192 Pineapples, Crushed and Enveloped in Creamy Goodness

Oh, Pinkberry... come... come... come to your momma!

First, essential background: I am obsessed with that mix-in frozen yogurt than you can find in every sub shop in Allston-Brighton, along with Angora Cafe, and Cabot's in Newton. FYI: I get cookie dough/M&M. Sometimes PB Cup if I'm feeling it.

You know-- it's the kind where they use that big machine that looks like a drill and they put in superfrozen chunks of ice cream and then it comes out all twisty and creamy and hypersweet and wondrous. Pure beauty!

I just learned that there's a new sub shop in Davis (Top Speed Pizza) that has this phenomenal treat! And they deliver it!

So then I see this whole Pinkberry thing on Cool Hunting today, and instantly recommence drooling. It's supposedly less sweet than regular mix-in, and has that real yogurty twang that's so good.

I want one.

[photo cred to Cool Hunting.]

**and speaking of cones (well, sorta), check out pizza cones over on BMA.

Pineapples Only. But Dressed as Crabapples. With Hats That Look Like Mulligans.

I am fragmented.
Go:


1. Because Google is eternally doused in strawberries and cream and wonder, Goog Co-op now offers Customized Search Engines. Google, even if you become a horrific giant of interweb domination, covered in soot and mucus and puppy shards, I will never stop loving you.
::144 Pineapples for infinite piles of über-logical nerdery.

2. I am very much into Gewürtztraminer. This makes me feel like I live in Weston and own a purebred golden retriever and half of the Pottery Barn catalog. But, as long as I still eat dry cereal in handfuls for dinner, I consider myself safe.
This weekend, Jason and I have a field trip planned to Vinodivino to pick this shit up. Wine Spectator gives it a 92. (thanks sdt.)
::190 Pineapples. With a mineral undertone.

3. Tom has managed to get me even more riled upabout Iron Chef. Just to let you all know, the Iron Chef Battle of the Masters DVD set is on sale for $24.95.
Battle for Supremacy tees can also be had for 15 bucks. Worth it.
::16 Pineapples for continual reruns of Battle BigEye Tuna.

::Also, 18 pretentious crabapples to me for using two umlauts in one post. Also, I will freely admit that I just learned how to do that today, so it was kind of a rush. [And yes, this makes me an asshole.]

Happy Halloween! I hope your neighbors give out Butterfingers. Full-size.

33 Pineapples for Cheesy 'Mallows

Iron Chef secret ingredient tonight is HONEY! Yes!
A welcome change from the typical feature of obscure meat slabs. And IC Cat Cora is MAKING CHEESE! Right in kitchen stadium! I may not sleep tonight from the residual excitement.

One important update: Last week I discussed Doggles. A big thank you to Dan for providing me with proof that this whole Doggles op is legit.

Also, since I'm having an absolute ball sticking dowels up Cosmo's ass lately, I'm going to continue.

Ready? This is all true.

Q&A:

I'm bitchy when I'm stressed. What can I do?

Cosmo says: "When you sense a bout of stress coming on...acknowledge your feelings and sum them up in one sentence, like This really sucks, making sure to identify exactly what's making you tense."

Hm. Okay. Cool. Lemme try!

Cosmo, we used to be friends and I used to respect your mind-numbing qualities and information about how to buy jeans that make my ass look nice, but you are beginning to make me feel so fucking stupid for giving money to your cause that I may begin poking pinholes in my fingers so I can bleed delicately all over your Monthly Style Checklist.

Fabulous advice, Cosmo... I think it worked!


Iron Chef Update: The challenger is making marshmallows!
Cheese v. Marshmallows? Best battle ever.

17 Crabapples for DirtyNasty Mitts

Update: I found something even stupiderder in Cosmo than Tuesday's gem.

If you have this month's issue, I urge you to turn to page 99 and focus your eyes on the hot pink inset (within a larger frame of a giggly maiden clutching a plastic bear/honey receptacle).

Read with me:


Sex Toy Tips---

If you like... Try...
Ice Cubes... Popsicles [okay]
Feathers... A Cashmere Scarf [sure]
Massage Oil... Salt Scrub [whatev]
A Hair Brush... A Kitchen Mitt

Hold up, Harry and the Hendersons.
Don't you fucking dare come at me with a crusty-ass, i've-been-in-chicken-pot-pie-and-assorted-creamy-casseroles kitchen mitt.

