(no subject)
Gentle reader; is there anything on earth more wonderful than the Ice Cream Truck? Whatever inane tune it plays, bent by distance, a siren song. Is it coming from the next block over? Is it getting closer or further away? Will it turn onto my street or should I go madly pounding through the neighborhood, a man in whatever clothes I had on at the moment, boney knees pumping, spare tire joggling, risking a heart attack? As a child I dreamt that music, chased it in my dreams from street to street, that always-elusive white and slowly drifting truck.
And here’s the thing. I don’t even really like the ice cream they sell. Good Humor products taste like paraffin, chemicals and sugar. Left on a counter, they soften but never actually melt. I am particularly appalled by the ice cream character heads on sticks with gumball eyes. Over the years, a stately, ever changing parade of whatever has captured the zeitgeist of the American Child for a summer, your Power Puff Girl, your Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, your Spider-Man, your Bratz Doll, a hagiography of ice cream heads dyed terrible colors no ice cream wants to be.
When many of these same treats are offered in my local Supermarket, I pass them by, because they are awful. But from the Ice Cream Truck, oh, then they are the nectar of the Gods.
My favorite? Standing head and shoulders above the other novelties, shining in glory, the Holy Grail, the Choco Taco. Invented by the Jack and Jill Ice Cream Company of Philadelphia, distributed nationwide by Good Humor, it is truly “America’s Coolest Taco”.
I have long believed that when it is my time to go, Gentle Death will come for me in his Ice Cream Truck. I’ll hear the song, but this time I won’t have to run. The truck will pull up slowly in front of me, and the back doors will open wide, cool fog spilling out.
“Would you like to come inside, Jason?” the Ice Cream Man will ask. “Would you like to take a ride inside my Ice Cream Truck?”
I would. I will. And we’ll drive slowly off, that beautiful music playing, and I’ll have all the Choco Tacos I want.
And here’s the thing. I don’t even really like the ice cream they sell. Good Humor products taste like paraffin, chemicals and sugar. Left on a counter, they soften but never actually melt. I am particularly appalled by the ice cream character heads on sticks with gumball eyes. Over the years, a stately, ever changing parade of whatever has captured the zeitgeist of the American Child for a summer, your Power Puff Girl, your Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, your Spider-Man, your Bratz Doll, a hagiography of ice cream heads dyed terrible colors no ice cream wants to be.
When many of these same treats are offered in my local Supermarket, I pass them by, because they are awful. But from the Ice Cream Truck, oh, then they are the nectar of the Gods.
My favorite? Standing head and shoulders above the other novelties, shining in glory, the Holy Grail, the Choco Taco. Invented by the Jack and Jill Ice Cream Company of Philadelphia, distributed nationwide by Good Humor, it is truly “America’s Coolest Taco”.
I have long believed that when it is my time to go, Gentle Death will come for me in his Ice Cream Truck. I’ll hear the song, but this time I won’t have to run. The truck will pull up slowly in front of me, and the back doors will open wide, cool fog spilling out.
“Would you like to come inside, Jason?” the Ice Cream Man will ask. “Would you like to take a ride inside my Ice Cream Truck?”
I would. I will. And we’ll drive slowly off, that beautiful music playing, and I’ll have all the Choco Tacos I want.