I Know Why the Caged Candy Sings...

 A sight that has become eerily familiar to us in the past year. An endless longing radiates from behind an old, crusted storm screen out onto a quiet, empty street.

“If a man has no vices, he's in great danger of making vices out of his virtues, and there's a spectacle. We've all seen them: men who were monsters of philanthropy and women who were dragons of purity. ... No, no - nurse one vice in your bosom. Give it the attention it deserves and let your virtues spring up modestly around it.” - Thornton Wilder

I chose low-priced, high-calorie junk food. 

The pandemic, as we all know, had brought along its woes and all that, blah-blah, we were all pretty bored. More productive, forward-thinking people used their free time to get in shape, form business plans, renovate their home, build stronger relationships with their family, find new hustles and schemes, find ways to be of service of their community and the less fortunate. 

I, of course, did nothing of the sort.

What I did do was make weekly runs out to nearby grocery stores, donut shops, fast-food spots, and the like. I ate a lot. I tried all types of worldly cuisines, took my first steps into local bakeries and buffets, I even went to North Jersey to munch on apples and drink freshly-squeezed orange juice. But there were some things I just kept coming back to, man, things that had formed cravings in me that I never thought I had.

Hot Pockets. PopTarts. And a WHOOOLE lot of Sour Patches.

Over the course of the pandemic, I’d gained an insatiable urge for these small bites of sour, sugary delight. I’d pop a few in the morning, down a couple after lunch, and slide in a few more before bed. After a few months, I became an unconscious habit, and in the last few weeks, I’ve been realizing how much this candy had become such a deep fixture in my life.

Airpods on max, relaxing with Sour Patch in hand, chilling to Prince Lovesexy.

During my brief, yet intense Hamilton phase, I’d be twirling around the room, whole-heartedly, yet quite terribly, rapping and singing, carefully picking out the red, cherry-flavored candies from the yellow/green bag and filling my palm, hopping around for twenty minutes before collapsing on the ground, rewarding myself with the soft, gooey, teeth-deteriorating treats. 

At night, Prince was the go-to, and for my Purple Rain and Lovesexy dancing sessions, I had a bag stashed away (mainly to conceal the urge) as it was specifically for the Sour Patch Crush Soda Fruit Mix, which contained within it (oh, what a gem…) purple Sour Patches. A perfectly fitting way to enjoy the Artist’s sultry, pop-rock anthems from the eighties (the sugar working double-time to both fuel me and exacerbate my insomnia).

I have to admit, I might’ve lied at the beginning of this piece. I did have another vice that kept nestled and nurtured deep within me...

YouTube.

The pandemic was the perfect time for YouTube. Millions of creators, also at home with nothing to do, would spend the day making memes, preaching polarized political opinions, and record and upload a megaton of late-night highway drives in the rain ASMR. It was an endless cavalcade of mindless entertainment, and what better way to wash all that down than with mass-produced garbage food. For my YouTube binging sessions, my Sour Patches sat besides a little guest: Hot Pockets. Pepperoni Pizza, Meatball and Sausage, Classic Cheese Burger, Philly Cheesesteak, you name it: I ate it.

Is reheated freezer meat a good matchup with gelatin and sugar? No. But since when have you cared about what you put in your body in the last 11 months? 

It is not the best way to tame your boredom, but staring at the ceiling wondering what the hell you’ve been putting in your body is much better than just staring out at your front lawn.

Unexpectedly, my hunt for Sour Patches at 7-Eleven had led me to another strange pandemic indulgence: Roald Dahl. While I was searching for a bag of Doritos to supplement the bag of Sour Patch Watermelon in my left hand, I walked along their freezer and came across fresh fruit.

Gross.

But what was interesting was seeing a peach. As I was checking out, the sight of the peach had urged me on to go home and pir-I mean, stream James and the Giant Peach, a beloved classic of my childhood. While in wonderment of the imagination on display (which I was ambivalent to when I was younger), I decided to finally pop open that dusty copy of My Uncle Oswald rotting away on my shelf.

And there it had begun. For the next few weeks, my hand to drift back and forth between a half-eaten bag of Extremez (yes, another brand of Sour Patch Kids) and a page of one of Roald Dahl’s many children’s books. Hours would drift by as I combed through one of Dahl’s classics, candy bags emptying themselves out faster than ever before. While I was rearranging my newly bought collection on my shelf, I was surprised (not at all, actually) to see the dust of loose sugar decorating their spines.

Alas, I must say, all good things must come to an end. A few months ago I realized that it was in my better judgment to not eat this candy all day, it’s high in sugar, it’s bad for my body, and it’s quite the budget-spender (in large doses). But damn did it taste good.

Here’s a gif of what I also did when I was bored mid-pandemic (feat. My PopTart Addiction), thanks for eating!