14 Pineapples for Flexible Festivals, Classic Bedding, and Cumbersome Pieces of Furniture

So listen, it's hard to keep up three blogs.
No complaints; I'm just saying.

I don't do it often, but I may need to do it today. That is, post about the daily klip-klop of my talky-talky life. [sidenote: "Klip-klop" is the sound I think my shoes make...or, like, when I'm thinking about myself walking-- which I suppose doesn't really come up that often-- that's the sound I internally narrate. It's inner voice chosen, so I take no responsibility for inaccurancy. You know, if you're thinking back about some incident, and you hear your footfalls on the soundtrack either mixed with words-- or not-- usually preceding an entrance into a new room or an entirely new building. Although... I tend to think of my running footfalls as click-click/click-click, even though I don't *usually* wear tap shoes on runs. But I do find the sound of tap shoes to have this haunting allure. okay, shhhh, anyway...]

So I have this strange blueberry-flavored hangover right now, and well, I don't even know what that means.

Yesterday, I went to an Earth Day fair. You may be thinking, "But Earth Day is on June 14th." This is true. However, I learned at this fair, which was officially titled "The Earth Day is Every Day Fest" that Earth Day is every day, which can be roughly translated to "the common was already booked on June 14th."

I did not intend to go to The Earth Day is Every Day Fest. In fact, I left my house to drive aimlessly and drain the week out of my body. And really, what's a better way to do that than free organic granola, a coffee tasting booth, a man with a guitar and no singing ability, and totebags made out of recycled trashbags (soda cans? newspapers? yarn? I don't know, but they were definitely a fright). So, yea, i drank my coffee and ate my granola and listened to the awful singing man. And I bought a necklace.... white beads, because it was sunny out and decided it would look nice when I get tan.

And then I was inspired to go to a store and purchase a white duvet cover that looks like it was stolen from Laura Ingalls. I should not allow these "modes" I get into justify purchases; although, better that I buy the duvet cover when I'm in Laura Ingalls mode, as opposed to, say, Tara Reid mode. Not that ever I get in Tara Reid mode, but, you know, simple classic white has a better chance at looking nice than, for example, hot pink with black lace and rhinestones. And, honestly, Tara may have a very nice duvet cover, for all I know. Perhaps simple white. We may never know.

And now today, my challenge is to pick up a 7-foot cherry bookshelf, fit it (assembled) into my car, which is definitively not bigger than a breadbox, and then carry it into my apartment. This task will be performed with one working knee. If I have extra hands (which I can't imagine why I wouldn't), I'll take pictures of the endeavor. It's certain to be a lesson in flawless elegance.


2 Pineapples for Twofers

Know what's the best?
A few things:

double cheez-its (in particular, slightly burnt DCIs)
two chips encasing each other within a curl
triple-nut peanuts
Siamese Gummi Bears
Uncleaved Jelly Bellys (ies?)

Why? Why do we love edible anomalies? Because they look better, taste better, and resoundingly prove that you can be an errored deviation of your type and, as such, be viewed as far more fun than the prototype. Unfortunately, siamese twins don't seem to have the same mass appeal. Huh. Riddle me that.

I do have a point.
Ready, go:

Hey there Keebler Elves,

If you sold limited edition boxes of fuck-up cheez-its, I would totally buy many boxes. And I would go so far as to say that I would pay up to a dollar more per box.

It's true,


95 Pineapples for BMA

Loyal CF-ers,

Please guide your mouse over to Beyond Madison Avenue and say a cordial "yo" to Mack and True and Abbey and the rest of my new crew. I'll still be here, of course, but now I'll be there, too.

And, noooo, I didn't write my own bio. But it's all just so incredibly true.


12 Pineapples for the Paper Lamb Vaudeville Web Patrol

A'ight, so you've all heard how AOL sort-of-maybe, well, missed the boat on making AIM into a social networking portal like MySpace... But now they're doing some major magical backpedalling and "developing a MySpace killer," which is actually just some talky-talky code for "we're getting around to doing what we likely should have done 3 years ago." But hell, perhaps I'm wrong and the new AIM Pages features will blow MySpace off the map and I'll feel all sheepish and shruggy.

