Sweet Beans (Are Made of This)
I make it a point not to tell anyone my dreams, a decision underscored by the time my psychiatrist turned over his notes to the district attorney (Don’t worry, Doc — all is forgiven. BTW, the ankle bracelet comes off Tuesday. C U soon). But last night’s feature presentation showcased an odd product placement: General Foods International Coffee.
I’m not even sure of the context within my phantasm; I just remember looking over at a countertop and seeing the distinctive red-white-and-blue striped tin of Cafe Francais. What can this mean? What does it symbolize? Latent homosexual tendencies, repressed Francophilia, or — worst of all — unbridled desire for a cup of powdered milk and Nescafé?
General Foods International Coffees, for those too young or too stoned to remember the ’80s, are composed of the finest corn sugars and emulsifiers, and I’ve sampled them in the past. GFIC isn’t coffee — it’s a hot beverage, analogous to joe only in the same sense as Swiss Miss is to real hot chocolate. Its saccharine warmth is best enjoyed at the bottom of a double-diamond, as reward for shoveling the driveway, or after rooting around the kitchen and discovering there’s nothing else with any goddamn caffeine in the whole goddamn house. This morning, during some early Googling/self-therapy, I was surprised to learn GFIC still exists, though the tins have undergone redesign.
About ten or twelve years ago, I was nightly haunted in my sleep by the specter of Boo Berry, a visitation only finally exorcised when I discovered the cereal at a grocery I seldom frequented. Several boxes and green-stained toilet bowls later, I was able to direct the little Caspar into the light. What is it with me?
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KPC
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Jessica Lee
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Jackson
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Christina
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Jacob
