matching tracksuits

The growth of the middle vine in twenty-four hours:

“Incredible” does not do it justice. (Click on the image for a Flickr enlargement.)

The back-porch vine — a potato-something — has been growing at Jack-and-the-Bean-Stalk-ian proportions.

It literally grows a measurable length every every day.

It’s difficult to tell, but the middle vine has already, within a week, reached the bottom of our neighbor’s deck — our “roof,” I suppose — and will soon be snaking its way across, eventually to drop down to the banistar and begin weaving in and out of its rails. At least that’s how we’ve run the guide wire.

Looking at Google News, for a moment, I thought I’d stepped back in time.

“Maybe the South is going to rise again,” I pondered…

Someone could kidnap me, blindfold me, and drive me to the parking lot, and I’d know within seconds where I was. All I’d have to do is look at one car’s tail end — the excessive number of bumper stickers would tell me one thing: I’m in Earth Fare‘s parking lot.

Organic is trendy, there’s no doubt about it. After all, there are only so many people who can afford to do all their shopping at a place where four bags of groceries can cost you $202, as it did with the couple ahead of me this afternoon. When you pull park your car, you’ll notice that the number of cars completely plastered over with bumper stickers is rivaled only by the number of Lexuses (Lexi?), Mercs, and assorted vehicles that probably cost more per month to insure than I pay for my monthly rent.

Still, stores like The Good Life and Earth Fare ideally cater to their original, dreadlocked clientele. That’s why there’s a balding, middle-aged banker or accountant — white collar for sure — outside the entrance playing pseudo-Eastern tunes on a recorder, with a henna woman set up right across from him. Even one of the managers has dreads to his waist and a Talmudic beard.

It’s all so, so, earthy.

Conspicuously earthy.

That’s why I don’t like it.

Every time I’m too lazy to go downtown to the one good bakery in the whole city, I stop off at Earth Fare to buy a four dollar loaf of bread. And I can’t help but as if feel everyone’s acting. As if the majority of the people are shopping there to be seen shopping there.

Organic beer that costs nine bucks for a six pack. Organic beef that vegetarians buy for their dogs — I’ve heard them admitting it, as if they’re almost worried that someone might think, “Oh, what a cretin, eating meat” — that costs an absurd amount per pound. Organic everything. Vegan everything. Vegan beer.

I’m just waiting for the vegan parking lot.