Going Holistic at a Health Food Store in Rockridge
From "Meta-Stupid" by J de Salvo
If you want to experience the thrill of combat and quiet violence, passive aggression at it’s finest, the nasty beneath the nice, just watch old Hippy Ladies shop. Trader Joe’s is probably the bloodiest battlefield in this ongoing struggle for domination of terrain, since it’s usually small, with narrow aisles; however, if you really want to see an exhibition of Martial Carts you have to come to a bigger place like this where there’s the liebensraum to really execute the most difficult maneuvers. And if you’re really thirsting for action, you need to make your way over to the bulk section. During peak hours, any number of Agro-hippies patrol an improvised perimeter around an especially sought after bulk item.
They may seem preoccupied, but that’s exactly what they want you to think. Whatever they may appear to be doing, their peripheral vision is always laser-focused on the previous skirmish’s victor, the one who now bends, scoop in hand—oh, beautiful, deadly scoop: tempter and betrayer of bulk barbarians—shoveling booty into their bags. How much is left? How much are they going to take? Are they putting some back? That’s bad form, surely, but all’s fair in etc., etc…
Dried mango slices are a popular spoil—Hippy Candy, basically. The woman in the vaguely witchy sunhat with the wallet/pouch/purse thing that you wear around your neck and some of the largest sunglasses I’ve ever seen is on the move. She stops pretending to be interested in lotions and makes a beeline with her already aimed cart missile as soon as the previous occupant closes the lid; before they can even raise their self to a standing position. She’s got it all timed so that when the other woman turns around and moves aside, she’ll be right there.
A decent plan, as it goes, but not advanced enough at this level of engagement. A paunchy lady in a tie-dye with curly hair splaying out all around her and equally big eyeglasses does a sudden 340 degree wheelie spin with her cart over by the adjacent bins, pops another quick wheelie, and manages to land her cart in front of the mango bin, just ahead of sunhat lady.
Linny gets giddy, watching the Fog of War spread out to engulf the other personnel, all of whom now have to stop short and reconsider their position and tactics.
Geez, baby, she says. Why don’t they just make a line?
There’s not much room for one, I say. Plus, they’re old warriors; they live for the battle.
She’s off into giggles again, at this.
We’re on a mission of our own: covertly staking out the St. John’s Wort bin in the herb section. This whole area, and the SJW section in particular—sorry, couldn’t resist the pun—is a treacherous field, known for its guerrilla tactics and out of nowhere ambushes. If we get in relatively easily, it’s only because we’re unencumbered by a cart. The Gladiatrixes roll their eyes: sure, let these civvies gather their herbs if they must, but let them be quick about it.
Linny scoops a bunch of SJW into a bag she brought from somewhere. This is for depression, she says. And this—now she’s filling another bag with Kava—is a mood stabilizer.
OK, I say, but hon, we cannot tell Richard about this. He will fucking kill both of us.
My lips are sealed. Trust me, babe, these are going to be sooo much better for you than those pills.
Yeah…
I leave it at that. Can’t summon the same enthusiasm. Lin’s been through a number of spiritual phases, and for awhile she was Pagan or Wiccan or whatever. She’s ditched every system of belief she ever became briefly interested in and has finally settled on Speculative Agnosticism. She has kept some of the things that she felt she found some benefit in, though. She still does Beast Yoga. Which feels really expensive for being basically some kind of Gestalt Stretching. The yoga—though I assume it was less “beastly” back then, as acting like an animal sort of contradicts one of the central principles of Hinduism—is from her Vedic phase, and of course, stretching is good for you. Herbalism she got from the witchy phase, of course, and some of those plants really do have active ingredients, though the larger industry is mostly a scam to milk millions of people out of millions of dollars for some leaves and twigs and bark.
Anyhow, I’m trying it. Really.
Really, we both have our different reasons. And you know, Richard can drink so much because he’s on Depakote, but I take Lithium and it just doesn’t mix well with the alcohol. If I’m keeping this under my hat, it’s to let her have her whole savior moment, which she deserves in a lot of ways. After everything she’s done for me...well, there really aren’t words.
Of course, I’ve been weaning myself off slowly. You can’t just cold turkey it with Lithium, not unless you want some very unpleasant feelings. Really, medication—of whatever sort—helps, but you can’t cure physical depression. Psychiatry is a very new science, and, one could add, one of the most incomplete. Every fields always has more to add and to learn, of course; I’m just saying: it’s generous to place Psychiatry in the...”late experimental” stage, we’ll just say. I’ve done my own research, naturally, and from everything reputable I can find, these two herbs do actually have some effect. Maybe it will work, maybe not.
Come on baby, we better go. These biddies are staring daggers at us. In a minute, one of them is going to challenge you to a duel.
