There's no holiday we love more over at the Allston Pudding HQ than Presidents Day. For one thing, the holiday is vague as hell. It's also forgotten in the big list of holidays kids look forward to. Then there's the absurdity of how to spend it. Do we flip through photo books of old presidents? Do we hole up in the library and read autobiographies? Are we supposed to make valentines and mail them to the White House since the holiday falls immediately after Valentine's Day? Should we send our condolences to all the could've-been presidents, past and present, who never made it past primaries?
Instead of fighting the confusion, we dove straight in to the holiday with help from some of our friends. Given this year is an election, it's natural to wonder which presidential candidate you will vote for. But which would you date? Speedy Ortiz, Kal Marks, Palehound, Kid Mountain, Ghost Box Orchestra, and more transcribed their dream dates (with one legit piece of fan fiction making the cut).
But first, the rules:
- Bands can select presidential candidates from ANY election, not just this one.
- The date can be whatever they want it to be, wherever they want it to be, as long as it involves candy.
- Candy can play as big of a role in the story (touring a candy factory, meeting the inventor of Skittles, waking up inside of a YORK Peppermint Pattie) or as small of a role (the president gifts them a Snickers bar when they pick 'em up, the band orders Reese's cheesecake for dessert, they share Sour Patch Kids at the movies) as they want.
Alas, say hello to your 2016 presidential candy-dates.
(Please note that all political opinions are those of the individuals interviewed, not necessarily of their respective projects as a whole or of the Allston Pudding Team. AKA politics are divisive, but everyone can get along and engage in music and democracy — especially when it involves candy!)
GHOST BOX ORCHESTRA
My date would be with former President Dwight Eisenhower. We'd go on a really long drive and eat Twizzlers. Because Twizzlers are good food for thought. We'd take turns driving a brand-spanking new Tesla X while riding down the interstate highway. He'd wax poetic about how the road was difficult to create. We'd chomp on our strawberry confectionery morsels while listening to the latest-yet-not-yet-released Ghost Box Orchestra album. I'd tell him we're making records and he'd be all, "Vinyl is still a thing?" And I'd be all, "Yeah, it takes forever to get them pressed! So worth it. This baby burns!" — Nazli Rex
SPEEDY ORTIZ
So I know Rick Santorum's dropped out of the presidential race, but that's cool, 'cuz it just means he has more time to spend V-day wining, dining, and disappointing me on our date — a male tradition. He's gonna show up looking fly AF 'cuz he's got that Urban Outfitters cash-money hookup. I imagine he'll greet me with some pop rocks, the frothiest candy in the whole candy shop. (Favorite neologism: "santorum (san-TOR-um) n. 1. The frothy mixture of lube and fecal matter that is sometimes the by-product of anal sex.") And when the date abruptly ends when he discovers I'm on birth control—major ethical no-no, by Ricky-Rick's standards—I know he'll be cool ending the night by himself. Have you seen that wrist? So agile! *swoon* — Sadie Dupuis
KID MOUNTAIN
All of Kid Mountain and Bernie would form a line, hold hands (never letting go), and then roller skate, never stopping, and gaining a bigger and bigger line of skaters and new friends as we head across towns, counties, states, and finally the country. Eventually, as we cross into Texas, we spot another group of skaters skating towards us with the biggest Jansport backpacks you've ever seen. Everyone notices as Bernie, who's leading the pack, turns towards us with a gigantic grin on his face and points with his one free hand towards the oncoming group of skaters. Finally, we all realize the reason for Bernie's delight: Freddie Mercury - with the rest of Queen following closely behind - unzips his backpack, and proceeds to pull out giant pixie sticks of all flavors and varieties. Queen then begins to hand out the powdery treat to everyone in our line, making a point to wink at every single person they encounter. Queen was never seen again. Re-vitalized and jittery, our line continues on, growing steadily with every turn of our wheels. Have you ever heard the sound of hundreds of thousands of roller skates on pavement? The deafening roar could be heard from miles away. Suddenly, Bernie stopped, and others followed suit. He unlinked hands and stood before us. We all stared at him, sweaty and anxious with anticipation. "I'm pretty tired," he said. "I think I'll go home now." He then started skating in the opposite direction, winking as he passed. We all blew kisses at him and we all missed him already. That day, our legs, stomachs, and minds all felt the bern. — Jean J.
