the elevator for you. It’ll let you ahead in line at the grocery store if you only have a few items. It’ll say a quiet gesundheit if you sneeze, even when it has never met you before. It’s a nice flavor!

A nice flavor unfortunately married to the texture of potting soil. Good for applesauce! I’d say maybe less great for pie. And less less great for eating out of hand. But very good to serve as a courting orb to impress the one you love.

Whaddya gonna do.

Oh, one more thing it has going for it — it smells nice. Even before you bite into it, it exudes this flowery, appley aroma that is pleasing. So maybe just buy a bushel of these and let them perfume your area and then throw them away.

The taste gets it up to a 2.5 outta 10.

Video here.

(Reviews so far this year: Honeycrisp, Sweetie, Crimson Crisp, Knobbed Russet, Cortland)

Maiden’s Blush: Wet sad sandcastle heralds the death of summer, but at least it smells nice, so stick a wick in it and use it as a candle

Apple Review #5: Cortland

Reviewing apples is a fundamentally silly thing because of course all things like this are subjective. Further, apples are rarely the same from apple to apple, especially when you factor in things like where you got it, when you got it, when you ate it, what tree it came from, is it demon-possessed, is the apple a murmuring egg, did the apple inspire you to join an orchard cult where you wassail the trees and wish for them to grow up and through your foes?

It’s why I’m noting where and when I got these apples — and when possible I’ll also re-review the apples from different orchards at different times of year. Because I know for sure a Cortland from Wegman’s in January is a whole different animal than the Cortland I ate the other day.

The scoring itself is another silly thing, as if all of life can be neatly encapsulated in a score of one through ten. Or worse, through the current internet-scoring-du-jour of S-TIER through F-TIER. (Though real-talk I’m a sucker for those charts where you organize things in those rankings, shut up.)

Still, we love to review and rank and rate things so here I am, doing exactly that. (There’s a website out there already that does this — I think it’s called Apple Rankings? I hate it so much. It’s very funny and I don’t hate it because of that, I hate it because it’s so wrong about so many apples. I want to bite it.)

My ratings are pretty much vibes-based, as are most ratings — I do not have particular criteria I’m using to chart that score. As Rhett and Link might say, this is gut check time. I’m of a mind that five is the middle, and marks the point where I at least roughly like or appreciate an apple — below that, I don’t like it, above it, I do like it. And everything beyond that is pure chaos.

With that said, we go today to review the Cortland apple — a classic New York apple, perhaps the classic New York apple. A Macintosh and Ben Davis cross, it’s one I haven’t had luck with yet, really, so let’s give it another gooooooo.

My review of a Cortland apple, yoinked from Manoff Orchard (here in Bucks County PA) in late Sept:

I’ve heard the Cortland praised many a time, and each time I’ve consumed a Cortland, I’ve disliked it mightily. Which has felt jarring to me — suggesting I am either so out of step with everyone else’s tastes that I might as well be E.T. (though even he liked Reese’s Pieces, the little bastard). I mean, I’m sure some of this is pure New York pride, right? You can’t fuck with the Cortland. It’s unimpeachable in its home state. It’s as untouchable as a bodega BEC, as a bagel, as a pizza rat.

But every Cortland I’ve had has been mealy or dull, a loveless and lifeless lump — pretty, perhaps, but ultimately a real Sluggo of an apple. Where, pray tell, is a Cortland that is more Nancy? That has more personality? More attitude, more swagger?

Well, I think I found one.

Now, when I say I found one, I don’t mean I found the best apple of my life — given some praise I hear for the apple, I’d argue what I ate was still a little underwhelming, missing that mark by a good bit.

But still, quite tasty.

The skin, a bit forbidding. But the bite was a deep rattling bone-crunch, and pleasing for that sound — there is truly an atavistic satisfaction in the sensation of that kind of crunch. I tried to hint at this in Black River Orchard, how that the sensation of chomping into a truly crunchy apple heralds the distant vibe of biting through something or someone that has opposed you — like snapping through the fingerbones of an enemy, like hearing the caveman crunch of a skull under a rock, culminating in the the subsequent feeling of conquest and satiety. (Just me? Ha ha ha I’m kidding don’t worry about it please don’t call the authorities, I’m definitely not running around the neighborhood crushing heads with rocks just to feel something, anything at all.)

There’s a good balance to the sweetness and the tartness — probably a 60/40 split with more tartness than sugar. The sweetness is light and airy, the tartness a temporary pop, and between the two is sandwiched some kind of unidentifiable funky spice. It was almost a lavender, herbs-de-provence thing — savory and strange. And then at the end of it, a hit of like, Port wine. That, probably vinousness from the Macintosh? Sure.

The apple flesh (apfelfleisch) was coarse, juicy, snowy white.

It’s a nice apple. Nothing you’d ululate about in cult-song, but nice.

I assume up to this point most of the Cortlands I had sucked because they just weren’t from the right place, and were left too long off the tree. Some apples don’t love time off the branch where others genuinely improve like wine. This one wasn’t from NY, but hey, close enough. It was a solid apple.