This time, I giggle. She’s a fast learner.
From "Meta-Stupid" by J de Salvo
If you want to experience the thrill of combat and quiet violence, passive aggression at it’s finest, the nasty beneath the nice, just watch old Hippy Ladies shop. Trader Joe’s is probably the bloodiest battlefield in this ongoing struggle for domination of terrain, since it’s usually small, with narrow aisles; however, if you really want to see an exhibition of Martial Carts you have to come to a bigger place like this where there’s the liebensraum to really execute the most difficult maneuvers. And if you’re really thirsting for action, you need to make your way over to the bulk section. During peak hours, any number of Agro-hippies patrol an improvised perimeter around an especially sought after bulk item.
They may seem preoccupied, but that’s exactly what they want you to think. Whatever they may appear to be doing, their peripheral vision is always laser-focused on the previous skirmish’s victor, the one who now bends, scoop in hand—oh, beautiful, deadly scoop: tempter and betrayer of bulk barbarians—shoveling booty into their bags. How much is left? How much are they going to take? Are they putting some back? That’s bad form, surely, but all’s fair in etc., etc…
Dried mango slices are a popular spoil—Hippy Candy, basically. The woman in the vaguely witchy sunhat with the wallet/pouch/purse thing that you wear around your neck and some of the largest sunglasses I’ve ever seen is on the move. She stops pretending to be interested in lotions and makes a beeline with her already aimed cart missile as soon as the previous occupant closes the lid; before they can even raise their self to a standing position. She’s got it all timed so that when the other woman turns around and moves aside, she’ll be right there.
A decent plan, as it goes, but not advanced enough at this level of engagement. A paunchy lady in a tie-dye with curly hair splaying out all around her and equally big eyeglasses does a sudden 340 degree wheelie spin with her cart over by the adjacent bins, pops another quick wheelie, and manages to land her cart in front of the mango bin, just ahead of sunhat lady.
Linny gets giddy, watching the Fog of War spread out to engulf the other personnel, all of whom now have to stop short and reconsider their position and tactics.
Geez, baby, she says. Why don’t they just make a line?
There’s not much room for one, I say. Plus, they’re old warriors; they live for the battle.
She’s off into giggles again, at this.
We’re on a mission of our own: covertly staking out the St. John’s Wort bin in the herb section. This whole area, and the SJW section in particular—sorry, couldn’t resist the pun—is a treacherous field, known for its guerrilla tactics and out of nowhere ambushes. If we get in relatively easily, it’s only because we’re unencumbered by a cart. The Gladiatrixes roll their eyes: sure, let these civvies gather their herbs if they must, but let them be quick about it.
Linny scoops a bunch of SJW into a bag she brought from somewhere. This is for depression, she says. And this—now she’s filling another bag with Kava—is a mood stabilizer.
OK, I say, but hon, we cannot tell Richard about this. He will fucking kill both of us.
My lips are sealed. Trust me, babe, these are going to be sooo much better for you than those pills.
Yeah…
I leave it at that. Can’t summon the same enthusiasm. Lin’s been through a number of spiritual phases, and for awhile she was Pagan or Wiccan or whatever. She’s ditched every system of belief she ever became briefly interested in and has finally settled on Speculative Agnosticism. She has kept some of the things that she felt she found some benefit in, though. She still does Beast Yoga. Which feels really expensive for being basically some kind of Gestalt Stretching. The yoga—though I assume it was less “beastly” back then, as acting like an animal sort of contradicts one of the central principles of Hinduism—is from her Vedic phase, and of course, stretching is good for you. Herbalism she got from the witchy phase, of course, and some of those plants really do have active ingredients, though the larger industry is mostly a scam to milk millions of people out of millions of dollars for some leaves and twigs and bark.
Anyhow, I’m trying it. Really.
Really, we both have our different reasons. And you know, Richard can drink so much because he’s on Depakote, but I take Lithium and it just doesn’t mix well with the alcohol. If I’m keeping this under my hat, it’s to let her have her whole savior moment, which she deserves in a lot of ways. After everything she’s done for me...well, there really aren’t words.
Of course, I’ve been weaning myself off slowly. You can’t just cold turkey it with Lithium, not unless you want some very unpleasant feelings. Really, medication—of whatever sort—helps, but you can’t cure physical depression. Psychiatry is a very new science, and, one could add, one of the most incomplete. Every fields always has more to add and to learn, of course; I’m just saying: it’s generous to place Psychiatry in the...”late experimental” stage, we’ll just say. I’ve done my own research, naturally, and from everything reputable I can find, these two herbs do actually have some effect. Maybe it will work, maybe not.
Come on baby, we better go. These biddies are staring daggers at us. In a minute, one of them is going to challenge you to a duel.
This time, I giggle. She’s a fast learner.