I may not be Dita von Teese, but hell if allow an ov-glove into my bed.
Unless it's clutching a loaded cookie sheet.

1.5 Crabapples for Dippy Doggles

YEEEEEEEAAAAAH BOYZ.

If there's one thing everyone needs, it's...
it's....
Doggles!

That's right, friends...
Goggles for your doggo.

There are different sizes, styles, and colors to fit even the most problematic puppyface. There are even matching hats!

[Also, if your pooch is a big doppelganger junkie, you can get him this. Wicked meta.]

What I really don't understand is Prescription Doggles.
"Yo, Clancy, uh, why don't you place this in front of your right eye and read me the fourth line down."


[photo cred to Doggles.com.]

800 Crabapples for Trash That Crossed the Line

I'll have you know that Boston has the highest percentage (53.6%) of guys who have never been married in the nation, according to the Census Bureau.

I just learned this from the November issue of Cosmo, in an OH-so-OMG enlightening (no, no, not at all) article about "The Best Places to Meet a Guy."

Now, don't get me wrong, I love the trashy, pointless, mindless cream-puffery of Cosmo. Especially laying in bed. Maybe with some Smartfood. mmmmmmm Yeaaaaa.

But this article is worse than Twinkie-filling.
Check this shit out...
Cosmo's top places to find a guy:

1. The Apple Store
2. The Weight Room
3. A Fortune 500 or Tech Company [what? you just walk in? no, no, no.]
4. A Political Rally
5. A Sports Bar on a Sunday or Monday Night
6. A Volleyball League
7. A Rock-Climbing Center
8. A Steak House
9. A Grad School Coffee Shop

Good lord. A more appropriate title for this list would be "Top Places to Not Bother a Guy with a Lame Come-on (because he's busy and doesn't feel like talking to you right now. At all.)

I appreciate their creativity, and their departure from "dress like a slut and go to a bar where boys like sluts," but fricking A...

This list is the equivalent of saying that the top places to find a girl are:

1. The Nail Salon
2. The Hair Salon
3. The Rice Cake Factory
4. The Diet Coke Factory
5. The Coach Store
6. Ballet Class
7. The Dressing Room of Bebe Screaming About Her Hips
8. Curves

Okay, to be fair, I'll give them grad school coffee shop. And maybe volleyball league.

But let me tell you why I'm really not pleased with my dear Cosmo this month.
AHEM.
Okay, so in an article entitled "Things Guys Just Don't Want to Know About You," I give you:

"Guys don't want to know... How Smart You Are."

"Why?," you ask.
You ready?
You sure?
Fine. Here:

"If you find yourself using the names Hemingway, Dostoevsky, or Nietzsche more than once per conversation, you may be guilty of academic name-dropping, which reeks of insecurity. There's no better illustration of false advertising than someone peering over a thick copy [um, as opposed to a thin copy? whatever, assfucks] of Crime and Punishment in a busy coffee shop. You may as well be wearing a sign that reads Buyer Beware."

I'm so getting one of those signs.

23 Pineapples for Firefox 2

This is going to be way boring. I'm sleepy.

Firefox 2 is available for download today (well, Tues morn)! Check out Read/WriteWeb's eval of their marketing strategy here.

Also, the iPod turns 5 today. What up, iPod!
You can see Jobs' initial launch here. In retrospect, the whole thing seems all creepily "we will eat the rest of the market like a sandwich and not even need mustard because we enjoy the sinewy goodness of destroying lesser companies."
Which, let's face it, is one of the reasons why I salute Steve Jobs. Repeatedly. Throughout the day.

Also if I get up to pee at night.

Changing gears:
One recommendation, especially after the Skilling development today. Watch The Smartest Guys in the Room. Very well done.

See? I am neither amusing nor punchy tonight. Mostly because my left eye is already closed and my right eye is jealous. Moo.

