The collective lesbian decision to don Birkenstocks, in the hopes of building a sustainable future by growing your own food, is a crock of shit! And no, I don't want to help you on the first fair-weather Friday of the year by rototilling the little patch of green behind your swank pad off Hawthorne, just so you can brag at the next E Room karaoke night how you "grew your own carrots." And speaking of carrots, how dare you take away the livelihood of the fifth generation carrot farmer who not only perfected the art of growing an impeccable vegetable, but also went organic for your ass. Just so you know, I will under no circumstances be strapping on my tool belt to help you build your chicken coop, so don't ask. Are you really enough of an egg consumer to justify raising dirty, flapping, fecal-eating fowl? You eat one measly egg per day. So go ahead, retreat daily from your corporate job to your Farmer Joe hat and grow your gill-free oversized mushrooms. I'm sure that, yes, the Alpaca manure you bought off Craigslist is all it's cracked up to be, but spare me the speech on how to discern between your basil and tomato plants. Because I, like any self-respecting urbanite, will tell you that frankly my queer, I just don't give a damn.—Anonymous