Well, the debate is actually pointless anyway... because I have a better MySpace weapon. It's called a freakish paperdoll vaudevillian lamb. And it sings like the guy on Masterpiece Theatre sings... well, if he, uh, sang.

::12 pineapples for the snarky Shari Lewis revival puppet dance thing.


9 Pineapples for a Dog in a Tomato Cage

Last night, I learned a jarring personal truth borne of an inherited chromosomal glitch:

I will never (ever) be able to tell a linear narrative.

It's true.

The proof, they say, is in the pudding.
In this case, it was in my dad.

The phone call home began smoothly enough. And then, pain.
Transcript follows.

Dad: Did mom tell you what the boy did today?
[Quick translation: "the boy" is a moniker attributed to my family dog, Sprint. A 45-pound beagle. If you are unsure, yes, that is huge.]

Jayne: No. What?

Dad: Mom will tell you. Hangs up. [Mom on other line]

Mom: So...Sprint had gone outside...

Dad: [picks up phone. interrupts. mom is done.] So, Sprint had gone outside...

Jayne: Yup, I'm there. Right there. Go.

Dad: So, Sprint had gone outside, and after a half-hour or so, your mom's wond'ring why he's sleeping in the middle of the garden.

Mom: I'm wondering...wondering, you know?

[I do. I do know.]

Dad: So, after a while, mom goes out there to see what he's doing, you know, because it's like 70 degrees out there, and he's got fur, and he's hot, you know, he's panting, and that's hot to be sleeping out there, you know, for a dog with fur..."

[I know. Yes. Definitely. A dog (with fur, especially) could/would get quite warm. True.]

Dad: Mom goes out there, and the boy is stuck in a tomato cage. Jaynie, he must have crawled in the wide part and then put one leg through the wire on one side and then another leg through the other part. and he got stuck. Jaynie, he was a dog stuck in a tomato cage. A dog stuck in a tomato cage!"

[Wait. A what in a what? I didn't get that.]

Mom: Crrrrazy, huh hon?

Jayne: HA.

Dad: And it was, like, it was the perfect fit. He was the perfect size for a tomato cage [what is all any of us can hope for, really]. If he was a little bit smaller...nope...he woulda slid right through. a bit bigger...nope...he wouldn't have been able to even get his noggin through the smaller part..."

Jayne: Perfect? Nutty.

Dad: So I had just left work, so mom couldn't call me [the cell phone, obviously, must stay inside the house], but when I got home...there he was, still... a dog in a tomato cage. We need to get some wire cutters, because we didn't have any."

Jayne: Yes we do, we have some, those ones that you cut the little branches with.

Mom: No, no, I tried those.

Dad: Mom tried those.

[Um, okay, I heard mom.]

Dad: Anyway, yea, we'll get some this weekend.
[right, you better, because that will definitely happen again on Monday.]
But, can you believe that?
[what? hmm...wha...yea?]
Craziest thing I ever saw.
Craziest thing I ever saw.

Jayne: Was he freaking?

Dad: No, no, he was so good. Such a good boy. I got him outta there and he trotted a few feet and looked back at me and barked...arf, arff...'thank you,' it was like he was saying,'thank you.'

[of course. of course he was thankful. He was a dog in a tomato cage.]

Dad: Yea, he was so good. Crazy... A dog in a tomato cage. Huh.

**hat tip to www.uwgb.edu for the crucial img.


A Single Half-Assed Pineapple for DD

Now...uhh... not like I drink too much coffee or anything, but the ad giants are peeing their chrome and leather swivel chairs today over Dunkin's new campaign... and who am I not to buy in like a newborn lamb?

Go ahead... check out the "look, i'm retro!"/"look, I'm new!" Old Navy site.
Um, right, Dunkin Donuts. Whatever.