55 Pineapples for Douchebag Nominations

I'm a big fat day late on my Blogtoberfest recap; I feel halfway sad about that. As I explained to Tom (who I like IRL even more than in his blog. and I like his blog.), I should shuffle you all to my "Other Places to Find Me" section in my sidebar... because I'm still actively blogging, just not as much here.
/cop-out.

Also, after meeting John, I am going to get real about doing a podcast. I've gotten close before, and then let it flitter away. This time it will happen. I'll keep you updated on title and theme. I'm thinking that it'll be a combination of Phantom Gourmet and TechCrunch. And I may announce puppies up for adoption ala Bob Barker. And discuss dessert wine.
The Phantom Muscat PuppyCrunch Show? Sure as rain.
Because that sounds very elegant. Also, I'm pretty certain that URL is available.

Oh, and my other major takeaway of Blogtoberfest is that erinire has the most perfect teeth on the planet.

This completes my comprehensive recap.

I would also like to announce a new addition to my blogroll: Tedious Charm.
SDT is wonderful and witty and new to the blogging scene, so you should go here and contribute to her Douchebag Hall of Mediocrity.

If you need a little help, SDT offers an example submission:

Dear Tedious Charm, I would like to nominate to the Douchebag (or Douche Bag) Hall of Mediocrity every boyfriend I ever had before I met my husband. I would also like to nominate anyone who read the previous sentence and sinckered, "Well, THAT'S a short list."

First and foremost, I nominate the Jordan's Furniture guys.
And Justin Timberlake.
And that little kid from Jerry Maguire.

Avogadro's Number of Pineapples for the Dudley Coop

Can you read that?

The sign on the house?

Squint. Hard.

It's worth it.

Yes. "Center for High Energy Metaphysics."

Apparently it's also known as the Dudley Coop... shockingly, Harvard students! NO WAY!

Only in Cambridge do you see a house named like bomb factory that's actually the nucleus of all things tofu and hemp.

Oh, dorks are fun.
Also, I sorta want to live there.


[thanks jason for the stunning photo work.]

Pineapples, Pineapples, Pineapples for $26 Bottles!

1. Up until this weekend, I hadn't eaten Kix since I was...hmmm...probably...seven. Well, the hugeass-size box was on sale this past spin through the G-store, so I bought it.
After consuming bowl 1, I am totally convinced that each individual Kix (kick?) is half the size it used to be.
Yo. Is this true?

Amidst my quest to find out if the above is true (or if, perhaps, the wondrous phenomenon of me "getting bigger since I was seven" is what has dwarfed them), I googled "size of kix." What I found was not some sort of cereal evolution chart, but a sizing chart for a Kix halloween costume (the box, not the actual corn puff itself). That's kind of a fun idea, right? Yep, sure.
:: Anyway, 12 Shrunken Pineapples for Shape Shifting ala Milled Corn.

2. Thanks to Real Girl for the America's Next Top Model Drinking Game. Hilarious.
Additionally, the "cream-filled cake" lip balm mentioned within that same post sounds wonderful. Although my current Tootsie Roll lip balm tastes like asscandy, so one can never feel full confidence in petroleum-based dessert tubes.
:: 53 Pineapples for a new BLOG! to read.

3. Any Bostonians been to Ivy in the Ladder District? It's fairly new, and I've seen its ads plastered all over the Metro and Weekly Dig and Stuff at Night; also, just this morning it was featured on Phantom Gourmet.
What's so alluring about it? Well, two things:

a. On Wine: Our unique wine program features over 60 bottles of wine priced at $26.00 per bottle, most of those wines are also served in 6oz and 12oz Reidel crystal quartino’s. This program was created to encourage guests to explore and enjoy new vintages and give them the unique ability to change the type of wine they are drinking as their food selections change.

Yo, Ivy, such a good call. Then you don't need to do the whole "I shouldn't get the token cheapo $22 bottle and look like a douche, but I've never heard of the $39 one, and what if it's not worth it? And Jacob's Creek just sounds chintzy" thing. Also, I love the whole small plates with wine pairings concept, although at those prices it adds up a bit too fast for my liking. But for a special occasion (like giving birth to an amphibian or having a shooting star made out of platinum and garnets fly straightaway into my outstretched arms), it would be really great.

b. Free Gelato at the end of the meal! In little baby cones! WHASSUP NOW, A-HOLES.
Seriously, shut the fuck up because you know that's so cool.
I wonder if you get to pick the flavor you get. I would pick banana if they had it. Actually, no, chocolate banana. Yes, chocolate banana would be the best.

