On Popcorn

Have you ever taken the time to fully appreciate a single kernel of popped corn? The popped corn kernel is, I believe, a significant step in man's innate desire to express and simultaneously control chaos. It is Freud’s Eros and Thanatos, expressed in a perfect Hegelian synthesis. In so many ways, it is the culmination of a litany of mankind’s goals. And yet, it is usually eaten in a dark theatre, suffocated, stilted, and emasculated by the greasiness of the ultimate misnomer, a “topping,” butter, which might more aptly be called a “bottoming.”

Each piece of popcorn is an explosion, an ultimate act of expression and rebellion. And yet, each of these is stopped at its apex, and frozen forever in time, like a lion shot mid-pounce, then stuffed and placed behind a glass display in a museum. Each piece is like a miniature supernova, or a miniaturized miniature Big Bang, stopped in the process, en route to greatness. The potential within a kernel is limitless; in fact, the potential energy within one kernel is equal to that of a nuclear bomb (Alas, most of that energy would be lost in any sort of conversion). But man has taken that potential, and stifled it, capturing it at its most effusive and ebullient moment.

In a way, one must sympathize for the kernel. In that one ecstatic moment of emancipation, the detonation is halted and plugged up, never to become what it could have become.

Each time we pick up another piece of popcorn, a feeling of anthropocentricism should pass through us, as man has once again trumped nature. I’m sure the designer of the Hoover Dam felt a similar pride when he walked past his concrete behemoth.

It is also for this reason that the unpopped kernels at the bottom of the bag are such a disappointment. Forget that they are nearly inedible, without incurring a hefty dental bill as a result of their mastication. No, it is their unrealized potential that is so devastating. They are like a brilliant artist who is too afraid to take a shot at greatness, and instead elects for the comfort of a desk job. Is the artist and corn safe in its metaphorical and literal kernel, never to be noticed, only to be ignored and discarded? Of course. But they will also never achieve the brilliance so easily within their grasp.

Orville Redenbacher, that Harriet Tubman of corn, once said, “Every once in a while, someone will mail me a single popcorn kernel that didn't pop. I'll get out a fresh kernel, tape it to a piece of paper and mail it back to them.” An excessive amount of energy, you might say. But the disappointment of unrealized potential, especially in something as exhilarating as popcorn, has no monetary equivalent. Then again, the man also experimented with over 10,000 types of hybrids to produce his Gourmet Popping Corn.

This statistic makes one wonder what the other 9,999 kernels produced. Some were obviously too restrained, and produced a spark where a firework was sought. But were some also too bold, too expressive for our puritanical society to handle? Did Redenbacher create popcorn the size of a tennis ball, but fearing Icarusian consequences, abandon this quest and reverse course?

Popcorn, no doubt, is dangerous to any sort of institution that derives its power from control. One can only imagine the kind of anarchy that would erupt if every citizen possessed the ability to turn a kernel of corn into a volleyball-sized starchy explosion. Redenbacher’s commercials started appearing on TV in the early 1970s. The proximity of this event to the Summer of Love, Woodstock, and the general counterculture movement cannot be overlooked. While popcorn hit puberty during the Great Depression, it seems it finally came of age during the hippie revolution. Just as young people were liberating themselves, through freedom of expression in music, literature, clothing etc., the corn kernel was doing the exact same thing with its suppressed starchy interior.

There really is no succinct, “and therefore” to wrap this up. If Tom Robbins can introduce a novel with a similar tome to beets, maybe this isn’t a bad beginning to my own thoughts on religion, politics, art and life. Stay tuned, kids.