LEARN INSTANTLY HOW TO GET to any address in the contiguous states, and how many McDonald’s meals you can eat along the way!

…to the hard-working food technologists, never slacking in their efforts to formulate snack products that (1) don’t have the nasty stuff that makes snack foods so wonderful, and (2) don’t taste like cardboard.

THE INVENTOR of the Chupa Chup lollipop, source of half the caloric intake of some fashion models, has passed on.

AS PREVIOUSLY PROMISED, here’s the rest of our Puyallup Fair pix.

Yes, fair audiences are literate and informed about developments that affect their lives–such as environmental degredation, as with this big scale model of water drainage and flood plains

I’m not so sure it’s that bright an idea to promote a yellowish-colored liquid with an image of a dog.

The last building we visited that Friday was the “Hobby Center,” in which dozens of citizens displayed the results of their respective manias for collecting useless memorabilia of pop-cult sub-sub-genres. Not pictured here: The all-Pepsi-stuff display, the all-Picachu-stuff display, and the reproduction wooden plaque reading “Be Naughty, Give Santa a Rest.”

Back in ’98, the Redmond-based Orca Beverage started bottling cream soda and cherry cola under the brand name Moxie, originally the name of a “nerve food” elixir dating back to turn-of-the-century New England.

But now Orca’s added original Moxie to the lineup, as sold at Larry’s Markets and through the Seattle Beverage website.

I sipped it at Seattle Center on a 90-degree afternoon, and easily imagined myself back with the elegant ladies and gents seen strolling along old amusement-park midways in old Moxie ads. The stuff turns out to be a root beer-like concoction with a noticable twang and a modest but definite energy drink-like herbal kick. And like all Orca-bottled sodas, it’s made with real sugar and filled in real glass bottles. Astounding.

Wes Browning responds to our recent rant about a Jack in the Box commercial:

“Remember when they blew up the old pre-Jack Jack in the Box clown? I
was driving a cab at the time. One day I got a bell to a Jack in the
Box somewhere and what I got was a car-load of Jack in the Box ad
execs. Done with a day of touring stores, they were ready to eat
dinner and weren’t about to eat at a Jack in the Box. I ended up
taking them to one of the considerably more expensive restaurants at
Shilshole.”Along the way they asked me what I thought of the clown being blown
up. I told them I thought it was great. I said it was long overdue; I
despised that clown. They thanked me and then they told me that the
whole campaign was being tested out here in Seattle before taking it
nation-wide. They said that — whereas Seattle-ites had such a
reputation (this was then) for being sensitive and kind-hearted — if
WE didn’t mind the clown being wasted nobody would.

“PS: I think the new ad is a hoot. I don’t think it insults the
Northwest because it’s so over the top it’s absurd. I don’t think it
insults the Southwest either, for the same reason. And, who knows,
maybe they’re planning to come out with clam burgers or something so
they can eventually bring Jack triumphantly back to our rain.

“So — lighten up, Dude!”

A new Jack in the Box commercial begins with the guy in a plastic clown head (allegedly voiced by Matt Frewer) in a damp, dark forest setting, in front of a crew of dingy, ponytailed hackey-sack players. As the rain beads up on his plastic face, he announces the fast food chain’s new “Northwest chicken salad.” Halfway through the ad copy, the clown realizes a mistake. Cut to a cue-card holder who says “Sorry dude.” Cut to a hastily revised cue card now reading “Southwest chicken salad.” Instantly the scene changes to a bright, sunny playa. Instead of the hackey-sackers, there’s an energetic marimba band.

This is no way for the San Diego, CA-based chain to treat our region. First they kill some of us, then they insult us.

…The official beverage of summer romances.

…to so skillfully manipulate his wand that a beautiful girl ends up on her back, smiling angelically and floating beyond the bounds of earthly reality. (Found at the Pioneer Square Magic Shop.)

WHEN MCDONALD’S REOPENED its Third and Pine branch earlier this year (it was shut while the upstairs was remodeled into moderate-income housing units), they didn’t bring back the loud country music they’d formerly blasted out onto the sidewalk in a futile attempt to repel street loiterers. Instead, they had Ronald himself give a proxy warning.

(BTW: A fan site called McBurgers offers recipes it claims resemble the chain’s original formulae, and insists McD’s current market-share troubles would be solved if the company went back to the way it used to make things, before the efficiency experts and cost-cutters started messing everything up.)

A SURE SIGN OF SUMMER in the city: An elegant barefooted lady relaxing with her PowerBook.

…since Planet Hollywood opened its first in-town Seattle outlet on Tuesday, run by the same regional franchisee whose Issaquah store’s become the target of sexual-harassment and racial-discriminaiton suits by Hispanic employees. I’ve no way of knowing whether the controversy dampened the Aurora branch’s opening-day hoopla, but I only had to stand in line 15 minutes (most of that time protected from the elements inside a logo-merchandise-filled tent).

Once inside, everyone got a free example of the chain’s signature product, the hot-glazed grease-and-sugar circle, fresh from the massive all-automated production line. It turns out to really be an extraordinary product, a ring of melt-away gooeyness that bears only a visual resemblance to a supermarket donut. (We refuse the pretentious “doughnut” for such an unpretentious product. We also don’t like how the flyer passed out to the patrons in line referred to the restaurant’s coffee-and-pop menu as a “beverage program.”) The same product, when served at room temperature, becomes a fluffy semisolid that hits you with a pronounced sugar rush after three bites.

