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Monday, July 18, 2011

Who's Running The Store?!

July 18, 2011: I should be working, but I'm thinking of you instead ... Well, some of you. The rest of you I'm trying to block out, like the heat, which is turning my little attic roost into a steambath. And if that's not enough, there's a whopping thunderstorm sounding down upon my roof like god playing really loud records, and it's making me sure that the next lightning bolt could permanently fuse my fragile fingers to this god-awful keyboard for good ...

Something I've been meaning to mention for a long time -- and I don't think I've mentioned it, but who knows, because I don't have the stomach to go back and read these ridiculous entries -- involves organic food. It just occurred to me, (that is, about 10 months ago), that I have no way of knowing whether or not food is organic. Has that ever occurred to you, you who perhaps even care? And if so, why didn't YOU write about it instead of making ME do it?! (I'm talking to you, Liz!)

(For you regular Blah-ugh! readers -- meaning the five of you -- does this sound familiar? I hope I'm not regurgitating a past entry, because we both know I'm better than that. At the same time, don't all artists basically remake the same story or song or painting over and over again? You see my point, right? And if you don't, don't worry, because I'll just be regurgitating it soon enough anyway ...)

But my point (meaning my OTHER point) is that I (meaning ME) don't know what the hell is going on on any organic farm in Tallahassee or noble Northwest corridor (or anywhere, for that matter). Just because Stop & Shop or Trader Joe's puts some stupid label on it that says it's organic (or anything else -- not made on peanut-fueled equipment, or whatever), how the hell do I ever really know it's true?!

Of course, we all like to think that there are government agencies overseeing this sort of thing, and consumer-advocate groups, etc. Unfortunately, I've reached that cold age where I have absolutely no faith in any of this, and so I've started wondering just what we're faced with here (and not just in our apples -- I'm talking about broccoli, pears -- everything). I mean, let's be honest, do any of us really have the time to do anything but watch television in our spare hours, let alone monitor the organic standards of apple companies in Mexico, or the graft passing between wheat executives in Kearney, Nebraska, or whether or not some corn picker in Duluth is rubbing each ear on his private parts before shipping it south?

And why should I trust Trader Joe's, of all things? They just discontinued my precious rice noodles without giving me any notice, and I have a sneaking suspicion that I won't be able to find my microwavable mashed potatoes in the freezer section anymore, following my securing of the last bag this evening. (O, what a morbid post-apocalyptic short story that could make -- "The Last Mashed Potato Bag" ...)

And Stop & Shop I certainly don't trust, nor any of their "Nature's Promise" labels. And I don't trust our government, even starting locally. And I'm pretty disappointed in my police department as well these days, not to mention some of the weirdos at the dump. Hell, I'm not even sure which neighbors I can count on not to leave their dog excrement in my yard. My god, is there no going back to safer, more trustworthy times?!

Well, in the end we're so breathtakingly powerless that all we can do is eat the f***ing apples and hope we don't come down with anything that can't be cured without good insurance. I'm sure you all agree that this is a wonderful time we live in, with all its communication advances and flavors of herbal tea and different kinds of White-Out.

I'm just not sure, then, why everyone's so depressed and allergic and autistic and cancer-prone and ADHD and taking so many supplements but still on the verge of gluten death ...

Someone should write about this stuff and tell the people. Me, I'm getting back to my last-night John Carpenter DVD fest ...

1 comment:

  1. and this is why i subsist on Funions and Orange Soda . . .