The Vine: July 30, 2003
Dear Sars,
What is a Twinkie? What? I’ve never known, and I’ve become more confused than I was before after looking at the Planet Twinkie website. People dress them up? Is it a bread roll? Is a Ding Dong a sub-species of Twinkie, or something entirely different? And the Sno Ball thing — what in God’s name?
Similarly, why do all the characters in books by Judy Blume and Paula Danziger exist soley on Twinkies, meaning a generation after generation of teenagers in the UK grow up yearning for foodstuffs they can never possess?
Oh, and while we’re at it — a Baby Ruth?
Best wishes,
Hungry for Twinkies in the U of K
Dear Hungry,
A quick history of the Twinkie, from William Poundstone’s indispensable Bigger Secrets:
Hostess Twinkies are the creation of James A. Dewar, who scarfed three a day and lived to be eighty-eight. “Twinkies was about the best darn-tootin’ idea I ever had,” he said. It makes you wonder about his bad ideas. Dewar noticed that bakers sold a lot of shortcake during strawberry season but couldn’t give it away the rest of the year. He figured that stuffing some sort of quasi-cream filling in the shortcake would make it palatable even without fruit. The first Twinkies were “creamed up” in Chicago in 1930 and were successful from day one. (15)
The present-day Twinkie’s “shortcake” is more like spongy yellow birthday cake; the filling is basically hydrogenated sugar and vegetable oil. It’s one of the emptiest calories on the market, especially since it is traditional to jam a whole one in your mouth at once for the most efficient sugar-rush delivery (op. cit. Xander Harris).
The Ding Dong is an entirely different animal. It’s made by the same company, but the Ding Dong is a flat, puck-like chocolate cake with a creme filling that’s stickier than Twinkie filling but otherwise similar. We used to call that a Ring-Ding, but I believe the Hostess Corp. bought Drake’s at some point, and now it’s basically the same thing. Anyway, depending on where in the U.S. you live, you’ll see various names for permutations of Ding-Dong-esque products — and then you’ve got the whole “Devil Dog” and “Funny Bone” family of snacks, which feature devil’s food cake instead of straight-up chocolate cake, some have icing and some don’t, sometimes the filling is chocolate too, blah dee blah. I used Ring-Dings primarily as prank weapons instead of eating them, so I can’t really speak to the fine gradations there.
The Sno-Ball is a big spherical puff of iced cake with “coconut” sprinkled on it…I think. I used to eat the pink ones (again, in one bite), but I can’t say I ever really cared to check the ingredients panel. (Side note: A Google search for “Sno-Ball” tends to turn up a lot of fan fic. I don’t recommend seeing for yourself, but at least send the kids out of the room, because YOW.)
A Baby Ruth is a candy bar. Urban legend has it that it’s not named Babe Ruth, as you might assume, but for Grover Cleveland’s daughter — but then a competing version claims that that’s the urban legend — more background here. It’s one of those kinds of candy that you pretty much forget exists except around Halloween, but it’s a fine bar: caramel, peanuts, and chewy nougat covered with chocolate. Now that I think about it, it’s basically a Snickers, but with more and larger peanut bits.
I love this job.
Hi Sars,
I just found the link to the new (numbered) site — thank God!! — and have been catching up on old Vines all afternoon. The letter from “Aimee’s” friend asking how she can help her friend when her privacy is so fiercely guarded sent red flags popping up in my head, and I didn’t see any notes from other readers. I know it’s been a while since that letter aired, but what the heck.
If I were Aimee’s friend, the first thing I would consider is the very strong possibility that Aimee is lying her ass off. I know, because I used to do the same thing. You can’t imagine such horrible dramas as “happened” to me. Dying and being revived during an operation for cancer at age 20 and killing a would-be rapist? Pfft — all in a day’s work.
I have since mended my ways (and now take out my dishonest impulses in writing which I clearly label as fiction), but my years as a compulsive liar have honed my bullshit receptors (except when it comes to men who’ve “never met anyone like me, honest!” Sigh), and they ALL went off when I read about Aimee. It is certainly POSSIBLE that Aimee was born under a singularly unlucky star, but were I her friend, I’d be wary about being suckered in, especially when Aimee starts finding herself in need of money for her chemo treatment or lawyer bills. (Can I see the surgery scar? Oh, I’m far too modest. Got a copy of the police report finding self-defense? They closed the file because it was a sexual assault. Et cetera.)
Intense privacy can sometimes be a way to protect people from finding out that every word out of your mouth is a lie. Maybe the reason Aimee doesn’t want to let people know what’s going on in her life is that she hasn’t made that part up yet.
No longer a liar
Dear No Longer,
Maybe. But Aimee’s friend doesn’t seem to think that Aimee’s lying — or even that she’s a drama queen, and to my mind, the “ohhhh, I don’t want to BURDEN anyone with my HUGE HUGE problems, which I hope you’ll ask me about so that I can then make a big hairy deal out of refusing to discuss them” protesting-too-much routine is a little over the top, but either way, she doesn’t seem inclined to withdraw her support.