My favorite part? The hand gesture for "the usual."

I can show them more hand gestures if they want.
I have other favorites, too.

You should see the one I do for "this coffee has obviously been sitting in the carafe for 7 hours and tastes like chicken feed n' bullshit."

Now you must excuse me while I finish watching Joanie get new teeth on ANTM. As I puke fiercely into my hand.

**photo cred to restaurantfirsts.com**


20 Pineapples for Cashew Rain

Okay, so one of the 754 tasks on my list today was to find a cute springsummery dress for a bridal shower brunch. No problem.

I battled the bleachorexics (because I should talk?) at bebe and captured the first fun frock I could find; it fit. Done... annnnnd check.

Next, I battled the blue-eyeshadowed divalicious tweenies in Sephora because I was hankering for purple eyeliner (yes, fine, a tip from Glamour).

Fulfilled, I returned to my car.

Here's the thing... I noticed my car from a few rows away. Why? Because it was covered in cashews. yes. Cashews. Like, the nut. At least 2-3 Planters canisters worth. How totally Magnolia-esque.

I think: "dude, cashews are expensive. and...uh...i don't get it."

I call my friend Marisa to tell her the news.

She shrieks: "Maaaan... if you had a nut allergy, you could seriously take that as a death threat."

I don't. But she's right. Right? I mean, I know, but, right?

So yea. It's been pretty much the longest day ever, complete with knee x-rays and lease signing and a run-in with a doddery old woman at the orthotics clinic. And then-- cashews?
Life is so cool.


18 Crabbers for an Overvamped Cask

It's tough for me right now. It really is. I'm trying to broaden myself and so on, but I find myself one-trackin' with the Sox just as I did with the Goog a few short months ago. My mind gets occupied, then significantly wooed, and then --abruptly-- stolen away fiercely... like a puggle without a leash.

But this post actually hearkens back to my la-di-da-di about authenticity. For those of you familiar with sox lore, check out this pic of the new look of the Cask n' Flagon. It has a neon sign. And fresh paint. And cracker-jack breaded clams (woof?). And, like, a rotunda thing.

It nearly makes me cry.

If I want to stick to my guns and say that authenticity is always intimate and relative, then I have every right to take these renovations as a personal attack.

:: 18 crabapples for tampering with an unclassy classic.
:: However... 44 redemptive pineapples for the newly installed plasmas in the bathrooms. Smoooth, homeslices.

*Thanks to the B.Herald for the photographic proof of this horrific man-made disaster of an entryway.


A Proffered Mulligan for Matt from Ohio

After screaming like a wounded puma my entire commute home, listening to ridiculous fans calling into The Big Show complaining about Manny's "slump at the plate" (seriously, you've seen Manny before, right? Then please, take a tranq and hold your horses. He does this. It's fine. Now sit down. And put down the phone. You're wasting crucial bandwidth.)...
I was more than ready to come home and relax.

I did.
Soon after, I found myself watching this. (Please don't ask me to narrate how I got from my simple glass of wine to this particular video blog... frankly, it's embarrassing.)

My favorite part of this touching soliliquy is the fact that Matt's voice and intonation hurt my ears so very much that I nearly came to enjoy it....
Perhaps I have just unearthed an inchoate form of linguistic S&M within the angsty teenage videoblog sector.

Or the Holden Caulfield of Web 2.0.


100 Pineapples for Feeling a Little Like Sandra

Sometimes I get too big for my britches.

Today I got wicked big for them.

Why? I blame this.

This handy little tool allows you to feel all walk-o-famey and awesome... for free.
I am never paying that sketchy old man down the street to tell me I'm pretty... ever, ever again.

My 80%+ matches:
Sandra Bullock
Allyson Hannigan
Lindsay Lohan

At that, I did a little dance and thanked the great scientific advancement that is beta face-recognition technology.

My closest male match? Eminem.
I'm so totally flattered.

My Heritage? 100 pinkly-tickled pineapples.


