fooling yourself

Plenty of people have called me "dumb" or "stupid" or "foolish" in my life. I am the first one to admit when that is applicable. Unfortunately, it is more often than I'd like. Let me warn you. This post might have you calling me some names. 

For years now, since I was diagnosed with hypertension, I have been starting my day with a bowl of cereal. My doctor believed that it would be beneficial to my health if I ate breakfast every morning and, for the most part, I listen to my doctor... except when I don't. So — on doctor's orders — I eat breakfast. And my cereal of choice is something sensible, unlike my selections when I was a kid. No loops comprised of "froot" or "smacks" glazed with "honey" (or "sugar" if you are as old as I am). Nothing with mini marshmallows or indeterminate shapes that rip apart the roof of my mouth. No, my cereal choices are limited and I have opted for Cheerios.

In 1941, General Mills introduced "Cheerioats," later shortening the name to "Cheerios." They were an extruded circle of tasteless grain that weren't the least bit enhanced by the addition of milk. Touted by the likes of "Cheeri O'Leery," a cute little cartoon character that interacted with the top stars of the day, and later "The Cheerio Kid," an All-American boy who got his muscles from Cheerios, the cereal was a top seller for years. In 1976, over 35 years after its initial introduction, Cheerios offered an alternative flavor - Cinnamon Cheerios. Three years later, they premiered Honey Nut Cheerios. By the time I started to eat breakfast on a daily basis, Honey Nut Cheerios was the top selling brand of cereal in the United States.

I like Honey Nut Cheerios. I like them a lot. I go through a box approximately every ten days. To be honest, I don't require a lot of variety in what I eat. I have been eating a bowl of cereal every day for the past seven years and the overwhelming majority of those bowls have been filled with Honey Nut Cheerios. Every once in a while, I decide to switch to another kind of cereal, but I always find myself coming back to Honey Nut Cheerios. As a matter of fact, while I am eating a different kind of cereal, I try to  calculate how much longer the contents of the box will last until I can return to my old stand-by. I don't want to be wasteful. I will dutifully eat a bowl of cereal that I do not like just to finish it off. It won't be the last thing I ever eat (until it actually is), so I eat and grin and bear it. 

My usual choice — when I stray from Honey Nut Cheerios — is Quaker Corn Chex. These are awful. They are thin, sharp-edged squares that are reminiscent of eating milk-soaked throwing stars. "Corn" is actually the most appealing flavor of the available "Chex" line of cereal that includes wheat, rice and their own version of a honey nut flavor. I have not tried their take on honey nut, but based on the blandness of the ones I have tried, I will pass for now. Chex has produced and discontinued a number of flavors over the years. I imagine they all lacked any sort of taste and decided to stick with the unpalatable originals. I have tried various versions of fruit-infused cereal including several varieties of raisin bran, blueberry and strawberry Cheerios and a limited edition box of frosted flakes labeled "banana creme" with a smiling Tony the Tiger offering up a brimming bowl of the stuff. The freshly-opened box emitted a fake, chemically, laboratory-conceived aroma of bananas. The flakes themselves appeared to be standard Kellogg's Frosted Flakes, but the overpowering smell made them difficult to consume. But consume them I did and, after ten days, I happily tossed the flattened yellow-hued box into the recycling bin. 

I have tried to introduce regular Frosted Flakes into my cereal rotation, but they are coated with a ridiculous amount of sugar. I don't remember them being so sweet when I was a kid, or, perhaps I'm just more sensitive to sugar since I stopped eating candy bars and ice cream and stopped drinking soda. So, I always seem to gravitate back to Honey Nut Cheerios. I don't know why I keep straying. All of the cereal I eat that isn't Honey Nut Cheerios, I do not like! As a matter of fact, when we are compiling our weekly shopping list, I have told my wife to add Honey Nut Cheerios on a regular basis. I have also said that if I ever ask for anything but Honey Nut Cheerios, just write "Honey Nut Cheerios" anyway — no matter what I ask for. It has become a running joke in the Pincus house. Mrs. P asks if I need cereal. I answer "yes, I do" and I mention that I'd like to try something different. She laughs and — not matter what I say — she adds "Honey Nut Cheerios" to the list. I have gone so far as to request Gerber's baby cereal, the likes of which have not seen the inside of my house in over thirty years and she writes "Honey Nut Cheerios" as she nods her head in agreement.

Today, however, I managed to convince her to purchase something called "Cheerios Cinnamon Oat Crunch." I don't know... it was late at night... we were tired... Mrs. Pincus was reviewing our shopping list for an early morning curb-side pick-up and I nonchalantly snuck the request in as though it was another head of lettuce. All I know is... as soon as I finish the box of Honey Nut Cheerios I am currently working on, I will crack open that box of Cheerios Cinnamon Oat Crunch, fill up a bowl, add milk and prepare myself for more disappointment.

