Bitch-Smacked by Whole Foods

Alright, so I don't grow my own food, I eat meat, and in a choice between taking the metro or driving my car, I choose my car. Despite all that, I always fancied myself a bit of a tree hugger. One of my co-workers at my last job even called me "earth muffin." He was also a little creepy, and I think he looked at porn during work.

But today I realized just how not granola I am. Today I went to Whole Foods.

I'm surprised I hadn't been there before. The fruits and vegetables are stacked with painstaking care. The whole store is an obsessive-compulsive's dream; my mom really dropped the ball on this one.

Slate, of course, tried to hate all over Whole Foods. Why Slate hates on everything lately I just don't know. Just the beer section alone in Whole Foods was enough to bring tears to my eyes. They even have Hofbrau; I tried it while in Munich, Germany at the Hofbrauhaus, and it was the first beer I ever enjoyed.

So, while I will not be switching to Whole Foods full-time (it's just too friggin' expensive no matter how pristine and nature-friendly it is), I learned two things today...
1) I am a poor excuse for any kind of mother nature lover, and I had better get serious... fast.
2) There are many types of beer in the world, some from foreign countries and bearing attractive labels, and they are eagerly awaiting entry into my stomach.