consumed.
consumed
challenge one: kiss
a kiss by any other name would not taste as sweet
Hershey kisses were invented in 1907.
They proved Peter Pan was right - they really could fit in your hand. You really could share them, trade them, stuff them in your mouth, leaving a chocolate ring like an imprint of affection. Licked fingers, twisted foil, and crumpled little white flags in surrender, the only remainder.
Hershey didn't realize exactly what he was saying.
Milk chocolate. I love you.
Dark chocolate. I want you.
With almonds. I'm not allergic to nuts either.
Reminders wrapped in silver, perfect drops of chocolate. Tucked in superhero lunchboxes, brown bags for work, briefcases at the train station, and slipped into apron pockets. Don't forget I love you.
-
Amore. Amour. Love. It isn't the same in every language.
Chocolate is.
-
The common myth of the name is that it comes from the sound the machine makes as it drops them on the belt. One perfect kiss on to each stretch of conveyer. Originally hand-wrapped, machines today can wrap 1700 in one minute.
1700, impersonal, generic kisses.
At five cents a kiss, it was better than the state fair kissing booth with real lips glossed in carmex and too much summer sun. Boys sweating bullets and pulling up their courage like low overalls and faded baseball caps. Eyes squeezed shut, dirt under the fingernails, and two seconds of heaven under the preacher's watchful eye.
In 1942, production stopped. The silver foil was needed for World War II. Production didn't start again till 1949. Seven years without a kiss. Empty factories, empty pockets.
War doesn't leave time for kisses. It's not about love, it's about rations, about survival.
(With grenades on the ground you forget how easy it is to die of a broken heart.)
-
Red and green kisses arrived in 1968. Kisses in living technicolor, screaming holiday songs through frosty department store windows. WE ARE HOLIDAYS. WE ARE CHRISTMAS. WE ARE KISSES. Next came Easter, Valentine's, and Fall Harvest. Kisses for the seasons - new outfits but just the same. Sweaty palms and thorny roses, holding hands and breaking hearts. Somehow candy was still easier than the words. A red one for the sweetheart. A green one for the friend. An orange one for yourself walking down the sidewalk, kicking leaves against the curb.
By 1976 it was finally a trademark. A kiss. It belonged to someone - it belonged to a corporation. You could say you wanted a kiss with an open mouth, fluttering lids, and instead receive a brand name and a shy, convincing smile.
They thought kisses were for mouths, were for care, were for love.
Kisses were for hands, were for taste, were for profit.
-
In 1993 Hershey introduced the hug.
*credit: hersheys.com
challenge one: kiss
a kiss by any other name would not taste as sweet
Hershey kisses were invented in 1907.
They proved Peter Pan was right - they really could fit in your hand. You really could share them, trade them, stuff them in your mouth, leaving a chocolate ring like an imprint of affection. Licked fingers, twisted foil, and crumpled little white flags in surrender, the only remainder.
Hershey didn't realize exactly what he was saying.
Milk chocolate. I love you.
Dark chocolate. I want you.
With almonds. I'm not allergic to nuts either.
Reminders wrapped in silver, perfect drops of chocolate. Tucked in superhero lunchboxes, brown bags for work, briefcases at the train station, and slipped into apron pockets. Don't forget I love you.
-
Amore. Amour. Love. It isn't the same in every language.
Chocolate is.
-
The common myth of the name is that it comes from the sound the machine makes as it drops them on the belt. One perfect kiss on to each stretch of conveyer. Originally hand-wrapped, machines today can wrap 1700 in one minute.
1700, impersonal, generic kisses.
At five cents a kiss, it was better than the state fair kissing booth with real lips glossed in carmex and too much summer sun. Boys sweating bullets and pulling up their courage like low overalls and faded baseball caps. Eyes squeezed shut, dirt under the fingernails, and two seconds of heaven under the preacher's watchful eye.
In 1942, production stopped. The silver foil was needed for World War II. Production didn't start again till 1949. Seven years without a kiss. Empty factories, empty pockets.
War doesn't leave time for kisses. It's not about love, it's about rations, about survival.
(With grenades on the ground you forget how easy it is to die of a broken heart.)
-
Red and green kisses arrived in 1968. Kisses in living technicolor, screaming holiday songs through frosty department store windows. WE ARE HOLIDAYS. WE ARE CHRISTMAS. WE ARE KISSES. Next came Easter, Valentine's, and Fall Harvest. Kisses for the seasons - new outfits but just the same. Sweaty palms and thorny roses, holding hands and breaking hearts. Somehow candy was still easier than the words. A red one for the sweetheart. A green one for the friend. An orange one for yourself walking down the sidewalk, kicking leaves against the curb.
By 1976 it was finally a trademark. A kiss. It belonged to someone - it belonged to a corporation. You could say you wanted a kiss with an open mouth, fluttering lids, and instead receive a brand name and a shy, convincing smile.
They thought kisses were for mouths, were for care, were for love.
Kisses were for hands, were for taste, were for profit.
-
In 1993 Hershey introduced the hug.
*credit: hersheys.com