Almost as disappointing as reading an entire blog post about me and my eating cereal habits.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

I eat cannibals

I love advertising. I'm one of those people who does not fast-forward through commercials. I actually enjoy watching commercials. I like the clever ones. I like the creative ones. I even like the stupid ones, in a "what not to do" capacity. I suppose it's because I've been in the marketing/advertising field for so many years, I feel I need to keep on top of my industry, making myself aware of current trends and not becoming complacent to rest upon my proverbial laurels.

I like to research and trace the history of advertising, especially for a product that has been around for a while. It is interesting to see how the methods have changed (or haven't changed) for the same product over a period of years or even decades. I often wonder who was the lucky ad agency representative that was able to convince a stuffy corporate executive to loosen up a bit with their ad campaigns. Who was able to get Charles Grigg to stop calling his carbonated elixir "Bib-Label Lithiated Lemon-Lime Soda," shorten it to "7Up" and brand it as a psychedelic alternative to cola? It turned out to be excellent advice. See? Some courageous company decision-maker has to be the one to take a chance. To change for the benefit of company growth.

Consumer foods giant General Mills has been a leader in product and product marketing for over a century and a half. They didn't become a twenty-three billion dollar-a-year company by accident. Considering they produce staple goods similar to those produced by other companies, marketing was key in General Mills growth and staying power. That's why core brands like Gold Medal remain number one choices among consumers, along with acquired brands like Pillsbury and Green Giant.

Of course, General Mills is synonymous with "cereal." Names like Wheaties, Cheerios and Chex have been around — gosh! — nearly forever. Clever marketing has elevated brands like Trix, Cocoa Puffs and Lucky Charms to lofty levels, nearly untouchable by competitors. Each of these cereals, introduced in the mid-twentieth century, featured a fun mascot, instantly endearing to the younger target market at which they were aimed. General Mills used this same strategy with subsequent breakfast food introductions — The "Monster" cereals in the 70s, and, my personal favorite, Cinnamon Toast Crunch in 1984.

The evolution of Cinnamon Toast Crunch is an interesting journey through marketing trends and changes. Cinnamon Toast Crunch came along in much the same way as many of its predecessors. It was a crunchy wheat/rice combo coated with cinnamon and sugar. The box initially featured a happy little drawing of a cinnamon-kissed slice of bread and his pal, a smiling cinnamon shaker. These characters soon gave way to three happy, yet bumbling, animated bakers, all decked out in pristine kitchen whites. There was jolly Wendell, the obvious leader of the trio. He was flanked by two unnamed colleagues, although they were inexplicably referred to as "Bob" and "Quello." The group appeared in a series of commercials and their likenesses were emblazoned on box fronts for association and recognition (them there are marketing words!). In 1991, however, Wendell's associates were shown the door and the white-haired baker was flying solo. His visibility was increased and his adventures became the focus of commercials and promotions, including send-away premiums, like plush dolls. Wendell was prominently featured on every redesign of the Cinnamon Toast Crunch box as well as spin-off versions like French Toast Crunch, Peanut Butter Crunch and Frosted Toast Crunch.

But in 2009, after a solo run of eighteen years, the venerable Wendell disappeared. He was replaced by strange little creatures known as "The Crazy Squares." I can only imagine the conversation, and eventual convincing, that took place in the advertising strategy meeting up in the Minnesota corporate headquarters of General Mills. Seated at a long, dark-wood table in the center of a conference room lined with matching dark-wood paneling, the General Mills executive board gathered to be pitched to. A slick, nattily-dressed young man from the contracted ad agency — his head full of outside-the-box creativity and his hair full of mousse — clicked along a PowerPoint presentation while the stuffy seniors stoically sipped water from glasses wet with condensation.

Just after the first few slides displaying growth charts and boring facts and figures, the slick ad man unleashed this guy  — 

A collective gasp from the board members cut the air. Sure, this little character is smiling. Sure, he's full of whimsy and mischief. Sure, he's dusted with sparkly sugar and inviting cinnamon, but there's something... something.... off about him. Something malevolent. As the presentation offered more detail, the true horror was revealed.

Look! The little guy is playful! How cute!

Look! Oh, he's so funny, just floating in the bowl!

Ha! He's a little dickens! Getting silly with another Cinnamon Toast "Crazy Square."

Oh, this is a little weird, but I guess it's fun and those guys are adorable!

Wait! WAIT! What the fuck? What's going on here?