I can’t say that Aimee’s particular cluster of bad luck struck me as suspicious until you pointed it out, but the friend made a point of saying that she wouldn’t drop Aimee no matter what, so…there you have it.
Dear Sars,
Help. I’m scared.
I’m seventeen, and I’m entering my senior year of high school. Over the summer, I went to work for my mom. Then I got a job closer to home (my mom works over an hour away). Then a third job, also by my house. Once school starts, I’m going to be staying at job number three, working after school and on weekends as a receptionist and tech for a vet.
The thing is, I honestly feel like once I graduate, I don’t want to go to college. I’m smart, but I don’t think I’ll enjoy attending a big state college, and my family can’t afford to send me (along with my younger sister) anywhere small and/or private. Since I was in grade school, my mother has been reminding me that I must make good grades to get a good scholarship to go to a good school to get a good job to have a good life. Both of my parents dropped out of college, and I get the feeling that they both feel like they missed out on something that they want me to have.
But it’s not something I want. I like having a job; whether it’s where I am now or somewhere else, and I want to try something besides school. I mentioned this to my mother, and she called me an idiot. My dad wants me to go to a community college so I can stay at home and “help out.” I am afraid of disappointing my mom and my dad (I’ve always been the “good, smart daughter,” but I’m sick of living under that title). And I’m also really worried that by deciding not to attend college or by going to community college, I am going to totally screw up the rest of my life and end up living in a tiny box on the street.
I’m freaking out here. I don’t know what I want to do in life or where I want to go. I feel like I have to make these decisions right away and I don’t know how. My interests have always been kind of vague, and I don’t think I’m good enough at anything to make a living. Should I graduate from high school and attend a college I can afford but dislike? Should I go to community college? Will that affect my ability to get a job later in life? Should I stay with my job and forget school? Should I throw myself off a bridge, or, as my sister suggested, “marry rich”?
Please help me find some direction here. Thank you.
Lost and Worried
Dear Lost,
All right, try to breathe. You have plenty of time to figure things out.
First of all, you don’t have to pay for private colleges on your own. You can get loans; you can get local scholarships. It’s an option.
Second of all, you don’t have to decide whether to even go to college — or where, or which one, or when — right now. You have a year. In fact, you have more than that; if you don’t want to go straight into college, take a year or two off to work or travel or whatever. It’s not a race. I do think a college education helps, although it’s not compulsory, but you won’t get a lot out of it if it’s not what you want right now. People take years off all the time.
Third of all, and most importantly, it’s not really up to your family what you do. Don’t decide anything based on what they want; don’t decide anything based on what they don’t want. Figure out what you want to do, turn eighteen, and do it.
Sometimes, you have to look at a range of choices and pick one just to rule it out. I would go with working for now; take a few classes locally to keep your hand in, if you want to, and see how it goes. If you change your mind about college, well, college isn’t going anywhere.
A curious question, I think. I was bored this morning, and took some quizzes on LifeTimeTV.com about sex. Okay, I was really, really bored, and didn’t want to clean. Turns out I have room for improvement, according to the sage quiz writers on staff there. So that leads me to the question of how much is enough? Am I supposed to want to bang my boyfriend every time I see him? Or five or six times a day?
This has been an issue for me for quite a while. My ex-husband left me because I didn’t have enough sex with him. What exactly was enough? More than once a day? Then, several years later, in my next serious relationship, my crazy now-ex (as in bipolar and poorly medicated) decided that he was sexually uncomfortable with me, and we went for months without sex. My fault? According to him, it was because of a fight we’d had many, many months ago. So now I have been rejected by two men, claiming sex is my problem.
I have a new boyfriend who is smart and funny and sexy, and now I’m worried if I’m not up to snuff…I’ve gone from one extreme to another. We’ve talked about it. Shoot, if you’re going to let someone inside you, you’d better be pretty up front and honest about things in that arena. I explained my history, and suggested what I was comfortable with. He was okay with that. I still wonder about what’s supposed to be normal. Thoughts?
Another Sars
Dear Deuce,
As I’ve said a million times, it’s not about “normal.” It’s about “compatible,” and about what makes you and your partner comfortable and happy.
But with that said, that particular quiz is retarded. If you answer even one question with a response that’s not from Column Sexy, it decides you have a low sex drive and need to get a life.
Sex is important to me, but so is talking, and so is getting enough sleep. I responded accordingly, and got a judgmental snipe about preferring to grout the tub. Dude. I’ll sleep with Gary Busey before I’ll grout a tub. Shut up, LifetimeTV.com. God.
You and your boy discussed your approach. He’s good with it. End of story.
Dear Sars,
I’m hoping you can help me with a situation that’s been plaguing me for the last year. The backstory will take awhile, so bear with me.
I’ve been friends with A. for nine years. We went to high school and college together, and I’ve always counted her among my best friends. But in the past year, she’s made some decisions that leave me questioning the wisdom of continuing the friendship.
