Has anybody watche the puddi puddi commercial. Its a pudding eating itself!! O.O
If Hungarian has a different word for fruit (commercial) and fruit (botanical), yeah, that does not make much sense (depending on context it may even be wrong).
English does not have two words, though, and as a grower/seller I think it's very important for both the customer and the producer to know the difference between fruit (commercial) and fruit (botanical).
Understanding the life cycle can help making the right choices in term of what's in season, what you expect in a local market, the price of things etc. I often explain the tomato case, to explain to customers why they can't have tomatoes at the beginning of the celery season for eg; people here often eat these at the same time and don't know why it's locally impossible, because they don't think of the life cycle (generally they know, but don't think of it that way).
sometimes there are tomatoes that resemble pumpkins.
not all tomatoes are pumpkins.
some pumpkins are tomatoes in disguise.
bananas are not cars.
thank you.
Pumpkin is a fruit. Don't change my mind. 
Unrelated, but my computer is so old, it has a floppy drive. (I can't remember ever actually using it, though.)
Cyrillic is the only major Phoenician-derived script I don't know. It's completely absurd as it would take very little effort to learn. It just happened.
The best thing is that you read the words almost always like you write them =) So if you learn the alphabet, there is no problem in reading ^^ Unlike English or... French 
I should really make the effort. I was thinking of starting exploring Russian music during the holidays (I'm only familiar with the classical part), so that would be a good combination. I'll probably bother all the Russian people on the forum for music suggestions ^^
Oh, feel free to ask anything 
I only have like two dozens of songs in Russian I listen to, but I will post some of them for you 
You eat a bowl of cereal and watch TV, never looking down at the spoon you hold. The TV has old World War 2 footage playing. It's not colorful-literally or metaphorically-but you watch it anyway. Despite protests from your family, you continue to keep your eyes glued to the screen. You find it boring, but you continue to watch as you see fighter planes being shot down and soldiers firing rifles. The only sound coming out of the television is a faint high-pitched hum, as you are watching the footage on an old tube TV.
You finish your cereal and, your eyes still fixated on the screen, you carry the bowl closer to the television screen until you're only inches away from it. You begin to slowly rotate your body and your head stays stationary, still facing towards the TV screen.
Eventually, your neck breaks and you drop to the floor. The bowl you were holding shatters on impact, spilling the milk you hadn't finished onto a carpeted floor.
Everything is black. You can't see anything. You hear a flapping of wings. Woosh. Woosh. Woosh. You see a giant butterfly. It glows a bright green and yellow. It shouts at you to do some arbitrary task you don't want to do. You shout back saying that your dad owns these streets and that the butterfly had better watch his back.
You are in a forest now. You realize that the butterfly is not, in fact, large, but that it is so close to your eyeball that it could punch you for the remark you made. It does so and you yell obscenities at it but it doesn't make any response. It leaves your field of view.
You are now alone in the forest. The trees have teeth as opposed to bark. The teeth are blue and black. You realize those aren't teeth, but corn kernels. Those are not trees, those are corn cobs. The forest is not a forest. The forest is a field of enormous corn cobs glued to the ground. The ground is not dirt, but taffy.
You have the urge to consume the taffy ground. You don't, however, because ground taffy is unsanitary. You decide that you've had enough of standing and proceed to levitate. You play the sound of a flushing toilet in your mind because it is what fuels your hovering.
You fly as high as you can, retreating from that which is taffy and corn. The sky you fly around in is blue. Clouds approach you and ask for your autograph. You deny them the autographs as you are not in any way supposed to stop thinking about the flushing of toilets, otherwise you would stop flying.
You are kicked in the foot by a salty cloud. It wants your phone number. You explain to the cloud that you left your phone in your other mouth and leave the collective of cumulonimbus behind.
You are now back on solid taffy after hours of flight. The taffy is not taffy anymore. It is now actual ground. Ground coffee and not ground dirt. You don't mind because they are basically the same thing except for the way they smell.
There are no more corn trees. You are shot in the head with a raisin by a raisin sniper. You get mad. You were just minding your own business. You eat the raisin and the sniper backs off. You showed him. He won't bother you again. He does bother you again, though. The raisin sniper was backing up not off. He runs at you, now carrying a raisin shotgun. He shoots at you and you are knocked out by the power of the dehydrated grape pellets.
You awake, tied up with shoelaces. You are surrounded by dogs of all different breeds. They chant in a hostile tone. You don't like them already. After concluding their chant, they vomit on you. Their vomit is mostly bile but there is a small amount of fish in it.
You enjoy its warmth. You think these guys aren's so bad anymore. The dogs begin eating you. You have no problems with that.
The dogs finish eating you and gaily sing about how lucky they are to have such a tasty meal. They each begin to curl into balls. Once they had all become round enough, they began to roll out. They rolled and rolled into the night. By morning they were tumbleweed.
"We know," the tumbleweed dogs chanted, "We know."