Thus, it shouldn’t have been so surprising that the “greeter” lady who saw customers out the door reminded everyone that the store’s got a special unglazed version for diabetics.

The Krispy Kreme hype campaign is more than a publicity gimmick. It’s a vital aspect of the chain’s business plan as it expands from a cult-classic Southern regional circuit into a national powerhouse. The lowly donut stand has been a part of roadside and urban America for decades, but mainly in the form of independent operations (often immigrant-owned) or small regional chains. (Winchell’s and Dunkin’ Donuts have either scaled back or pulled out of their Norhwest regional operations.) Krispy Kreme has supersized the donut stand into a behemoth of relative Wal-Mart proportions (though each outlet is still little larger than McDonald’s largest urban branches). Everything about the restaurant, from the bright lighting to the cutesy T-shirts, reflects this re-imaging of a little ring of flour and lard into a destination entertainment experience.

Of course, the entertainment experience is taken to a new level by the franchisee’s current scandal. The combination of donuts and sleazy sex is such a rife opportunity for snickering jokes, which you are hereby allowed to imagine on your own. (Suggested premises: Holes, frosting, batter, mixers, beaters, roundness, crullers, dough, self-rising, “for here or to go,” drive-thru, cream filling, plain vs. chocolate, and, of course, sprinkles.)

HERE’S A SITE promoting a real-life in-person museum attraction, Tennessee’s Museum of Beverage Containers and Advertising. Makes one thirsty just lookin’ at it….

…to officially licensed Spice Girls lollipops and Canadian Ritz crackers shaped like the National Hockey League’s logo, a world of colorful snack-packaging’s yours at the Museum of Foreign Groceries. (Found by Pop Culture Junk Mail.)

The Candy Critic. Many of your US, UK. Canadian, and Japanese favorites are reviewed, including two of mine, the legendary Clark bar and the obscure Idaho Spud; plus chips and ice cream bars. (Found by Goodshit.)

Carbo-loaders on the go may soon have a new alternative to Cup Noodle. Very Italiano is a line of frozen pasta lunches in single-serving microwaveable cups; intended, according to the Rome-based company’s press kit, for “young hedonistic people between 18 and 34 years of age, in search of little daily pleasures and little food gratifications, showing a predilection for savoury snacks and a greater responsiveness to new products.” They also claim the nine varieties need no stirring or mixing, due to new technology that keeps the sauce from separating. US distribution is just getting underway, but prospective retail outlets will be offered vending machines that dispense the cups, hot or cold, complete with a napkin and plastic fork. Info: VeryItaliano.It.

It’s been about a month and a half since we last had a new photo essay on the site. So let’s get caught up, starting with the ever-fiscally-important day after Thanksgiving. This particular day started in downtown Seattle the way most days start, with men waiting for the temporary main library to open. Some of these men are homeless, seeking a place to sit indoors while the shelters are closed. Others are simply retired or unemployed, seeking a morning’s worth of free entertainment and/or learning.

The “Buy Nothing Day” kids were out in force, denouncing squaresville commercialism without positing any positive alternatives. The sign depicted above was made, and then defaced, by a fan of Adbusters magazine pretending to be a conservative.

(Left-wing parodies of right-wing attitudes almost always get it wrong—nobody on the right ever speaks specifically for such lefty-insult terms as “commodification ” or “patriarchy.” Right-wing parodists are, natch, just as errant about lefty attitudes, wrongly imagining that anybody would speak in favor of such righty-insult terms as “special rights” or “takings.”)

Outside the Bon Marche, a busy crew was handing out free samples of Krispy Kreme donuts (I refuse to use the more formal “doughnut” for such an informal snack food). The chain, which in recent years has generated media hype far beyond its size (still fewer than 150 branches nationally, concentrated in the south) has been ringing Seattle’s far suburbs and will open its first in-town branch next year.

No snack product could live up to Krispy Kreme’s hype. But it is an impressive product. Its lightness, fresh aroma, and melt-in-your-mouth texture all belie the massive sugar rush that hits you after six bites.

One lady did offer a proactive alternative to the bigtime shopping mania, and didn’t need Photoshop to make it.

Among those who didn’t heed, or didn’t see, that lady’s message: The nearly 100 who camped out in anticipation of the Adidas Store’s moonlight sale.

THE NIGHT OF DEC. 7 featured hundreds of holiday parties around town. The one I went to was the opening of 13 Fridas, 13 Years, 13 Days, at muralist James Crespinel’s studio-gallery in Belltown.

Crespinel has been painting his own impressions of Frida Klaho over the years, and displayed some of them as a tie-in to the movie and the Seattle Art Museum’s current Mexican-impressionism exhibit.

The opening was a stupendous gala with authentic Mexi-snacks, singers (including our ol’ pal Yva Las Vegas, above), and dancers (below).

Later that same night, a somewhat different tribute to strength and beauty was offered at the nearby Rendezvous by the Burning Hearts burlesque troupe. This is one of the seven ladies who paraded around in whimsical mini-attire for a surly drunken Santa.

Other St. Nicks of all assorted sizes, shapes, and demeanors cavorted about the greater downtown area as part of the annual NIght of 1,000 Santas spectacle, enacted in cities across North America.