:: 45 Hypothetical Pineapples for Ivy. I would dole even more if I could afford it. And to anyone who's been, lemme know if it's worth it.

34 Mulligans for Enfranchised Bicyclists

I was driving through Somerville today, humming along merrily to the Pussycat Dolls, when WHAM-O, I was visually besieged by the bumper sticker stopped at the light in front of me:

I BICYCLE. AND I VOTE.

Um. Okay.
I, uh, OWN A BOOKSHELF. AND I EAT.

Seriously, what the fuck is that supposed to mean? I BICYCLE. AND I VOTE?
Huhwha?
I did not know.
So, I went back to work and asked Mike: “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Our best guess was that it was some sort of Dadaist bumper sticker experiment, which actually would have been pretty cool.
We quickly co-google.

The verdict: It’s a real thing. Like, an actual campaign. Like, somebody thought of this slogan. On Purpose.

Mind-blowing.

And then I think, “Hmm. Know what that reminds me of?
Colorless green ideas sleep furiously."

To which Mike is all “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
So I promptly wikify Chomsky and his iconic nonsensicalocity.

Upon burrowing down further and further into Wikivillia (not without turning up this fantastic contest from a lit magazine asking people to provide context for Chomsky’s sentence in 100 words or less), I find this great online version of the Exquisite Corpse, one of my favorite games ever invented by Surrealists.

[At this juncture I will subtly encourage you to read Breton’s Manifestoes of Surrealism. Because everyone can use a lil' polysemous meaninglessness on a Thursday.]

**flickr thanks to annais.

89 Crabapples for Grabby, Grabby Lane Aquisitions

Dear Every-MBTA-Bus-in-Boston-and-Adjacent-Suburbs,

You are horrible.
No wait. Let me start over.
Dude, I understand that you're a bus (and also that buses are large), so really-- don't take this the wrong way.

But tonight, I was driving down Mass Ave, and you insisted on taking up all of the lanes. I just wanted one. You were certain that you deserved three.
For the record: You do not.

The fact that you are what you call a "public transportation vehicle" in no way means that you are exempt from the common practice that we "private vehicles" routinely refer to as "picking a lane."

With that, I bid you adieu. Friday Night Lights has started, and it deserves my attention far more than you do.
Listen-- you know that's true.

Til later,
Jaynie K

1 Mulligan for a Netflix Slip

Hey.

I've been bad at blogging lately because I've been spending more time over at BeyondMadisonAvenue. Go try it; you'll like it.

But, I will take a lunch break moment to state a very crucial statement and ask a very crucial question:
I mailed back one of my own DVDs in with a Netflix DVD. Is it gone forever?

I'll try customer service later this afternoon, but I think it may be lost in a dark abyss of zillions of discs. I just picture it shoved at the bottom of a trash heap akin to the talking one on Fraggle Rock.

That would suck.

Update: just went on the netflix site and shuffled through their FAQs.
To my dismay:

Q: I accidentally returned a personal CD or DVD. How do I get it back?
A: Unfortunately, we're unable to return personal CDs or DVDs that are mistakenly sent to us.

Crap.
Netflix, I mean, I totally get it, but it's getting hard to still love you.

170 Pineapples for a Dish Worth Driving To

Fine. I stole that title from the Phantom Gourmet.
And fine, it makes little sense in this context.
Call me slipshod. Or slapdash.
Or slashdot.
Really, whatever, I'm tired.

Anyway:
Scarlett Johansson has been named "Sexist Woman Alive" by Esquire magazine.

Well, uh, yea.

I fell madly in love with Scarlett in Ghostworld (cumulative audience, including dvd rentals: 4).
And my-my-my how far she's come! Seriously: YOU. GO.

Disagree with me if you will, but Angelina ain't got nothin' on SJ. She's elegant and charming, always looking together but never overdone. She's well-spoken. She's an absurdly talented actress. She never does patently dumb shit in public.
And, lest we not forget, she's undeniably amazingly not-even-possible-huhwhatyea attractive.

