Attention: I have some things to say about Goldfish snack crackers.

I spent Saturday baking cupcakes and listening to old mix tapes made for me by boys I used to like. I have had the very good luck to have dated many dudes with excellent taste in music, even if some of them were also way into the soap opera Passions, or the WWF, or their ex-girlfriends. Almost all of these mix tapes stood the test of time, and I had the best time remembering how head over heels I used to be about some of these songs because I was head over heels about some of these guys. It also occurred to me that I haven’t had a crush on anyone since I don’t know when. I mean, last year I had a boyfriend, but I never had a crush on him. I can’t remember the last time I had that dreamy/soda-in-the-veins feeling. Get on that, universe.

Anyway. Saturday night I was at a bar that had bowls of Pepperidge Farm Goldfish snack crackers, pretzel flavor, out for the taking, and man, I had forgotten how enjoyable those are. Even better with a glass of milk, I swear to god. So I bought a bag today at the store, and I opened it and began snacking before I even put the rest of the groceries away. But then I happened to notice this:

Pardon me, Pepperidge Farm, but did you just insinuate that my snack cracker is some kind of pussy?

Then I turned to the back of the bag for more information, and this is what I found:

Okay, what the hell. Joe American, a milquetoast, a ladypiece, and some vaguely-foreign fellow who snowboards out of helicopters? Is this necessary? Can we not just eat some crackers and be done with it? Because now I can’t! Now I have to go seek out this abomination and make it right in my brain, probably before I even unload the frozen food!

You just know that Xtreme guy is riddled with VD.

In my day, the side of the Pepperidge Farm Goldfish snack crackers bag had the first verse of this old Irish folk song printed on the side. I knew the tune because my dad used to sing it while he was in the kitchen. It was a nice sort of thing to have on the side of your foodstuff container; a little something to read whilst you chewed. It is for this reason that I think fortune cookies are, in theory at least, the world’s best snack: they are sweet, they are crunchy, and they provide you with some light reading material.

Pepperidge Farm had to go and mess with a good thing.

I was not unaware of the fact that the Goldfish bag had undergone some changes; in fact, on March 12, 2003, my colleague Old Man Carlson sent me an email that said, “I don’t approve of the Goldfish Snack mascot wearing sunglasses.” I agree. Mascots are pretty lame already; we don’t need to go making the situation worse with accoutrements.

So, in my old lady anger, I actually went to the Pepperidge Farm Goldfish snack cracker website, which encouraged me to “Meet Finn,” the bespectacled cheese-flavored fish. Or maybe he’s original flavor; it’s unclear. Nonetheless, he is joined by my own snack selection, the Wussy Pretzelfish, as well as some spicy ethnic rake, and then a spunky wanton tomboy, clearly the poor man’s Marion from Raiders. I was looking for some explanation, some backstory, but it was nowhere to be found. There are all these games available, however, summoned by hovering your mouse over one of the fish. The one for my pretzelfish was entitled HELP GILBERT FIND HIS COMFORT ZONE and mentioned the POWERS OF POSITIVE THINKING. FOR A SNACK. Jesus H, P. Farms! I lingered too long near the tarted-up Parmesan ladyfish, and she coquetteishly said, “I challenge you to a game of Grabobblefish!” to which I actually snapped out loud, “Shut up, fish!” Then I got my cane and thrust it about the air in frustration until retiring to the couch to watch my stories. But seriously, can we please talk about this because I am riled up now.

I felt like how my mother must feel online, adrift and unable to make sense of or even navigate this website. I just wanted to read some sort of elaborate character sketch for my snack cracker selection so I could SEE WHAT IT SAID ABOUT ME AS A SENTIENT HUMAN BEING AND THEN GET MAD ABOUT IT. Is that so much to ask? I am inviting you to insult me further, Pepperidge Farm, and yet you cower away like a blackguard!

I actually clicked on the link to their Wikipedia entry looking for more information on these characters. It is my feeling that one should never have to consult Wikipedia about one’s snack crackers. It is also my feeling that this is probably why one has not had crushes on any boys lately. I am way too busy being some sort of old lady/fop combo to entertain any serious courting. Who wants to make a mix tape for hermaphrodite Eustace Tilley?