Honeycomb Cereal

Perhaps the greatest testimony I can give to the awesomeness of Honeycomb cereal is this: I didn't add sugar to it. For a largely unsupervised child, that's the equivalent of a five-star Zagat rating. Honeycomb was just pure goodness. And it was huge: 1" in diameter. I'm not sure why that mattered. Maybe it was riding on the "bigger is better" mentality of the Cold War arms race. Whatever the reason, it worked for me. I'll admit that, at some point during my elementary school years, I fell prey to the cereals that were hawked by my favorite cartoon characters - Smurfberries, for one. And I even tried a box of Mary Lou Retton Wheaties (which was an utter disappointment). But nothing - no matter who endorsed it - ever gave me the satisfaction of plain, honest Honeycombs.

Honeycomb was such a favorite that it didn't even need to bribe me with A-list spokespeople or bottom-of-the-box prizes. Honeycomb got by on size and honey taste alone. The good kids/bad guy dynamic of cereal marketing is requisite, of course, but I give them full credit for developing the most awesome cereal rivalry of all time: nerd robots versus Viking bikers.


Honeycomb is still around, of course, unlike Smurfberries. Unfortunately, marketing has taken a huge dive. The cereal is now hawked by a crack-addled, miscreant freakazoid who can't find more worthy adversaries than uptight librarians or purse snatchers.


I find the new marketing of Honeycomb really disappointing. It used to be about size; now it's about vapid consumption. In that sense, however, Honeycomb commercials are like documentaries of American zeitgeist. We're always at war with someone or something, be it Soviets or drugs or poverty. Cereal commercials reflect these conflicts and encourage patriotism: Eat cereal! Fight rabbits! Of course, there's a huge, gaping hole in that logic. But my ideology doesn't question the awesomeness of robots or cereal, and I'm not going to open that door by too deeply unpacking cereal rivalries. Just take cereal commercials as a statement about American conflicts in general: they make no sense, they accomplish nothing, and they'll never stop. But this deals with the topic far better than I ever could.


I won't apologize for being a child of the Reagan era. It was awesome, after all. But that's quite a lot to dissect early in the morning... Oh! Look! Andre the Giant!

Strawberry Shortcake

I wish I knew what happened to my Strawberry Shortcake toys. While my SS love was short-lived, I have fond memories of a gaggle of big-headed dolls and a giant, wheeled strawberry for them to tool around in - all of which was scented in the most awful, plastic tainted, fake fruit scent imaginable.

I loved Strawberry Shortcake for one reason: she was a redhead. I'm a redhead, and I can attest to the annoyance of being flooded with blondes and brunettes in the doll department. Strawberry was, finally, a heroine who looked like me, albeit disproportional and faintly pink. Plus, she was named after a favorite dessert. Double win!

The love ended there, though. When it came to playtime, Strawberry was such an entity unto herself that she just didn't fit in. She was too short for the Barbie world and too big-headed for the dollhouse folk. Wherever she went she stood out like a sort thumb. And, being a proportion purist, I didn't accept her differences. The poor girl was trapped in her giant strawberry chariot with only Huckleberry Pie to keep her company (and he was no catch - the hat was a total deal breaker).

The modern manifestation of these characters is vastly different. Rather than running with the theme of quaint, county dessert people, today's Strawberry, Huckleberry, Angel Food and Orange Blossom are kind of... cool looking. But, thanks to a preschool aged niece, I've had the opportunity to watch the show, which is anything but cool. Instead, the franchise has gone the way of the Care Bears, delivering sappy, insipid moral messages mixed with horrible music and various excuses for baking. Oh, and a villain. Who's also a baker.

It seems like there's a lot of cool Strawberry Shortcake stuff to buy, though, which really is the point. I may always think wistfully of my giant, strawberry car, but at the end of the day I don't much miss Strawberry herself. I still like the dessert, though.

Wonka Candy

Ever since I started riding my pink power puff bike to the Mr. Food to blow my allowance on sugar I've been opposed to Wonka candy. In theory, anyway; I still bought the stuff, knowing nothing of boycotts or the power of the dollar. Hell, for a dollar I could buy three entire boxes of Nerds - one in each flavor. Righteous, yes?

Here's my problem: no candy can live up to the name of Wonka. It can't be done. Not even with an alliance between NASA, Lindt, Lady Gaga and Cirque du Soleil will the snozberries ever really taste like snozberries.¹ It's overly ambitious merchandizing and it's getting worse. Today's boxes of Wonka candy bear the tagline "Food your imagination!" I'd be less annoyed by the verbing of 'food' if this stuff actually qualified as food. But it doesn't. It's brightly colored sugar nuggets.

It is, however, brightly colored sugar nuggets of joy. For all my objections to Wonka candy's marketing, I love the candy. So they can pretty much call it anything they'd like.

LIK-M-AID Fun Dip
Remember that scene in Ratatouille when the evil food critic, Ego, is rushed back to sweet scenes of childhood through one bite of veggie casserole? Fun Dip does that for me. As soon as I get my hands on a compartmentalized bag I'm back in my beloved Minnie Mouse swimsuit, at the pool, with my mom and all is right with the world.

Runts
I love Runts. They are the ultimate tool in the childhood arsenal of anti-dentists weaponry. And they're shaped like fruit! There's nothing that matches the gratification of eating a banana that is not only cavity-causing, it's literally tooth breaking. They're like little, Benedict Arnolds. Take that, dentists! We've got your apple right here.

Nerds
What I like best about Nerds is the implication that by eating them, we accept them, and are hence being better people. There's no bullying of these nerds. There's only love and mastication. Actually, the mastication isn't necessary - if you suck on them they will just melt. And now my nerd analogy is grossing me out a little. Ew.

Spree
Spree remind me of old, classic carnival rides - in a good way. They're sleek and shiny and fun. And they have gluttony right in the name, but in such a sneaky way that it's easily mistaken for a declaration of joy, such as "whee!" or "heeee!" or... okay, I'm already stretching that thin.

Laffy Taffy
I think what this taffy is laughing about is the popularity it enjoys among younger generations who increasingly eschew traditional salt water taffy. With their manageable size, decreased likelihood of taking up permanent residence in one's teeth, and brighter colors, Laffy Taffy is a huge improvement over its beach counterpart. Personally, I'm always amazed that I can eat the stuff in one sitting; a single stick of traditional taffy will still be on my to do list until next year's beach vacation.

Pixy Stix
If there is any candy giving parents everywhere the middle finger it's Pixy Stix. Not only are these uncut sugar in a tube, they're misspelled and impossible to reference in the singular. It's candy with a gang mentality. "We will f*** you up!" A+++





¹Upon checking urbandictionary.com to check my spelling of snozberry I learned that it is a euphemism for 'penis.' This is the second time today that 'penis' has factored into one of my posts. Damn it, this world is sick.