77 Crabapples for Baby's First Trash Can

Riding on the coattails of a new season of The Girls Next Door, complete with a frolicsome birthday party for Kendra (featuring volleyball, cake, and a new pembroke welsh corgi named Martini), I have for you a buoyant pair of links. Yes!

First, score one for the marriage of Martha Stewart and the Hammer Brothers.
How can you not respect these crafty, crafty girls?

For the record: terrific.
:: 26 Pineapples and a 1-up 'shroom.

Second, just take a look at this.

For those of you doing the math on funny v. not...
what the fuck, right?
I can find nearly anything inappropriate completely hilarious, but fetuses? Hmm, see, uh, that's just not cool.
:: 77 crabbers. And an incredulous glare.


19 Crabapples for Lizard's Wad

Contestants on Jeopardy are often odd. Fine.

Tonight though, things were whacked.

Here goes...
So, the contestant on the far right is named Lizard.
And, woo-hoo, he looks quite similar to the Judge from Jackie Brown.


They play the game, etc.

Then, Lizard lands on a Daily Double.

"Yay-a Lizard!"

Not so fast.

So poor, innocent Alex T says, "How much would you like to wager, Lizard?"

[Note: Alex is expecting a number.]

Lizard responds, staring intensely (he is scary) at the collage of blue screens:
"I think I'll blow my wad, Alex."

Alex, quite obviously confused by the lack of number given, asks him to repeat his wager.
(Oh, Al, you heard the strange man. Don't encourage him.)

In solid earnestness, Lizard articulates emphatically:
"I will blow my wad, Alex."

At this juncture, a strange maternal instinct kicked in. Lizard, honey, you are on television, representing yourself. We do not say "blow my wad."

Even if he was kinda weirdly awesome, I'm tossing out some crabapples.

Remember when Frank Zappa had a cute baby daughter and named her Moon Unit? Quirky and stuff, blah blah blah... but. This is like that.


14 Playful Pines for Goog's Tarty Antics

Those Goog folks are just so darn silly.

In their quest to play lots of funny jokes on the acquiescent, ever-kowtowing general populace, the flimflammy crew launched a faux-beta of Google Romance on April 1.

Okay, so it's a little bit funny.

And, because I am sadly (yes, yes, fine-- proudly) an expert at the online dating game, I will tell you that I enjoy their thoughtful snarkiness. And I quote:

1. Post multiple profiles with a bulk upload file, you sleaze.

2. Note: those who generally favor the 'throw enough stuff at the wall' approach to online dating might find it useful to employ our Batch Profile Uploading option.

3. User B tries to be playful with User A, who pretends to enjoy it. Later on, when he tries to kiss her goodnight, he gets all cheek.

See? Witty.
:: 14 waggishly-doled pineapples. And mild props for your dippy tricks.


78 Pineapples for a Good Bad Day

In honor of the unparalleled relief I felt when Katharine McPhee narrowly escaped elimination last week (I know, seriously, come on), tonight's post is dedicated to Daniel Powter.

Who is Daniel Powter? (A valid question asked by past presidents and grocery baggers alike...)

Daniel Powter is the guy with the funky nose who sings the Idol vote-off song, Bad Day. The song is also up to, like, #14 on the VH1 chart, which is pretty good, considering Dan-o is pretty new to the whole poppler-doppler game.

So here's the thing. I already had/have a love affair with Fuel's Bad Day, primarily because it makes me really happy. Now I find myself magnetically drawn to Daniel's identically-themed ditty, which is far more bubble-gummy and tween-catered. Why do bad day songs fill me with such unbounded hope and love for bluebirds and waterfairies and crocuses? That, I cannot tell you.

What I can tell you is that the not-Daniel guy in the video looks eerily similar to 98% of the guys I have ever dated or had a crush on. And I like the way he lobs his pen when he gets pissed at his desk. And I've always been a sucker for that polo shirt over long sleeve thing.

For Danny P, 78 pineapples.
And 5 more for the adorable video guy. Although the fact that he has beaded curtains kinda kills it.