Challenges…I love them! Would hate to think being a martial artist brought it out of me when I know how seriously irritating it must have been to my parents to raise me. Not your typical punk brat that chased flying footballs rode Stingrays with baseball cards in the spokes or waddled through mud then quickly tramped across a clean kitchen floor.
Nope…I was the monster who constantly asked, “Who, what, where, when and why?” Never settling for the answer shared—there had to be a better solution, resolution and or institution that could show me the truth. The Stepfather constantly warned, “Don’t challenge me.”
Up until 1985 I wrapped up every radio show with the quote, “There’s only one challenge in life and that’s life itself. Never give up because you may never get another chance to play the game of life.”
Challenges…not fights, wars, bar brawls and scuffles. Not motivation through intimidation, Three King beats out two Jack’s and a Joker or being named the winner of America’s Got Talent. As challenging as those might be…the most oddball things tend to inspire me.
In response to the daily Blogged entries someone writes, “You’re passion to write is apparent, I’ve never met someone who could author a two page book based on a cereal box.”
Outside of a few bottles of red wines that constantly look purple and the large jugs of laundry soap whose colors resemble NASCAR’s fastest and finest, the cereal box is one of the largest chunks of advertising found in a grocery store. It has to be! Anything less than a bowl makes my tummy growl and at nearly five bucks a box and an economy that refuses to wake up…stimulating the imagination is what the makers of munch and crunch is having for breakfast.
Standing in the cereal row is like going to a class reunion; every box resembles a chapter of your life. The kid in me nearly began to cry when Target last year revamped the sales of Count Chocula and Boo Berry. Quickly turning to the fiber enhanced dried flakes the body quivered thinking, “Dude! Not today…not in the mood to spend more time running than performing.”
I’ve never told my mother the real reason why I spent so much time sleeping over at friends houses…their parents let them dive into boxes of Frosted Flakes, Trix and anything else that came with six bags of sugar…usually fighting over the free gift inside.
Then one day the makers of Alphabets drove kids freakishly insane by putting a free record on the backside. You couldn’t just rip the thing off; the giant hole left would serve as an open door freeing billions of tiny bites and pieces into your mothers neat and always in perfect shape cabinets and pantry. If you wanted to hear the Archies it meant eating the entire box.
Which I’ve done before; not the cereal but the box. I can’t stand chewing gum, pencils or pens and the thought of sucking on candy puts junk in the trunks of my throat and makes me sound like I need to gargle 24/7. Cereal boxes are chewy without getting gooey on your tonsils. And if you played the game right, sugar escaped the thick plastic cover protecting the flakes inside with a coat of something unique making the cereal box something worth eating without forcing the body into believing it had just devoured used paste.
Cereal boxes are designed to get your attention inside seven seconds or you’re out of there. If magazine and television advertising hasn’t branded a reason to purchase its flavor then the last ditch effort is to make your eyes shout, “Wow! Cereal that tastes like beer! I’ve gotta have this stuff!”
Mom was endless with her stories about cereal, “They are designed to make you fat as a kid so you’ll buy diet pills as an adult!”
I weighed a whopping 159 when I left home after high school…once set free to be me in adult clothes I shot up and up and up. My first wife didn’t bark, scream, yell, or tell me to put down the Captain Crunch. In fact she said, “Let’s eat it for lunch!”
But this is a story about the box not the mock fruits and veggies inside. To this day I love to get a tiny little surprise. I’ll argue with a Wheaties box for hours, “The person you have featured on your front cover doesn’t deserve to be there!” Wait a minute, the clean cut, cool looking gent pasted to the front of this stuff with no scent doesn’t look constipated, “Finally something that works!”
It wasn’t until my heart attack that I began to pay attention to the sides of a box of cereal…you know, the real story, protein, salt, blah blah and some more blah, blah, blah. I’ve read each cereal box like a book and make it a point to stay completely away from that row at the grocery store; and oh how those boxes have reacted! I can’t be the only one who hears voices, “Hey you! I have something for ya kid. Come a little bit closer to the second shelf from the floor…I feature tiny apples and cinnamon. Mmmmm you love that combination it reminds you of your grandmothers house in Wyoming.”
The cereal box I feel sorry for and feel it deserves to be saved by a nonprofit organization is generic. For crying out loud it’s just white! Black block lettering that creates a voice that’s nothing more than a tremble in the wind. I’m completely guilty of buying a box or two just because cereal boxes have feelings too. Tried chewing it one time…I swear to god a chunk of the cardboard is still caught in my back teeth. Cough! Cough!
When I see others with a generic cereal box in their cart I want to get on my knees and pray for flava.
I’ve used cereal boxes to drive in the HOV lane. Dah! Once you’re done, knock a hole in the bottom and wrap it around the headrest on the passenger’s side…instantly you are transformed into a legal driver and won’t be penalized for having only one person in the car.
Cereal boxes! Advertising at its American best. If only we could get ice cream boxes to be so….big! I once tried to chew on one of them…..stop!
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
No comments:
Post a Comment