I’m a tad slap happy today, oweing to novel-writing induced sleep deprivation, but I saw this on Flea’s blog, and it reminded me of something barely related and, thus, a posting.
When Chris and I went to the new store last week, we noticed that due to the wretched economy, Whole Foods is now trying to compete on price a little bit, which is adorable. It’s like Queen Elizabeth trying to slide herself into a Ford Fiesta and pretending like it was her idea and she’s not utterly miserable about what she’s been reduced to.
Whole Foods and their various relations (ours being Earthfare) are an entertaining side project of mine. That is, I love to go into the stores and slink around a bit, trying to appear as if I fit in. Now, in Athens, this is damn hard to do. In comparision to my student shoppers, I ooze yuppie-dom–>from the suit (grey, today, if you are interested, no Converses, however, since I have to interview someone later. Do have on a tre’ cool Jimi T-shirt with the suit, so not too upper crust) to the Hybrid Escape.
See, folks like me, with three teenagers, cannot possibly fit the whole famdamily into a Prius. We tried; it was rather like watching the old jokes about clowns and VW bugs in action. As such, we follow our natural instincts toward the SUV (read: glorified station wagon) and get the hybrid varient of the Escape. We pat ourselves on the back because we at least didn’t go so far as to buy the behemoth: the Hybrid Escalade. Not that we could have afforded it, even had we wanted to. Also, I don’t think my levels of rationalization are up to the task of that beast.
So, I drive into the parking lot in my “little” Escape, hop out, and go into the store on a stealth mission, usually for Garlic Vinagrette, which no one else in town seems to want to carry. They usually spot me immediately, since 9.4672 times out of 10 I manage to gawk uncomfortably over at least one price. Also, I tend to hunt for carob-coated peanuts and raisins, which seems to upset people greatly. Carob is wonderfood for the milk allergic, dammit. I am not stuck in the 70’s.
It nevertheless seems to bother the folks there.
So, I’m reading Flea and laughing because I love, love, love my little Earthfare, and Flea’s Queen Elizabeth analogy was just too perfect for them too.
Then, for reasons I can only begin to imagine, I recalled the stories about the formation of Velvet Revolver, some of which involve a Whole Foods Market encounter between Duff McKagan and Scott Wieland. I make no claims about the veracity of these accounts, but the image is terribly amusing, isn’t it? Consider this, Duff, who has an affinity for all things grocery store, wheeling his cart/buggy/call it what you will around the store, either chasing Weiland down (quick, he’s on the organic teas aisle!) or bumping into him in front of the kale, wherein they discuss the formation of a band.
This is what happens when rockers grow up, my friends. No more Canter’s Deli, complete with beer, chains, and tomfoolery. Rock N’ Roll really looks aged when you ponder the possibilities here, doesn’t it? I’m not knocking this–dude has to eat. Can you imagine how that conversation would go?
And why the hell does it amuse me so much to imagine the setting in the Whole Foods Market? Oh, right, I remember–the yuppie thing. It feels so short story, so fan fiction, so whimiscal. Maybe that’s the thing for me here; there is a certain whimsy to shopping in the “healthy store” as opposed to the big, bad chain (even if one can’t possibly afford to do all of one’s shopping there). It’s a health food boutique; a place to jazz up the normal fare by buying “organic” and “gluten-free”*! Or maybe just pick up your new lead vocalist!
He’s giving into his aristocratic desires…you know, the ones eschewed in “Punk Rock Song” and “Greed.”** Whole Foods Market is no longer enough to satiate, he needs to become the New Romantic faux-Percy Shelley- faux-aristocrat!
I think I need to get some sleep.
*Truth be told, I am delighted to see the expansion of gluten-free products in the last few years. It’s about damn time. But, you’ve bought them just for the kitsch value, haven’t you? Admit it. Like the organic wine. Or the tofu ice cream (which has also, blessedly, improved over the years). Just to say you’ve tried it. It’s okay, I won’t tell.
**I laughed when I heard this song; it revisits the themes of “Punk Rock Song” without the snarl. I’ve often wondered how Duff feels about some of that song–he still does it live, though in the version I have he did not sing the part I wonder most about, regarding daughters and their pink panties. I’m thinking having daughters might make that section of the song a tad more uncomfortable, in that “someone ever says that to my girls and I’ll kick his ass” sort of way.