HOLY SHIT! THEY'RE EATING EACH OTHER!

At that point, I assume, the CEO stood up at the table, cleared his throat and leaned forward. He was prepared to send slick ad guy and his crazy new campaign on the quickest route to the elevator. But then, suddenly, he had a moment of clarity. A vision. An epiphany. "If this campaign riled me up," he thought, "imagine how it will make kids feel! Kids love this shit! And, if kids love it, they'll beg Mom to buy those Crazy Squares!" A smile beamed across the CEO's face. He blotted his dampened brow with a monogrammed handkerchief and commended the slick ad guy. "Genius, my boy!," he bellowed, "Genius!" The slick ad guy smiled smugly. The board members applauded.

And so, the stalwart, reliable, friendly Cinnamon Toast Crunch became edgier and more aggressive in its advertising, taking a somewhat dangerous route. But, it worked! They took a gamble and it worked out great. It was no longer about "gee, our cereal is good and it tastes good and it's good for you" and hundreds of testaments that have been repeated over and over. It was now a shocking, attention-grabbing surprise with very little to do with the actual cereal. The Crazy Squares have been shilling for Cinnamon Toast Crunch for seven years, even appearing on new holiday-themed versions of the cereal, as well as a new chocolate version and reintroduced peanut butter variety.

But what ever became of Wendell? I'd be willing to bet those Crazy Square bastards ate him.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

say my name, say my name, say my stupid name

When I was a kid, we only bought nationally-advertised, brand name groceries. Although it was never openly discussed or mandated, store-brand products were for poor people or worse — old people. At least that was what I gathered from my mother's supermarket purchases. Heinz ketchup, Hellman's mayonnaise, Campbell's soup — those were the names that received unwavering loyalty in the Pincus household. 

Recently, I radically changed my eating habits. For years, like 31 million other Americans, I skipped breakfast, opting instead for a cup of coffee to carry me through the day. Last year, I began eating a bowl of cereal every morning. As much as I wanted, I forced myself to avoid childhood favorites like Cap'n Crunch and Froot Loops*. Instead, I chose the more sensible Cheerios family of cereals, specifically Honey Nut Cheerios, the most popular of the many Cheerios varieties and the most popular cereal in America for several years running. Despite not having a cool prize tucked within the inner product bag, the cereal itself is pretty good. Not too sweet and not nearly as bland as the plain Cheerios that my son teethed upon as a baby. 

Under my newly-adopted eating regimen, I noticed that I was going through a big box of Honey Nut Cheerios approximately every ten days. At nearly five bucks a pop, this was getting pretty costly. So, the next time my morning meal supply was running low, I decided to try to be a little more frugal with my choices.

At Acme Market (known as Albertson's in some parts of the country), I compared the price of the national Honey Nut Cheerios to that of the store-branded "Essential Everyday" lengthy but closely-named "Honey Nut Toasted Oats." It was considerably cheaper. I know that "cheaper" usually translates to "inferior quality," but I was willing to risk it for a nearly two-and-a-half dollar savings. The next morning, I poured myself a bowl of generically-named, yet similar-looking Honey Nut Toasted Oats and doused it with milk. It was not bad. It was not Cheerios, but it was not bad. I didn't gag. I didn't toss the bowl's contents down the garbage disposal in disgust.** As a matter of fact, it tasted pretty good. Satisfied, I ate a bowl every morning until the box was empty. I could definitely taste the difference, but it wasn't so different that I wasn't able to eat and enjoy it.

I decided to try the offerings from other stores and other store brands. Guess what? Every store has their own brand of cereal that is comparable to the mighty Cheerios... and they all carry a considerably smaller price tag. As far as their taste, they are all pretty good. Hell, at 6:30 in the morning, my taste buds aren't fully awake anyway. As a humorous bonus, they all boast unimaginative and innocuous names, so as not to prompt a lawsuit from the good folks at General Mills. My personal favorite is Walmart's Honey Nut Spins. (They could have gone with "Loops" or "Hoops" or "Wheels" or even "Circles," but they chose "Spins" even though the little oat morsels remain perfectly still from the box to bowl and all through the breakfast duration. I watched. Not a single spin was detected.) Walmart, it should be noted, is the undisputed king of nearly-homophonic store-brand names, with their upstart line of sodas like "Dr. Thunder" and "Mountain Lightning" taking on national competitors. I think you know which ones I mean. 

Ancient? No thank you.

