Jello / the Sixties
My mother used to tell a story of picking me up at school on my first day of first grade, with her friend, Donald Baird in the car. She asked me about my day. I was so excited, giving her all the details, especially recess and lunch. I said "And do you know what we had for dessert! Jello!"
Mr. Baird, matching my enthusiasm, said "Oh, do you like Jello!"
I responded "NO! Yuck!" Somehow the grown-ups always thought this was very funny.
My grandmother made Jello a lot. My grandfather loved it. It was usually lime, with apples or canned pineapple (it doesn't gel with fresh; she tried) or bananas. Pop would pour milk on it: he called it "Shimmy pudding".
The ad slogan back then was "There's always room for Jello". Personally, I thought there was always room for ice cream. I never did understand whether Jello was vegetarian, or whether the gelatin came from animal bones. Now it comes sugar-free in little containers and is supposed to be such a good dessert when you're dieting. I still don't like it!
I did get to play in a wading pool full of it once, though. In the sixties, there was a commune in Germantown called Bandersnatch, that survived financially by throwing very special 60's sorts of parties. We had one at Chestnut Hill. The stairs to the Red Lounge in the basement were covered on one side with metal sheets, so we slid into the party. The walls on the other side were covered with paper, for psychedelic drawings and poems on the way out.
In the gym, a strobe light and some beach balls created a sort of stop-action circular volley ball game, in time with music from the DJ, with players coming and going all evening. A black plastic bag extended floor to ceiling in the red lounge, taking up half of the room. An air compressor inflated it, and entrance was via a tunnel we had to crawl through, sealed on the outer side before the inside was opened. Once I stood up, I was totally disoriented. I stood, straining for my eyes to adjust, but they didn't. It was totally black, no ambient light at all. The only other place I've been like that was Mammoth Cave, when the guide turned off the lights so we could see what it was like. The human eye can't adjust to absolutely no light at all. No matter how long you stare, you see nothing: no bodies moving, no hand in front of your face. This artificial cave was like that too. I stumbled around for a while in the black bag, bumping into and tripping over people, before finding the tunnel again. I have no idea how long I was in there: somewhere between 10 minutes and forever, I guess. Weird!
And there was the wading pool full of Jello, to walk in barefoot, squishing it between your toes, and to sit down in if you so desired (well, of course I did, No, memory is a funny thing. I can think about sitting down in the Jello but I'm very sure I did not walk back up those stairs with Jello dripping from my shorts.). It was much more fun than eating the stuff. (The student who had to scoop it out of the pool the next day and flush it down the toilet was not so enthusiastic.)
Chestnut Hill was a women's college. I don't remember what the occasion was when we had this party, but I don't remember any men being there. The available drinks were non-alcoholic. The sensory experience was delivered straight, without enhanced by sixties music but not by alcohol or drugs. I was so fascinated by the Bandersnatch event that I went to another one and took some friends. This turned out to be a whole different scene. It was in a frat house at U of P. The sensory element was enhanced by beer and pot: the whole place reeked. The black bag experience included avoiding more detailed groping than the bumping and tripping in the dark at CHC. And, most disappointing, there wasn't any Jello, just corn starch slime scooped out of a bowl and passed from hand to hand. Ah, the sixties.
Mr. Baird, matching my enthusiasm, said "Oh, do you like Jello!"
I responded "NO! Yuck!" Somehow the grown-ups always thought this was very funny.
My grandmother made Jello a lot. My grandfather loved it. It was usually lime, with apples or canned pineapple (it doesn't gel with fresh; she tried) or bananas. Pop would pour milk on it: he called it "Shimmy pudding".
The ad slogan back then was "There's always room for Jello". Personally, I thought there was always room for ice cream. I never did understand whether Jello was vegetarian, or whether the gelatin came from animal bones. Now it comes sugar-free in little containers and is supposed to be such a good dessert when you're dieting. I still don't like it!
I did get to play in a wading pool full of it once, though. In the sixties, there was a commune in Germantown called Bandersnatch, that survived financially by throwing very special 60's sorts of parties. We had one at Chestnut Hill. The stairs to the Red Lounge in the basement were covered on one side with metal sheets, so we slid into the party. The walls on the other side were covered with paper, for psychedelic drawings and poems on the way out.
In the gym, a strobe light and some beach balls created a sort of stop-action circular volley ball game, in time with music from the DJ, with players coming and going all evening. A black plastic bag extended floor to ceiling in the red lounge, taking up half of the room. An air compressor inflated it, and entrance was via a tunnel we had to crawl through, sealed on the outer side before the inside was opened. Once I stood up, I was totally disoriented. I stood, straining for my eyes to adjust, but they didn't. It was totally black, no ambient light at all. The only other place I've been like that was Mammoth Cave, when the guide turned off the lights so we could see what it was like. The human eye can't adjust to absolutely no light at all. No matter how long you stare, you see nothing: no bodies moving, no hand in front of your face. This artificial cave was like that too. I stumbled around for a while in the black bag, bumping into and tripping over people, before finding the tunnel again. I have no idea how long I was in there: somewhere between 10 minutes and forever, I guess. Weird!
And there was the wading pool full of Jello, to walk in barefoot, squishing it between your toes, and to sit down in if you so desired (well, of course I did, No, memory is a funny thing. I can think about sitting down in the Jello but I'm very sure I did not walk back up those stairs with Jello dripping from my shorts.). It was much more fun than eating the stuff. (The student who had to scoop it out of the pool the next day and flush it down the toilet was not so enthusiastic.)
Chestnut Hill was a women's college. I don't remember what the occasion was when we had this party, but I don't remember any men being there. The available drinks were non-alcoholic. The sensory experience was delivered straight, without enhanced by sixties music but not by alcohol or drugs. I was so fascinated by the Bandersnatch event that I went to another one and took some friends. This turned out to be a whole different scene. It was in a frat house at U of P. The sensory element was enhanced by beer and pot: the whole place reeked. The black bag experience included avoiding more detailed groping than the bumping and tripping in the dark at CHC. And, most disappointing, there wasn't any Jello, just corn starch slime scooped out of a bowl and passed from hand to hand. Ah, the sixties.
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