Pinkberry: TCBY or GHB?

I had my first Pinkberry last night, and it was indeed delicious. Not a very appropriate title, though. It's not pink, or sweet, or what you imagine Hello Kitty would eat like I thought, although she would certainly approve of the decor. It's basically a foodstuff like cupcakes or lattes that gives people who normally avoid each other like the plague an excuse to congregate. I swear if Matt Damon hadn't preternaturally pointed out that caramels were as logical an excuse to meet as coffee was in Good Will Hunting, there'd be a super popular caramel store called Brownbutter or something at The Grove. And of course Pinkberry already had its requisite writer on a laptop precariously balanced in one of the tiny pastel chairs.
I'm not against convening to consume, oh no. I just think it's funny that it tends to happen in the nastiest places where people hate each other the most. And since that naturally pits New York against LA, I'm glad LA is gaining ammunition. Now maybe I won't have to hear about Tasty Delight and Magnolia Bakery and H&H bagels and whoever's superbest peanut butter. Oh yeah, you have PLACES in NY? Whoa. It must've been so cool to live there. Eat shit.
I'm just bitter because Indiana has no places. Even the crack research team at The View had trouble coming up with a Hoosier menu for their SuperBowl party episode. They pulled out this "Popcorn, Indiana" that I have NEVER heard of. I mean sure, we have corn, ergo we have popcorn. And EVERYONE knows Orville Redenbacher was from Valparaiso, Indiana, but no one I know has ever heard of this mythical Popcorn, Indiana that Rosie showed us how to make at home. It's now the agreed upon gift I will send my boss periodically after I leave him in order to ingratiate myself to him, though: "Just checking in. Hope you enjoy my homestate's most famous treat, Popcorn, Indiana! I made it from a RECIPE, because I can do PROCEDURAL! Hahahaha! Let's get Pinkberry soon. Miss our talks, Jenny."

Headbands: Do they make you Smarter or just Look Smarter?

Last night I had to return some shoes to Nordstrom. The Nordstrom shoe department makes me very happy but very nervous. This is because all the salesmen are black and I have white guilt about being served by a black man. Is that terrible to say? Is my fledging blog going to get hate mail from its vast readership of one? Liz, are you mad?
Okay, there are two white salesmen, but you can tell they suck. One I always hear playing this aw shucks country mouse / backpacking adventurer Lonely Planet guy. You know he watches Planet Earth, probably just because he thinks Planet is a brand name and he likes their books, afterall. The other is just sad sad sad. He's like short middle-aged player guy who goes for all the 6ft Amazon women with patterned leggings. I bet he was a top seller at the Foot Locker when he decided to go for the gold and leave that sneaker security for the higher eschelon salon shoe.
Actually, Nordstrom has a separate "salon shoe" department. I don't go there. It is not for me. I don't even know what a salon shoe is. I have an image of shoes without soles that one wears daintily on the carpet of a salon. Honestly, I don't even know what a salon is. I've gleaned from the existence of salon.com that you go there and talk. Possibly in dainty soleless shoes?
Anyway, my salesman is DeWitt. He sold me the shoes I returned, so I really wanted to buy a new pair through him so he'd still get the commission. Also he doesn't suck in any immediately perceptible way, which is probably why he was super busy. So I did what any guilty white girl would do: I go buy a headband while I wait.
I've been DYING for a headband. They cost like a million dollars though, and I'm not yet grown up enough to willingly spend money on accessories. I like to let them come into my life accidentally. But I really need a haircut, and Rudy's is suddenly too cool to even answer their phone lately, so I need some sort of hair controlling device STAT. I also have anxiety about acquiring any trend item. I have to buy things before they're annoyingly omnipresent, but well into mid-craze. I am clearly not cool enough to pull off anything pre-craze. Mental Headband Hurdle #3: those stores. The stores that sell the headbands scare the shit out of me. Claire's? ICING? Yikes. Any mall store that can perform a medical procedure on you is unnatural. So I went up to Nordstrom's "Brass Plum" section (Genius title. Again, I have no idea what it means, but it suggests affluence and a pull-a-plum-out-of-a-pie-with-your-thumb kind of irreverence to me). Voila, headband acquisition.
Today I have the distinct feeling that said headband is crushing vital lobes of my brain, even after I cleverly put it around my bathroom wastebasket all night to stretch it out. It was all worth it though when my officemate and until now sole wielder of the headband, Melissa, saw my new "icing." The look of cunning malevolence on her face said, "Soooo, there's a new headband in town." And the look of pained excitement on mine said, "Owwww," and, "Thanks for making these cookies!"

Celebrity Deathmatch: Planet Earth the Show vs. Planet Earth the Planet

I am really annoyed at the seemingly universal fawning over that Discovery Channel bitch, Planet Earth. It's as if it were the first nature show ever. It's not! It's not nearly the best. It's not nearly the best on right now. It's merely the first to "capture the public's imagination." Read: be talked about so people know it's herd-approved and therefore cool to watch. Not that I have anything against my hooved herd counterparts. And when I *quoted* that passage, I was really just recalling an imaginary annoying announcer who provoked the argument in my head, not an actual news or information source outside my body. But still. I am provoked, albeit internally!
Does Planet Earth (the show) have giant iguanas diving into trecherous surf, swimming to the bottom to graze on sea greens, then being harassed by sea lions before leaping back to the cliffs before their sun-dependent internal temperature plummets and they die cold and alone? Noooooo. That's National Geographic's Galapagos series, also in HD. Does Planet Earth (the show) tell you how each of Yosemite's giant sequoias (everything's giant on NGC) sucks a TON of water up 300 feet EVERY DAY for 3000 years or more? Nooooo, that's National Geographic's Secret Yosemite. And there's no clever-clever voiceover from Dana Barrett: "There's nothing sadder than when your best isn't good enough." Really? There's nothing about, I don't know, SCIENCE you want to say here? Like how things are going on Planet Earth (the planet)? But no, the saddest thing in nature is this six-plumed bird of paradise not getting laid. He's got six appendages that have no earthly (the planet) use except to attract attention! If he were as hot as TJ Thyne from TV's Bones he still wouldn't get laid! Let him die, Sigourney. Show us something giant already.

Dots: Are they the next thing in News?

I meant to make this blog's appearance coincide with it's theme, i.e. hard-hitting investigative news / hoofy woodland prancy things, but in the end I went with green and pretty instead. Although I think that with some imaginings, the dots suggest the blee-bleep-bleep of the news ticker as important Facts make their way to John Stossel for conversion into pointless meandering folkisms. I can almost see Woodward and Bernstein clackity-clacking away in the background. Barely discernible on their ties are... DOTS.
Why am I now singing "Tuppence" from Mary Poppins? Perhaps because its staccato rhythm reminds me of the dots. Or perhaps like Mr. Dawes my creepy enthusiasm is scaring the children. You see the dots. You can put them in the bank OR feed them to the birds. It's none of my affair.