So, against everything my mother taught me about grocery shopping, I have stopped purchasing name-brand cereal in favor of the store-brand counterparts. I have even expanded beyond breakfast, choosing store-brand bagged salad over Dole or Fresh Express and store-brand pickles over brands like Vlasic. There's one place I draw the line, though, when it comes to food. I don't care if it has an affiliation with a national trusted brand or not, I refuse to purchase and consume any sort of food that proclaims its contents are "ancient." I mean aren't these things supposed to have an expiration date? 

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

*Studies have shown that Froot Loops are not now, nor have they ever been, made with real froot.
** Don't throw cereal down the garbage disposal anyway. Trust me on this. Your plumber will thank you.

breakfast in america

Jesus Christ, did I love Fruit Brute! 

In 1971, the geniuses at General Mills released two new cereals that sported monsters on the boxes instead of the usual happy elves or rambunctious tiger or some racist character that was slightly less offensive than Little Black Sambo. Monsters, goddammit! How cool was that! In '71, I was of the prime target age group to which these sugar-coated, marshmallow-enhanced empty calories were marketed. In 1974, the brilliance struck again, as the good folks in the test kitchens of General Mills released - nay, unleashed - Fruit Brute. It was an early morning dream come true. Where the first incarnation of the monster cereals were standard kid-friendly fare of chocolate (Count Chocula) and strawberry (Franken Berry), they crossed the innovation line with Fruit Brute. Fruit-flavored cereal (or at least some laboratory's interpretation of fruit flavors) mixed with lime-flavored marshmallows. Lime! Motherfucking lime! This took the most important meal of the day to a higher level. And, as a bonus, there was a werewolf on the box!  A werewolf! Oh my God, be still my adolescent heart! I couldn't get enough Fruit Brute.

Well, General Mills discontinued the manufacture of Fruit Brute the year I got married, but I had long since stopped eating cereals that were geared to children (with the exception of the occasional bowl of Cap'n Crunch). Three years later, Fruity Yummy Mummy was introduced as a feeble substitute, but the scare comparison between a vicious, bloodthirsty lycanthrope and a gaily wrapped dead guy with a shit-eating grin was nearly non-existent. Besides, I had begun to observe the traditional values of kashrut (keeping kosher). It seems those delicious marshmallow bits that propelled me through my youth were trayf (not kosher). They were chock full of gelatin with is made from... well, if I told you, you'd probably throw up and then swear off marshmallows (and Jello and Peeps and Circus Peanuts) forever. And then throw up again.

As this summer drew to a close, my son emailed me a link to an online article about a limited-edition Halloween distribution of the monster cereals. Now, General Mills has done this in the past several years, re-releasing Count Chocula, Franken Berry and the elusive blueberry-flavored Boo Berry in redesigned boxes graced with hi-tech and distorted renditions of the familiar monster mascots. But this year, the line-up included Fruit Brute (now, inexplicably spelled "Frute Brute"). Childhood memories surged through my once sugar-addled brain. Visions of bowls full of brightly-colored bits swimming in pastel-tinged milk as Tennessee Tuxedo and Underdog flickered across my black-and-white television screen filled my consciousness. My head nearly exploded when I read that Target stores would be offering the cereal exclusively in retro-style boxes. I needed a box of Fruit (Frute) Brute and I needed one now.

Last night, I bought a box of new "Frute" Brute at Target. As a kosher-observing vegetarian, I had no intention of eating the cereal and it's animal-derivative marshmallows. I wanted the box to display in my office at work, in coveted place alongside my Fruit Brute bobblehead figure. It would serve as a constant reminder of a simpler, stress-free time long in my past. As I was about to place the box in its position of honor, My friend and co-worker Kym (of Breaking Bad spoiler fame) swung by. I offered her the cereal to take home for her daughter Elle. Kym wrinkled her nose at first, explaining that she refers to obviously unhealthy, overly-sugared breakfast food as "vacation cereal," reserved for starting the day on brief trips to the shore or some other laid-back and carefree locale. However, she reconsidered and happily agreed to take the cereal for Elle. I ran my thumb under the box flap, breaking the factory seal. I slowly extracted the translucent polybag from the box, its colorful contents glowing harshly under the fluorescent lights.

"I'm sure Elle would like the box.," Kym stated, momentarily confused my by actions.

"Sorry," I replied, "The box is mine."

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

ADDENDUM

Elle, happily coming over to "The Dark Side"

Elle had a big bowl of Frute Brute for breakfast this morning. She even drank the sickeningly-sweet surplus milk, proclaiming "I LOVE THIS CEREAL!" She anxiously awaits breakfast tomorrow morning, when she will - no doubt - polish off the remainder of the bag.

I feel for you, Kym. Elle will be bouncing off the walls until 10 PM and then wake up at 4 AM, demanding her Frute Brute fix. This stuff is worse than heroin.