Why did candy used to suck so bad?

I was just talking to a friend of mine about donuts. He asked if I’d be getting a maple bar and I said “ew no, I’m not 80!” and that sparked a little thought in my little head – why DID old people candy suck so bad? When was this era of inverted taste buds when disgusting was delicious?

My grandparents, as well as those of my friends always had the most effed up candy. Besides the random car key, expired gas card, and used nail file in their candy dish there would be the most dreaded, god awful confections. It was always crap like that weird maple candy that would come in black or orange wrappers people would hand out at Halloween, little cellophane wrapped chunks of black licorice, sugar free spearmint gum, horehound hard candy, peppermint whirls… there weren’t any starburst, now-and-laters, or any other neatly individually wrapped candy that would work just as well and cost about the same.

My dad’s parents did keep a stash of snickers in the kitchen but I knew where they hid them. Still they’d eat the crappy candy, it’s like those were the actual treats. They were the candies they grew up with because back then they didn’t have starburst flavor, just
crap like tree bark and roots.

Just sayin.

Day and Night

Every now and then I slip into these strange dream cycles. For weeks, sometimes months on end I will fall asleep in my bed and awake in a totally different life. As each day passes here it’s like a night passes there; they’re two completely unique, structured existences. Its as though when my waking life sucks, my multiple personalities get bored with it and create their own reality. A simple mind - or a collection there of - can be a dangerous thing.

A friend of mine who has a degree in the subject told me that we don’t actually dream in color, but I contest that idea. Every one of my dreams are in vivid color, particularly green. Each of these dream sequences seems to take place in a woodsy, forested area so green is always a very prominent color.

One time I had an entire sequence, start to finish, of the final days of a civilization. I remembered each detail perfectly from washing my laundry by hand to seeing my loved ones die when the sky caught fire. Finally I wrote the story adding a bit of my own plot to it as I went. I took elements from my waking life and other life experiences to fill in the blanks, and it was turning into a really great story. I got about 30000 words deep into it or so and then put it down to give it a little rest. Since then, before I had a chance to really finish it the hard drive I had it saved on was stolen from me. I know who has it. I’ve asked for it back but ya know, people can be selfish (naw, I’m not bitter about that at all…).

Anyway in each dream I always have a home. For a long time it was an apartment with several layers that I actually based the home in the previous mentioned story from. Now I guess I’ve moved, because now the home I live in is an older cabin with several other people living in it.

So far this sequence has been my favorite yet. A few weeks ago while at a bar-b-cue I met a boy, and honestly I don’t think any waking boy could contest with him. I liked him so much I wanted my mom to meet him right away, but as I took him to meet her I realized I didn’t know his name! So I started to send txt messages to by best friend in the dream but he didn’t know either, then the dream ended.

Another night I dreamt that he had called me for a massage (I guess I’m a massage therapist there too) but the time coincided with our date that evening. So I had to call him and cancel the date, saying I had to work. Even though the client I would be working on was him. I know, right!

Now it’s been a little longer and we’ve gotten more comfortable with being together. In the dream I’m writing a book as well, and he is my muse. I haven’t had a muse in a long while, and even the muse I had before – no matter how discouraging and interruptive to my creative process he was – was still a muse. I think my writing process has been greatly affected by it as well. I’ve been trying to feed off this new dream boy as a muse, but I don’t even know his name! Him having a name probably wouldn’t be that great of an idea, because then I’d have named him and would be officially attatched.