More

It really is the little things in life that matter.

I was not in a good mood when I trudged into 7-11 one recent morning to get myself something passing for nourishment. Big-picture things were bothering me and I was stomping around mumbling like someone contemplating serious revenge after a nasty dust-up.

Then I saw it right there on the shelf, and all my troubles melted away: A can of Gangsta Energy Drink.

It was grape — I knew that because, right under where the murderous-looking thug figure was punching his way through a wall toward my face, it said "Grape" in graffiti-style letters.

Wow. This caused me to start laughing to the point of near-incapacitation. I calmed down a bit once I saw the little woman behind the counter start reaching for the emergency alert button to call the police. But I was still near hysterics a minute later, when I surrendered to the impulse to purchase one of those 7-11 burritos that are slightly larger than a fire log and won't fit into any oven currently manufactured.

A fan is born

So I now type this column with my new companion sitting alongside the computer — a can of the ridiculously-funny Gangsta Energy Drink. I don't know why it's so funny — well, yes I do. It makes me giddy to think we live in a country where someone can successfully market the notion of a man on a purple can looking like he's about to

mow you down in a hail of automatic weapon fire and put it on the shelf in 7-11 stores.

Incredible. And in non-threatening purple, of all colors. And people buy that stuff. I love this country.

It made me remember, on the way home, one of my favorite memories of my dad, which sounds strange — unless you understand anything about my relationship with my late father.

Back in the '80s when Jolt Cola was first put on the shelves, it was a concept absolutely unheard of at the time. A company wrenched up the caffeine in a non-coffee beverage to the point where they were basically marketing it like a dangerous drug. It was like they were saying "Please drink this, get wired until your heart feels like it's about to launch from your chest like the space shuttle, and don't send us the medical bill. Enjoy." They were practically daring you to drink it.

Bonding over soda

Well, that was enough for my dad who, like his son, was a bit of a strange man. He thought Jolt Cola was the singularly most hilarious thing he'd ever seen. I never saw him laugh so much. He actually called me — and my father hardly ever called me — just to tell me all about it.

We were getting ready to go somewhere a few days later when he turned around, lumbered back to his refrigerator and grabbed a six-pack of Jolt, holding it up in triumph, like a hockey player holding the Stanley Cup. "For the ride," he said, breaking into what suspiciously, for him, sounded like giggles.

During the hour-long ride, he'd break the silence by booming, "You ready for another JOLT?" before breaking into even more laughter. It was like being on a road trip with an escaped hybrid grizzly bear/insane circus clown. I didn't know whether to laugh along, or jump out of the car at the next stop sign.

It was such a silly little trip — and certainly not one I'd thought about in years. But since I walked in and bought my own version of a ridiculous sounding energy drink, I've been in a much better mood. And I love grape; though it doesn't quite taste as good as my memory of Jolt Cola.

Reach Tony Hicks at thicks@bayareanewsgroup.com. Read his blog, "Insert Foot," at www.ibabuzz.com/insertfoot.