Imprints of youth:

Stretched out on a blanket, stomach packed with homemade ice cream, holding my breath as silver sprinkles explode, dropping tentacle by tentacle into the horizon.

Watching fireflies dodge between sparklers, hearing the distant shouts of other neighborhood children, whooping with delight in answer to their parents’ murmured caution.

Red and white checkers, hot dogs burned at each end, pickle relish, and my aunt’s muddy flip flops discarded half in, half out of the patio door.

Rusted metal slide, holding its own, aging and serene, in the middle of the lake; waiting patiently for the ribbon of hollering kids tromping up its steps.

Pulling at the straps of my swim suit, wincing as they snap against my sunburned shoulders, each one sand-flaked and peeling.

My after-fireworks feet carving rivulets in the dirt as I languished in the backyard swing, too tired to move, too awe-struck to sleep.

Since the discovery of a “SID’S Baby Furniture” in Los Angeles in 1992, I’ve found the names of things interesting. (And SID’S? Baby Furniture? Who didn’t do their research?) Then there’s Sum Yung Guy Chinese, and the famous “Donut Touch” here in San Diego. Talk about compelling advertising. THAT donut shop obviously knows something we don’t.

And I’ll tell you one other thing. Bed, Bath and Beyond makes me think of coffin merchandise. The “Beyond” is so funereal, right? Who’s with me? (This post has taken on the tone of an aging, down ‘n out, semi-retired comedian with a drinking problem.)

Just don’t get me started on the ads I used to have faxed to the video game magazine where I once worked. So many start-up companies overseas adopted these “American”-sounding names to fit in with the booming industry in the States, and the results were always, always comedic. I can’t remember a specific company name, per se, but I do remember the ads, one which promised, “7 valuable experiences of hell,” and vidgame action that was “too much interesting and funny!”

I’m not making fun of non-English speakers, really. That’s not the point here. But the point is: do your research! America’s guilty of this as well. Doesn’t Coca-Cola mean “hairy butt cyst” in Chinese? (Thanks Tinsenpup)

This brings me to my point. (Sorta.)

I bought this coffee substitute yesterday. Which may explain why this post makes little to no sense and is fair to middling. Also why I’m seeing double and have gas.

Don’t get me wrong. I love this stuff. Really. And I’m sure InterNational Foods from Paramus, New Jersey, is going to contact me for a spokeswomanship; it’s just the name that throws me off.

Because it’s so apologetic. Doesn’t “Pero” mean “but” (the non-cystic, non-hairy kind) in Spanish? As in, “Sorry. We know you really want coffee. BUT this is all we got…” Or if I were a crack whore, buying a crack substitute, “Pero,” would be all “I’m sure you’re looking for your crack, but meanwhile, enjoy this refreshing bubbly beverage.”

No, Pero! Take the bull by the horns! Toot those horns! Name yourself, “Get Over It!,” or “Coffee’s a Slut.” Something catchy. Yet to the point.

Just like this post! Am I right? Can I get an amen? (Where’s that cinematic wise-cracking waitress to my cynical comedian?)

Is this thing on?

I’m sorry, my friends. I’ll try writing the next post without drinking a truckload of Pero first. It may not have caffeine, but there’s something decidedly mind-altering about it. (Is Pero a mushroom hallucinogenic?)

Ah so. Good one, Pero. Guess you got the last laugh.