Friday, March 09, 2001

I rediscovered a magical child-hood candy last weekend. It was a magical time. I was in the magical gas station after watching a magical play, waiting for my magical friends to finish paying for their magical gas so they could magically take me to my magic castle and I could magically go on with my magical life - when out of the corner of my eye, I spotted something that I thought had stopped being produced on account of the fact that the product was highly dangerous and probably harmful for human consumption. No, no, I'm not talking about urinal cakes, I'm talking about pop rocks, brotha' [or sistah'. I dont't mean to hate on no one]!

The package's bubbly "wildly" offset font (which instantly convinced me of the product's timeless "zaniness"), beckoning me to "taste the explosion", instantly brought back painful memories of being teased, my parents divorce, and hanging upside down from a chain-link fence, held in humiliating bondage by the elastic-rubber band on my pre-teen briefs - desperately wishing that it would break so I would land on my head, break my neck and be whisked of to a magical land where people were nice to me, there were ponies and I could sit contentedly behind the couch with a bowl of sugar and a spoon. So, of course I thought that I'd buy a few packages and go home to share them with my girlfriend.

Upon getting home, I had that feeling that you got when you were fourteen and jut back home - back to your bedroom - after sitting around with a friend or two of yours, looking at an older brother's stash of lurid magazines, adamantly denying that you masturbated, only secretly wishing that you could be left alone with whoever that month's faceless centerfold was - Or maybe that was just me - In any case! I couldn't hold out! The packaging won! I needed to taste the explosion!

I got home and quickly poured the contents of the package into my mouth. I'm at a loss for words when I try to describe what I thought at that moment. I think my girlfriend said it best when she said, "It tastes like hurt.", staring at me with a look of, "How could you do this to me? I thought you loved me? Why do you hate me?".

I remember why I didn't like being a kid.