GYMSHORTS
I think I'd have to go with Abraham Lincoln on this one. It'd be fun to take him out for a night on the town. I hear he was a big fan of the theater, but I think I'd probably rather take him to go eat a bunch of ring-shaped hard candies — could be a real LIFESAVER! — Sarah Greenwell
HORSE JUMPER OF LOVE
JFK and HJoL are taking a midsummer's walk. It is HOT outside and we're both looking so sharp, dressed in suits, getting super hot and sweaty. He would wipe the sweat off our collective brow with his handkerchief. We would have shared some reese's peanut butter cups, and each one of us would have put one in out back pockets to save for later. We would both forget that we'd put them there, and would stick our hands in the others back pockets as we stroll. Realizing our silly mistake, we would lick the molten peanut butter/chocolate off of each others fingers. HJoL would say tenderly "You got peanut butter in my chocolate," to which JFK would laugh and reply, "You got chocolate in my peanut butter!" — Jamie Vadala-Doran
BLACK BEACH
My ideal date would be inviting Bill Clinton over to just hang in and eat some Reese's Pieces. Knowing our mutual love for Thelonious Monk, I would throw on some jazz records. I would throw on some later era Coltrane or some Brotzmann or Ornette Coleman, and hopefully it would get us in the mood to jam on some free jazz- Clinton on sax and me on drums. — Steven Instasi
AUDREY HARRER
We walk along a beach of Pop Rocks as the seltzer tide washes over our feet. Words are pieces of salt water taffy we put in our mouths. We collect Jolly Ranchers like skipping stones and throw them far into the ocean. Seagulls dive for Swedish Fish. A hot pink cotton candy sunset takes the shape of Mt. Rushmore. He points at the moon, and while I turn to look, he becomes a bronze statue. —Audrey Harrer
PALEHOUND
Under the Podium: My Date With Hillary Clinton
My phone buzzes just as I finish applying my dark lipstick, it’s Hillary. “I’m outside.” it reads. I look out of my window and see her Ford pickup truck idling in the driveway, I can faintly hear “Come to My Window” by Melissa Etheridge seeping out of the cracked window along with the ribbon of smoke from her cigarette.
I lock the door behind me and walk up to the passenger side. Before getting in, I tap on the window and remind her that I’m allergic to cigarette smoke. She looks embarrassed, and immediately puts it out, apologizing and explaining that she had a long day at the office and is pretty stressed out. She pauses, looks into my eyes, and says “It’s all okay now that I’m with you though. What would you like to do tonight?” I tell her that the local indie theater is showing the cult classic But I’m A Cheerleader (starring Natasha Lyonne and Ru Paul) at midnight. “I love that movie!” she exclaims, “We have a few hours to kill until then, what do you wanna do?” I can tell she’s still a little stressed out so I suggest that we pick up some beers and go drink them on the swingset behind the elementary school.
We stop by the package store and pick up a six pack of Blue Moons. The elementary school playground is a short distance away so we decide to walk to avoid drawing attention to ourselves at the school late at night. When we get to the school we walk through a muddy field soiled with goose poop. “Good thing I wore my Doc Martens today!” Hillary laughs, I’m jealous because I’m wearing my Mary Janes and they’re getting trashed.
We sit on the swings and Hillary lets out a long sigh as she tilts back, gripping the chains and swinging flat, her body parallel to the ground. “This election is fucking killing me” she says, staring up at the sky, “I mean, if anybody knew I was with you right now I’d be dead. Bill knows, he’s known for a while that this is how I am and he’s okay with it but he’s worried about the press finding out.” I reassure her that I haven’t told anyone and seriously doubt anybody will think that especially considering that she notoriously opposed gay marriage a few years back. She looks at me, her eyes wide and sad, “I’m sorry Ellen, I really hope that doesn’t freak you out. I just did that so people wouldn’t suspect that I’m actually gay. It’s hard enough being a woman but a gay woman in politics?? Forget it.”
I wanna change the subject and cheer her up so I swing really high and then jump off into the field. I look back and she smiles and does the same, landing right next to me. We lay in the grass staring up at the stars and the smog in silence. It only felt like 5 minutes but the next thing I know, Hillary checks her watch and exclaims “We’re gonna be late to the movie!”
We rush to the theater. Once we get there I grab the tickets and our seats while Hillary gets the snacks. “What do you want?” she asks. I tell her to surprise me. She joins me in the theater a few minutes into the previews. “What’d you get?” I ask. “Close your eyes and open your mouth”, she responds. I do. I feel her slip a Milk Dud into my mouth, my favorite, she remembered. I open my eyes and smile at her just as the lights go down in the theater and the movie starts. — Ellen Kempner
KAL MARKS
I think this election has totally exhausted my funny bone. The only thing I can think of is to take Trump or Cruz to the candy corn factory, because candy corn sucks and they're real pieces of shit. — Carl Shane