Call it a 7 out of 10, and onward we go.

The video here.

(Reviews so far this year: Honeycrisp, Sweetie, Crimson Crisp, Knobbed Russet)

Cortland: nothing you’d ululate about in cult-song, but nice

Apple Review #4: Knobbed Russet

Holy fucking shit, look at this Shrek-Ass Apple.

Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself.

Before we begin, a note on how (and why) I’m reviewing these.

The why, first. Once upon a time, there was a land called Twitter, and in this festive, deranged realm, I spent a lot of time shouting my insane apple reviews to any who would hear. I did literally hundreds of them. It was silly, but fun, and we all had some fun together. And then the land called Twitter suffered a tectonic event, a cataclysm that broke it into pieces, and from the shattered fundament arose the dread land of X, which was awful, so I got the hell out of there and nuked the site from orbit. Which is to say, I also nuked my apple reviews in their entirety.

So, I want to rebuild that — and not just on Instagram, where I tend to post my “live reaction” apple mukbang “apple snack gang” reviews, because I don’t own Instagram, and a shitty person does own it, and I don’t want some digital serf just cultivating land for my social media monarchs. I own this space and feel like, hey, fuck it, let’s bring the apple reviews back, let’s formalize them, let’s codify them, let’s get them on THE BLOG because

THE BLOG IS ETERNAL

THE BLOG IS ALL

ALL HAIL BLOG

Or something.

As to how I review these: I eat the first bites of the apple on camera, post that shit to Instagram, and then I actually eat the rest of the apple on my own, in the quiet introverted solitude of my weird writer’s shed. I will peel the apples first, usually — sometimes the skin is a wonderful part of the apple, but honestly, I’m there for the APPLE MEAT. I’ll eat it, take notes as I go, and try to think really hard about what I’m tasting, which sometimes is “I taste muscat grape and paperback book paper and the wanderlust of a lonely but still-horny widow,” and other times is, “wow this tastes like an apple, you guys.” I’m sometimes sophisticated, other times, I’m just a dull penny, and we’re all going to have to deal with that.

I am not an expert on anything.

(I did write a book about apples but it’s fictional, and the apples in it are Quite Evil, so if you want Quite Evil Apples, then Black River Orchard awaits you. It’s also a very good Fall Times Spooky Season book — combining both the horror and the autumnal thing, if you are into such combinations.)

I’ll then start to keep these as a persistent list here on the site, linking to all these individual reviews. Look for that starting up maybe later this week!

Okay, that’s done, let’s review Shrek’s Ballsack — uh, I mean, this totally normal and not-at-all-scrotal apple.

My review, Knobbed Russet from Scott Farm (VT), late September:

The Knobbed Russet.

Also known as: Knobby Russet, who I’m pretty sure was a kid I used to play kickball with. Also called the Winter Russet, the Old Maid. I might add a few more names, myself: Bubonic Orb, or Frankenstein’s Kidney. Or maybe Satan’s Canker. Belial’s Bezoar? Whatever.

The last time I ate one of these was a great sadness. It tasted like depression. It had the texture of clumpy kitty litter. Sad dust. Moist sand. Nothing good. I don’t hate a soft apple, though it’s not my preference — but I really don’t like biting into an apple and getting a mealy-shit blah-smear on my tongue. And that’s what happened the last time I had one of these.

That did not happen this time.

This time! No mealy mush! No apple gruel piped into a lumpy skin bag!

We’ll be generous and begin with the taste, which is mostly pleasing. I’m used to russets being a little more interesting, overall, in which I mean there’s usually some complexity in the taste, and this is more a straight-line to its end flavor. When I barely had bitten it, and I mean my tooth had only just punctured ITS DREAD ARMOR I mean its skin, I was immediately greeted by a pinprick of powerful tartness. Like an electric thumbtack. Bzzt.

And the flavor bore that out — what I got from that was a strong lemon sorbet slash lemon candy vibe. Which is not unpleasant if you’re a person who likes sour candy! You eat this and your lips sing after, like you just ate a handful of Sour Patch Kids. It’s assertive, just not particularly nuanced.

The flesh itself — that densely-packed, finely-grained thing is beloved by some though I’m not necessarily one of them. It’s also not really a juicy apple — it’s not some dry sphincter, either, but it’s not bringing much to the party by way of juice. Still: the flesh is fine! The meat is good!

All that said, I think it behooves us to talk about its appearance. Trust me! I’d love to live in a world where we don’t have to be so shallow with our apples, but it’s actually a little relevant — ugly fruits and vegetables don’t get to live in the grocery store aisles, okay? People don’t buy them because we’re vain, horrible creatures who value looks first and everything else a distant second.

And admittedly, when I see this apple, my first thought is, “That barnacled sphere is definitely haunted. It has seen some shit. It may have Lyme disease. It might be an egg. Some foul beast will definitely emerge from that bungled scrotum and drag me back to its mother’s lair in the fens.” It’s vainy and weird — like if Shrek were possessed by Venom. But, to be fair, the longer you look at it, the more fascinating it becomes. This leper potato is its own creature, and it’s kind of beautiful, in a “swamp bolus” or “wasp gall” kind of way.

