I know that these days, everything that defies categorization is simply called Jazz. Not only in music, but in all kinds of everyday life matters. This morning, while shopping for our daily doses of Ayran in this heatwave that slows Berlin down to an enjoyable tempo, I came across an apple that was called Jazz. I asked myself how it would taste. Sweet and sour, bitter and juicy? Probably all of the above. Maybe none of it. Of course they were advertised as Class 1 – everything that is described as Jazz is simultaneously billed as high-class, sophisticated, expensive, exclusive, what-have-you. Like some moron who doesn’t understand anything thinks that this is an ingenious marketing trick. In the end, I didn’t buy one because it would be ridiculous to purchase apples from New Zealand in a country that has over 1.000 kinds of apples. Maybe this wasn’t even an apple but some kind of new fruit? The next fruit hype? And what’s next? An undiscovered animal in the Brazilian jungle called Jazz? Lady Gaga singing Jazz? That would be pretty odd.