This fruit, that fruit

It’s plump. It’s ripe. It’s juicy – with a flavor so fantastic, it’s the taste equivalent of finding out you don’t have a yeast infection.\nThe apple.\nFuji, Granny Smith, McIntosh – every type is delicious. Whether named after a Japanese mountain, an elderly person or a computer that gets fewer viruses from porn, apples have become undeniably hip – the Fergie of fruits. They are a culinary staple of American culture, chronicling each stage of maturation.\nAs young children, we were told that “an apple a day keeps the doctor away,” explaining why so many Jewish mothers frequently fed their daughters pineapple. As teenagers, we put them under our shirts (possibly just me) and pretended to be Drew Barrymore, rehearsing heartfelt monologues from “Never Been Kissed.” As college students, we eat the dippers from McDonald’s to ease the pain of breakups, dunking our feelings of wanting to kill the bastard into tiny cups of caramel.\nThe apple pie itself, a fellow dessert, has become the popularized symbol of American culture, as patriotic as denying people marital rights. And at the heart of such pie symbolism – the city responsible for the providing the majority of the Americanized filling – is the biggest apple of all, New York City. \nPerusing the Manhattan gift shops over spring break, this nickname – the Big Apple –was plastered all over T-shirts and mugs. Originating in the late 1930s, it was supposed to symbolize the unity of the city. Yet the longer my vacation lasted, the more illogical this term became. \nFinancially, the city’s residents could not seem more divided. While the yuppies are out partying at posh, New York clubs sipping on appletinis, the homeless are outside begging for spare change, clinking a few, sad pennies in an old Mott’s jar. \nOn Fifth Avenue – where the prices are as high as the egos – women buy $500 Manolo Blahnik shoes, wearing them to strut past people dying on the streets.\nBecause unless the beggars are spray-painted in silver, they get none of the gold. That remains on the wrists of those sporting expensive jewelry: Cartier on one hand, denial on the other. \nLikewise, the “Big Apple” is sadly split in two. On the rich half, the yuppies’ lifestyle is ripe with success – their “fruitful” finances as juicy as their courtier. On the poor half, the homeless remain beaten down, bruised by a society that ignores them.\nOn the “Late Show With David Letterman,” announcer Alan Coulter says New York is the “greatest city in the world.” Hailing from the Midwest, however, you come to realize how fallacious this publicized greatness really is. The city is just like the produce department at Kroger – the bruised sides are turned around to make everything look prettier. \nThat’s why you have to appreciate Indiana for what it is: a cheap, but tasty, caramel apple from the state fair. After all, we may be of a lower class, with our fair share of nuts, but our compassion and hospitality stick us all together.