But the cake-topper of her appeal:

As CNN relays: "She... once flashed a sign proclaiming, 'the person taking this picture is harrassing me.'

'Apparently I spelled harass wrong,' she recalls. 'It was horrible. I couldn't remember whether it was one r or two, and I asked like four people, and they said two.'"

PSSSSSSSST, Scarlett. Those people are stupid. Call me. I'm super spectrophotofluorometrically, pneumoencephalographically, otorhinolaryngologically good at spelling.

19 Pineapples for a Show That Bears No Resemblance to MTV's Two-A-Days

How many ways can you spin a Texas football drama?

It seems:

Every scene has already been written.

We've heard every hyper-motivational half-time step-it-up-and-turn-it-around-boys speech.

We've met every hero.
And, well, every highly likeable backup quarterback who will be asked to make good at a pivotal narrative juncture.

Right?

Nope.

I watched the pilot of Friday Night Lights tonight. And I'm undeniably hooked. In short: it's awesome.

The NYT agrees. Check out this review:

"Lord, is “Friday Night Lights” good. In fact, if the season is anything like the pilot, this new drama about high school football could be great — and not just television great, but great in the way of a poem or painting, great in the way of art with a single obsessive creator who doesn’t have to consult with a committee and has months or years to go back and agonize over line breaks and the color red; it could belong in a league with art that doesn’t have to pause for commercials, or casually recap the post-commercial action, or sell viewers on the plot and characters in the first five minutes, or hew to a line-item budget, or answer to unions and studios, or avoid four-letter words and nudity."

With (or perhaps despite) a premise that's evolved into its own subgenre, Friday Night Lights moved me to tears in Episode 1.
That deserves some serious pineapples.

*If you're patient, you can watch the entire pilot online.

1000 Crabapples for 100-Calorie Packs

Dear Nabisco Team:

When I want a snack, I would typically reach for one of your products;
generally, they are pretty good.

Let's run through some examples:
Chips Ahoy... good.
Wheat Thins... Good.
Cheese Nips (though markedly not cheez-its)... GOOD.

So whassup with the unjust miniturizationalization of yummy snacks?

You see, I bought some. And I opened the little pack. And it was virtually empty. And I had a ferocious urge to just throw the wholedamn box away. Because even if I ate the wholedamn box, I would likely still want a snack.
You have stolen the hollow joy of "enriched wheat flour," which we all know is surely anything-but-enriched.

In short, you are the purveyors of snacking bullshit.
Most expeditiously, I will be ponying up to a new snacking-food-corporation that will feed me for realz.

Sincerely,
Jaynie K

P.S. The Snack Fairy can go F himself.

236 Pineapples for Sunday;Pats Lead by 25.

My attention span has been sucked dry, and my mind is as floppy and cushy as the hoodie and sweatpants I've been rocking all afternoon.

Ergo, a mash of next-to-nothing:

1. Went to Anthem last night. Despite the construction and very elegant scaffolding adorning the exterior, the food and service were both excellent.
Most noteworthy: the cinnamon, fig, and vanilla infused bourbon. and the standing silver wine bucket with ice propped conveniently next to our table. and the artichoke-spinach (it's back!) risotto. Also, our server was small enough to fit in my hand.
::150 Perfectly-Paired, Pint-Sized Pineapples.

2. One day this week, I want to try out a class at the Dance Complex in Cambridge. I can't decide if I want to go the way of tap or hip-hop. Perhaps both. Although I've always, always, always wanted a pair of those beige tap shoes with heels. And then I could wear leggings and not consequently force myself to drink a repentance-cocktail of turpentine and milk.
::16 Premature Pineapples.

3. I bought this at Sephora yesterday, and the whole fricking experience of it confuses the crazap outta me. I fought with it for at least 10 minutes last night, clicking, shaking, and twisting the damn thing. I ended up with an uneven gloop on my eyelid and a big fat scowl on my face.
::12 Crabapples, in Iridescent Beige.

4. Check out this chart of Netflix vs. Blockbuster stock values.
Please suppress your startled faces.
::Oh, Netflix, you know I love you. 70 Pineapples with butter, salt, and a cozy blanket.