Vintage Vending continues! I’m calling today’s batch “Assorted Awesomeness,” but the prizes really aren’t so hot. Actually, I would’ve skipped this one entirely… if not for one totally killer prize hiding among the weaklings. Take a look, and see if you can guess which it is.
(I’ll tell you later. Don’t worry.)
I’m not sure when this assortment came out. The only thing that gives us a sense of timing is the Hello Kitty button, and even then, it only means that this couldn’t have come out earlier than the late ‘70s. I’m sure the grime and dust could be age-evaluated, but I don’t have those types of connections.
Here are the highlights: Read More…
The Mad Mascots series continues, with THIS THING:
I call him Mr. Lymon. He’s really old.
Based on the phony fruit that gives Sprite its taste, Mr. Lymon makes everything right with the world. Unlike some of those other mascots who merely dance around product logos and call it a night, Mr. Lymon actually practices what he preaches. He drinks Sprite.
This is his story, in video form:
Click here to see the video in larger form.
And remember to subscribe to Dino Drac on YouTube, so you’ll never miss a video of me babbling on about really old fruit-shaped dolls.
It sounded so easy, but nothing ever is.
I’d been waiting for the right moment to make use of this, and last night seemed like it. Released in 1999, it’s Wilton’s “MEGASAURUS” cake pan!
I was drawn to it for obvious reasons, but that won’t keep me from naming them anyway. One, it affords me the chance to bake a cake in the shape of a dinosaur. Two, the dinosaur in question looks more like Godzilla. Three, it justifies my deep psychological need to buy a full gallon of green cake frosting.
There were a few problems, though.
I had absolutely none of the needed ingredients. We don’t have the sort of kitchen where cake-making things are in continuous supply. A trip to the supermarket seemed likely… until I read the directions. Wilton’s cake pans are generally easy to work with, but this one is a beast. Between the layering and the extremely particular icing requirements, I was certain that my time, effort and money would be rewarded with a really crappy dinosaur cake.
It was already 10 at night when I drew these conclusions. Had I waited until today, maybe I would’ve been more optimistic. Maybe I would’ve realized that a cake baked in a mass-produced fun-shaped pan could not possibly be that difficult to create.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t wait. By hook or by crook, whatever was going to happen with me and Megasaurus had to happen last night. Read More…
I’d been staring at a blank Word document for more than fifteen minutes, too crippled with anxiety to begin this review. The annoying thing was my inability to pinpoint the reason for this anxiety. My deadlines were met, my bills are all paid, and I’m not on fire.
Then it hit me. About an hour ago, I tried to chew greasy, juice-filled bubble gum that is older than most of the people reading this. What I’m feeling isn’t anxiety. I’m just plain nauseous.
I don’t know exactly when they came out, nor when they were discontinued. Let’s pretend that these things aren’t important.
What is important is that they’re bubble gums based on different sodas. If you’re an old bat like me, you should remember these. As I recall, they weren’t often seen, making our experiences with them all the more special.
This was a different breed of gum. They seemed so extravagant, and still do today. Even if their gooey insides couldn’t have tasted exactly like the sodas they were based on, it was easy to trick ourselves into believing they did. After all, the wrapper said “7UP” right on it, with a picture of the damn can. The wrapper also said “big chunks,” and while being neither here nor there, I think we all liked that, too.
So, from my personal stock of terribly old food, I present three flavors of 1980s soda gum: 7UP, Cherry 7UP, and Dr Pepper. I’m most drawn to the Cherry 7UP, because it sounds delicious, and also because the wrapper’s color palette makes me want to, I don’t know, paint a wall. Read More…
After bringing up Aquafresh in the recent Happy Thoughts post, at least one commenter waxed nostalgic about Colgate’s ancient star-shaped toothpaste.
That’s all the excuse I needed to write this tribute, because sisters and brothers, not only do I remember Colgate’s star-shaped toothpaste… I actually still have a tube of it.
It’s a trial-sized tube, but still.
I *think* the stuff came out in the very late ‘80s. It’s officially titled “Colgate Junior Sparkling Star Shape Toothpaste,” but when toothpaste weighs in at ten syllables, it’s time for a goddamned nickname. From this point forth, we shall refer to it as “Colgate Triple S.”
Aside from a gentler flavor and more sparkly appearance, Colgate Triple S also appealed to kids because of its… ehhhhh hold on a sec.
Sorry, I’m not digging that “Triple S” nickname. Let’s call it “Colgate Starpaste” instead.
Colgate Starpaste’s shape was where the true glory lied. In theory, it was supposed to dispense in the shape of a cosmic star, which should not be confused with a non-cosmic star, like, say, the actress who played Jet Girl.
Holy shit, that was Naomi Watts?
In practice, the toothpaste wasn’t exactly star-shaped. More like piped icing-shaped. More on that in a minute. Read More…
Let me get something off my chest.
I loved Chips Ahoy cookies as a kid. So much, in fact, that I invented a new way to eat them.
I’d chew one cookie into a disgusting paste, and then spread that paste over a fresh one. The result was a Chips Ahoy cookie topped with some kind of Chips Ahoy tapenade.
I cannot tell a lie. It was delicious.
I’m only comfortable sharing this information now that there’s more than fifteen years separating me from the crime.
And that, somehow, was my introduction to this. A tribute to Sprinkled Chips Ahoy cookies.
I don’t remember exactly when they came out. “1990” seems like a safe guess. I understand that this is a “you had to be there” thing, but boy, if you were there, you totally understand why I’m semi-erect right now. These cookies were a party.
I’ll be honest. In terms of Chips Ahoy cookies no longer with us, I always preferred Striped Chips Ahoy, which were as close as we’ll ever get to a marriage between Nabisco and Keebler. Still, there’s no denying that the sprinkled versions were more joyous. Just looking at them made people happy.
The packaging was a big part of it. It was too loud, too obnoxious and too beautiful to ignore. Arriving in white bags adorned with party ribbon graphics, there was no such thing as sadness within twenty feet of Sprinkled Chips Ahoy.
As you would expect, these were just normal Chips Ahoy cookies with sprinkles on top. That sounds easy enough to replicate: Read More…