We graduated from college a year ago, and the transition didn’t go well for her. She had broken up with her boyfriend of three years and (like many people our age with brand-new BAs) was unable to find a job. She was, understandably, in a pretty deep funk. At the end of last summer she met a man we’ll call “C.” He is ten years older than us, lived in another state and was in town on business. They spent a weekend together and fell madly in love. Two weeks later she flew out to visit him in his home state and they went to Vegas and got married. Kind of crazy, but it’s her life, right? True, but we share an apartment, and he promptly packed his stuff and moved in with us.
The last year has been pretty hellish. As you can probably imagine, their marriage is pretty crappy, and as their roommate, I’m in the thick of it. They fight constantly, over the tiniest things imaginable. Both of them give as good as they get, but C. is a major asshole. He does charming things like storm out of the house and sit in his car in the cold (to make her relent because he knows she won’t let him freeze to death) and get himself banned for life from local bars for screaming at her in the parking lot. When he’s away from the house he calls her constantly, and if she doesn’t answer because she’s pissed at him, he drives past the parking lot to see whether her car’s been moved. When they fight, he calls A.’s mom to ask how to “handle” her. This stuff leaves her crying on the couch or slamming out of the house at least once every other week.
Compounding all their relationship trouble is the fact that neither of them has held a job in months. A. never did manage to find a job in her field, so I pulled some strings and got her one where I work, which she quit within three months because C. doesn’t think a woman of his should have to work outside the home. He promised her she could stay at home with her feet up and relax while he made the money, but he hasn’t followed through. They survive now on handouts from their parents.
I’d love to be a supportive friend no matter what, but all the drama of the past year is wearing me down. A. snarks at me every time I mention my job or my plans to move in with my boyfriend, saying things like, “Must be nice [to have a job, to have money for a new apartment, et cetera].” I’ve tried to help her by finding job ads and cheap apartment listings, but I always get some kind of withering response about how stupid my ideas are. I’ve taken to spending as much time I can at my boyfriend’s place and not coming home until 10 PM other nights because the tension in the house isn’t worth dealing with. A. has made no secret of the fact that she thinks having a roommate is taking its toll on her marriage, and she and C. are often openly resentful of my mere presence in the house. Never mind the fact that it was our apartment and C. moved in after the fact. Even my cats get kicked at and called names for intruding on the newlyweds by existing. Our lease is up in a month and I’m counting the hours.
This brings us up to now. Because A. feels cheated that she missed out on a fairy-tale princess wedding by eloping, they’re planning a wedding on their first anniversary later this summer. Even though they can’t even make rent without borrowing from family, they’ve racked up $12,000 in credit card debt to pay for this wedding. My boyfriend, overhearing their plans to get another credit card to pay for a $2,000 honeymoon, remarked, “Who ARE these people?”
Enough with the backstory; here’s the actual question part. Question the first: I’m supposed to be a bridesmaid (one of nine. Nine!) in this wedding. I feel ooky about this because I think their marriage is unhealthy and emotionally abusive, she’s been a royal bitch to me for a year, and I don’t feel like shelling out $200 on a dress to be part of the whole affair. Is there a nice way of backing out without telling her it’s because she and her husband kind of suck?
Question the second: When I move out next month, is this friendship worth saving? A. makes horrible choices for which she takes no responsibility, and is a bitch to me because I’ve managed to handle my post-college life pretty much like a normal person. She’s sulky and unresponsive to any attempts I make at civilized conversation. Most of her other friends have dropped her since her marriage and her family isn’t too thrilled with her either. I’d feel rotten giving up on her completely when she’s got no one else, and I’ve let her know that my door is always open to her when she feels the need to get away from C. temporarily or permanently. Is there anything else I can or should do, am I being a chump for even wanting to salvage the friendship, or am I being a judgmental jerk about the whole thing?
Bridesmaid in hell
Dear Bridesmaid,
In order: No, there isn’t, but you should do it anyway and fuck the “nice” business; no, it isn’t; no, there isn’t, because she’s a voting adult; yes; no.
A. doesn’t want, or deserve, your help. What she deserves is a backhand across the face for kicking your cats, and so does C. — and frankly, so do you for letting them get away with that shit. I mean, will you wake up and smell the Jerry Springer? Why on earth would you live with a married couple, especially you barely know the husband at all, and the wife barely knows him either? Why wouldn’t you move out as soon as it became clear that he planned to move in whether you liked it or not? Why wouldn’t you see one or two instances of the behavior you’ve cited and either kick them out or leave yourself? She’s “got no one else” for a reason, namely that she’s a spiteful twat, and so is her husband.
If you had it to do over again, I hope you’d grow a spine and do it differently, but you don’t, so when you move out, don’t leave a number and let her ruin her life without you as an audience. She sucks. Enough already.
[7/30/03]
Tags: boys (and girls) friendships popcult rando sex the fam workplace
