Tuesday, August 6, 2013

Given my predilection for processed foods, I couldn’t blame you for believing my very body may have come from the deep vaults of Monsanto, my veins coursing with mild buffalo sauce, my skin coated in a delightful, limited edition Spicy Ranchero seasoning. It’s highly likely I’m immune to insecticides as well and may, indeed, be actively rejuvenated by them–it’s how I move so quickly. Or that’s how I used to be, at least.

Since moving to Charlotte, I’ve been more attuned to the unprocessed lifestyle. My education began, during the earlier days of my tenure here, with the teachings of Earth Chick, who revealed the ill effects of Centrum, the twisted machinations of flu shots, and the hushed procurement of raw milk. In recent years, the Sheriff has broadened my knowledge of sourcing, the hidden agenda of corn, and how motherfuckin’ ginger can really make a plate of scones.

In what was perhaps a culmination of all this learning, I switched organic multivitamins recently, upon discovering the manufacturer had been acquired by Monsanto. But it doesn’t just stop there. I’ve managed to steer clear of fries–my thick-cut kryptonite–for the most part. I’m even vetting athletic pursuits beyond tennis, which I’ve been faithfully playing for months. I’ve heard about P90X, but I honestly doubt I can bring enough of the X to the table at the moment, so I’ve been considering the regular P90. The product shot is bewildering–DVDs filled with exercise, rather than teevee drama, and what appears to be a garrote made of rubber.