an open letter

Dear Jelly Belly Candy Company,

Ye pioneers of the palate and gods of glucose delight my senses and speak to my soul with your potpourri of mouth-watering Jelly Belly jelly beans. Even the random and decidedly strange flavors (see: "buttered popcorn" and "toasted marshmallow") have grown on me. Well, all but the jalapeño ones, which are, to be frank, quite horrid.

My relationship with your beans began circa 1994 on a venture to Washington, D.C. with my dad and siblings, when a good friend of his bet me 1000 jelly beans that I couldn't name the statue on top of the capitol building. He quickly learned never to underestimate the knowledge of an 11 year old.

A couple months later, when he traveled up to the good ole nutmeg state, he paid in full with three giant boxed assortments of Jelly Bellies. I was eating jelly beans for months. In fact, it's probably what added the chub factor to my already awkward teenage years (see: school photos, grades 6 through 12).

I was also quite fond of my tour of your factory back in the summer of 2002. I felt like Charlie entering Willy Wonka's humble headquarters; let's disregard the fact that Charlie was like 8 and I was 19. Regardless, for several weeks following the visit, I fantasized of practicing my backstroke in a vat of bubblegum-flavored Jelly Beans, which happened to be the flavor your employees were making on the day of my tour. I can only liken my fantasy to cartoon scenes in which Uncle Scrooge splashes about in golden coins, except I wouldn't emerge smelling like dirty metal.

So, as I sit here at work munching on handfuls of my "Christmas Mix" (yes, I am aware that Christmas was some time ago), I can't help but be moved to express to you my undying gratitude.

Sincerely,

long-time Jelly Belly consumer/current green-tongued enthusiast,
Betsey

Dogs are the New Kids

Mark and I worked together for a couple summers during the good ole college years in this ghetto ass store/easiest place of employment called Odd Job. It was kind of along the lines of a small-scale Walmart, but with even more crap and even less English-speakers.

It was, without a doubt, the easiest job ever.

Aside from eating Hot Tamale and Mike & Ike candies for dinner and being the only all stars to have a) a high school diploma and b) teeth, we/I would keep a tally based on all the bratty 9 year olds who ran around the store screaming uncontrollably, knocking things off shelves, and generally living in a constant state of obnoxiousness. What made things even worse was that as the fruits of their loins launched slotted spoons and whisks at each other, the parents would just shrug and wander off to look at suitcases, insect repellent or four-dollar bras.

Moving along. From time to time Mark would hear my voice across 4 aisles yelling "dogs: 458", which was understood to be the first part of the score in the ongoing contest of dogs vs. kids. The second part was never necessary to include, as the little demons never managed to break into the positive numbers. During those summers, I truly don't know how many times I swore off ever having children.

In related news, last night Susan and I decided that I should start up a new blog called "Dogs are the New Kids", which would essentially juxtapose - through articles, photos and my ever witty commentary - the loving innocence of our cherished canine companions and their polar opposites: children. Why? Frankly, because every day there are new reports about children doing increasingly horrific things to each other. They shoot each other, stab each other over video games... anything seems to be game these days.

So, if I were to dedicate an entire blog to the kids vs dogs issue - and believe me, this is hyp-o-thetical - today's article contribution would be this:
http://www.kirotv.com/news/15547029/detail.html

• Excerpt: A 10-year-old boy is in critical condition at Children's Hospital in Seattle after being buried in a backyard sandbox by his playmates.

Which would then be compared to THIS, today's dailypuppy.com photo.
http://dailypuppy.com/index.php?itemid=1747\


In conclusion, children possibly killing their playmate by interring him alive versus a beagle puppy playing fetch with a stick. I rest my case.

Questions?