Basketball Tryouts

I was super spoiled when I was a kid. I still am. My dad used to give me twenty dollars every weekend so, when I was skateboarding with my friends, I could buy all of the SqueezeIt brand juice-style drinks that I wanted. I don,t really like SqueezeIts so I would usually just buy a sandwich with some of the money and save the rest to buy a record. I forget what kind of stuff I would buy. Probably horrible Nu Metal. On a good week I might get a weird electronic album or Soundgarden or something. Mostly Nu Metal though. It,s a bummer that I can,t remember all those wastes of 14 dollars.

I do remember however, a camping trip I went on when I was younger. It was at some lake during the Summer. It was rad. My dad bought my brother and me a ton of Oreos and sodas and SqueezeIts. All of the roads were made out of dirt and rocks and I would blast down them on my bike and slam the coaster brakes and skid over and over. After every skid, I would race back to my dad and the cooler and cram my mouth full of hot Oreos and diabetically-sweet juice and fly into another skid. Of course I crashed a ton and had blood instead of knee bones. I threw up a bunch too. Strenuous exercise coupled with chocolate intestines and Strawberry Mountain Avalanche flavored juice is a one way ticket to either diarrhea junction or puke town. I took the high road that day. The plus side to all of that crashing is that when I returned to school after Summer, my pants had cool holes in the knees just like Nirvana guy.

So Stressed - Demo 2010
I always liked Capri Sun the best out of all of the juice that is aimed at the five to fourteen demographic. I appreciated the packaging. They were obviously heavily influenced by the works of Cezanne, Duchamp, Braque, and Ozenfant. I was recently at the San Francisco MOMA and saw a great installation featuring the works of Marcel Duchamp, Diego Rivera and Capri Sun pouches. After seeing that show I was inspired to start buying Capri Suns again. Now, whenever I,m feeling lackadaisical and yearning for times of old, I reach into my freezer and pull out a nice, frozen juice bag, rip off the straw, slice off the top and eat it like a popsicle. Sometimes, I like to imagine that I live in a remote area of Peru in 1909 and this icy treat is completely foreign to me. I look at it lovingly and tenderly while I savor every Pacific Cooler flavored ounce.

I am the loneliest man alive.