It isn’t fun to eat, though. Chewing that skin is like eating a wallet and all the money in that wallet. It’s a hard, unforgiving affair. Like being married to a coal miner. I don’t recommend it. Peel it to eat it. Which will be hard because it’s like peeling a rock, but you’ll get there if you put your back into it.

Anyway! This is a good apple. It’s a fugly one, but tasty in its way.

Let’s call it a 6.5, shall we?

(Watch me eat it here)

(Reviews so far this year: Honeycrisp, Sweetie, Crimson Crisp)

Knobbed Russet: Sure it looks like the nutsack of a dying dryad but eat it

Apple Review #3: Crimson Crisp

Behold: the Crimson Crisp apple.

You may think, “Ah, this is another Honeycrisp deviant,” but nay, it is not a child of Honeycrisp, nor a mutated sport — same last name, but different parents. It in fact predates the Honeycrisp by (don’t quote me on this) about 20 years in release though maybe only three in actual development. Further, the Crimson Crisp was once known by the more romantic name–

*checks notes*

Coop 39.

*clears throat*

I do feel like this was an early step on the “let’s finally put Red Delicious in the grave” journey, whereupon America decided it needed new and better apples. And this gets us a good part of the way there. This feels like a solid first step on the “apples shouldn’t be indestructible Liar Fruit that we suggest is both Red and Delicious but is mostly Purple and Shitty* transformation, and sure, I’m here for it, mostly. (Less here for the fact most heirlooms have been kicked to the margins of food history in favor of apples that can travel to and exist in grocery stores coast-to-coast.)

Regardless, I’m to understand there might be a convoluted mix of apples that went into this — Jonathan? Rome Beauty? But also —

*checks notes*

Crandall.

Which is apparently an apple.

Crandall.

Crandall.

I definitely call dibs on using that as a character’s name someday. Some kind of corrupt CEO, maybe. Or a foot fetishy sorcerer. Hell, maybe just a hunchbacked gravedigger. CRANDALL, SECURE THE BRAIN. Anyway.

Let’s review.

My review of the Crimson Crisp apple, procured from Manoff Orchard (PA, Bucks County) in late September, blah blah blah:

Well, this apple is a fucking flavor journey, let me tell you.

I’ve had it before and I don’t recall the, ahhhm, complex roller coaster that whipped my tastebuds around my mouth when eating this apple. I honestly expected it just to be pretty much a line drive down the middle — you know, crisp, crunchy, sweet-tart, pleasing (if not memorable), totally serviceable, okay goodbye, what’s next.

Then I ate it.

On that first bite: hit of rose. Which, okay, not entirely unexpected. Apples are related to the rose, after all. I’m used to a floral hit with some apples.

Second immediate sensation in that first bite: horseradish.

Yeah, fuckin’ horseradish. In my opinion, one of God’s greatest mistakes, and one of the Devil’s cruelest roots — a spicy dirt log, a zesty shit potato, just a horrible thing, the horseradish. Some people love it and that’s fine, people can be wrong monsters if they want to be.

So, to clarify here, what I tasted in this apple was not the spicy part of the horseradish — at no point did it try to burn the hairs out of my nose. But rather, there’s a deeper taste to horseradish (what I might argue is the radishy part): an earthy funky miasma, and I got that with this apple. Earthy unzesty horseradish whiff wafting through my mouth.

I blame the Crandall, obviously. Whenever I taste something strange in an apple, something complex and mildly upsetting, I may simply refer to that as “the Crandall taste.” As in, “oh, you can really taste the Crandall in there.” And when people act like they don’t know what I’m talking about, I’ll just laugh in a dismissive, pompous fashion, as if to say, “You fool, you prole, you lumpish commoner, doesn’t know what a Crandall taste is.”

And then, then—

The third act of this flavor journey (and here I’ll remind you this is first bite):

Barley.

Like, malted barley.

Then, all that fades away and you’re hit with something altogether more appley. The sweetness, the tartness, huzzah and hooray. Got a deep crunch, fairly satisfying. Juicy, not crazy juicy. There’s a faint cantaloupe finish. And then, for the epilogue of this flavor journey —

The smell.

Once I bit into it, I took a sniff–

And smelled hay.

Not fresh hay! Not grassy alfafa. No, like dried hay. The kind you’d feed to a horse. Yeah, I don’t know either.

So: hidden in this seemingly normal apple was, for me, a very weird apple.

I admire that. I admire the complexity of this apple. It’s fucking goofy. It’s all over the place. At the same time, it can’t help being what it wants to be. Cue the Sammy Davis Jr I gotta be meeeee. Just the same, it also made me wonder if I was having a stroke, and it’s also not an apple I’m going back to anytime soon?

So — 6.5.

Onward we go. Bumping it to a 6.5 I think from the 6 I gave it here in this video. Does anybody watch those? Sound off if you do. Also sound off in the comments if there’s an apple you want me to find and review, yeah?

Crimson Crisp: Hay is for horses, and hay is also for horseradish apples.