Spring Break
Another Take: King of Pop
By Brian Costain
I'll never forget where I was when I learned about the King of Pop's death. I was at home, helping my Mom and Dad install a pane of glass on our new slider, when the text ran across the bottom of our television screen: "King of Pop found dead." We lost him not too long ago on a day that will not be soon forgotten by my generation and my parents'. I know we've all read hundreds of emotional thinkpieces, heard our parents speak about his impact on their lives, and visited the Wikipedia page of the King of Pop by now, but I'd like to offer a personal anecdote.
When I was five, I suffered from a serious bout with Grote's Disease, an illness that left my eyebrows paralyzed and disallowed me from laughing for nearly three weeks. I was in and out of hospitals for the entire duration of my battle. After rising from a nap one evening, my Mom approached me with a copy of arguably the finest film of all time: On the Waterfront, starring Marlon Brando. "Watch this, honey," she advised. "Fight the fight with Terry Malloy by your side."
After starting the film, she offered me a bowl of freshly buttered popcorn. "You can't watch Karl Malden without this!" I asked her what brand it was, and she said the most beautiful name I had ever heard: Orville Redenbacher.
The next morning, I was moving my eyebrows and laughing at morose headlines in the Boston Herald because I could. I realized Orville Redenbacher helped me beat the Grote's. From that miraculous night on, I enjoyed good ol' O.R. at least once a week, sampling all varieties available. "Ultimate Butter," "Movie Theatre" and "Old Fashioned" became household favorites. "Corn on the Cob" necessitated an hour's drive, but the payoff more than made up for the effort.
Then, in 1995, my whole world came crashing down when the King of Pop died in his jacuzzi; the irreplaceable bond I had formed with the goofiest looking man on the planet came to an abrupt, unceremonious end.
I continued to enjoy the fruits, and butters, of Orville's labor years after that fateful September day. Many childhood afternoons spent with Han, Luke and Leia never went by without a Butter Mini-Bag, and when coupled with a nice can of Coke, produced a euphoric sensation that stayed in the palate for hours after digestion.
The genius of Orville Redenbacher may never be matched again. I've tried the Act II series of buttered delights, and while O.R. is in orbit, Act II is down the road from the launch pad. There have been rumors of introducing a new line of flavors, but rest assured, I'm praying to the heavens above that they do not reach shelves. Preserve the legacy.
So thank you, Orville, for making the most unbearable films worth something in the end. May your legacy live forever, King of Pop.
When I was five, I suffered from a serious bout with Grote's Disease, an illness that left my eyebrows paralyzed and disallowed me from laughing for nearly three weeks. I was in and out of hospitals for the entire duration of my battle. After rising from a nap one evening, my Mom approached me with a copy of arguably the finest film of all time: On the Waterfront, starring Marlon Brando. "Watch this, honey," she advised. "Fight the fight with Terry Malloy by your side."
After starting the film, she offered me a bowl of freshly buttered popcorn. "You can't watch Karl Malden without this!" I asked her what brand it was, and she said the most beautiful name I had ever heard: Orville Redenbacher.
The next morning, I was moving my eyebrows and laughing at morose headlines in the Boston Herald because I could. I realized Orville Redenbacher helped me beat the Grote's. From that miraculous night on, I enjoyed good ol' O.R. at least once a week, sampling all varieties available. "Ultimate Butter," "Movie Theatre" and "Old Fashioned" became household favorites. "Corn on the Cob" necessitated an hour's drive, but the payoff more than made up for the effort.
Then, in 1995, my whole world came crashing down when the King of Pop died in his jacuzzi; the irreplaceable bond I had formed with the goofiest looking man on the planet came to an abrupt, unceremonious end.
I continued to enjoy the fruits, and butters, of Orville's labor years after that fateful September day. Many childhood afternoons spent with Han, Luke and Leia never went by without a Butter Mini-Bag, and when coupled with a nice can of Coke, produced a euphoric sensation that stayed in the palate for hours after digestion.
The genius of Orville Redenbacher may never be matched again. I've tried the Act II series of buttered delights, and while O.R. is in orbit, Act II is down the road from the launch pad. There have been rumors of introducing a new line of flavors, but rest assured, I'm praying to the heavens above that they do not reach shelves. Preserve the legacy.
So thank you, Orville, for making the most unbearable films worth something in the end. May your legacy live forever, King of Pop.
This article was published on 12/11/09 in the Opinion section.
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