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Thursday, January 31, 2008

Blogging like a weed

My mother remarked once, when I was but a scrawny teenager, that I "grew like a weed." This isn't a clever turn of phrase on my mother's part, of course. In fact, it's nearly a cliche. Definitely not on par with "tip of the iceberg", or "needle in a haystack", but getting up there.

As uses of near-cliches go, though, she was correct in her statement. I did grow quite quickly in my teen-aged years. Personally, I attribute this to my voluminous consumption of milk, as well as just about any other food I could get my hands on, and my mouth around. I'm sure, at my peak dairy-drinking phase, I was going through nearly two litres a day. (For you imperial-based philistines in the U.S. of A., that's a few ounces more than two quarts.)

I'm also sure that my rapid increase in height had nothing to do with anything even remotely resembling a plant-based physiology. While I grew at a rate reminiscent of those fast-growing undesirables, those ravenous, gluttonous scourges of lawns and gardens everywhere, I certainly did not grow via any method that could be attributed to vegetative components in my genetic makeup.

However, I got to thinking about how cool it would be if you could, literally, grow like a weed. Indeed, that would be some special kind of cool.

Limb removed? Head chopped off? Grow a new one.

Hungry? Spread your leaves and feed off the sun.

Thirsty? Push your roots into the ground, and slurp away.

Need to be taller? Heck, it only takes a day to double your height.

Lonely? Lop off a lobe of root, stick it in the ground, wait a week, and voila! Near-instant clone.

The possibilities are myriad. You'd be resistant to infectious diseases like influenza, the common cold, and any colour of plague. Bind yourself to your clone for a few days, and you'd get to find out what it's like to be a conjoined twin. (Uh, that's Siamese for those of you who haven't brought your vocabulary into the 21st century yet. Heck, I bet people like that still call them "steam shovels". Although, I can't really blame them, because "steam shovel" is such an evocative phrase.)

I could go on, but I won't. I'm not really a weed. Not even a blog-weed. Give me an inch, and I won't take a yard.

Although, I might play in it for a while, especially if you've got a sprinkler.



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