I Lurve Fro Yo

I could go on and on about the virtues of frozen yogurt. It's not as heavy or sweet as ice cream (in a good way), doesn't have all that evil lactose, is low in fat and calories and tastes so darn good. But I won't.

Instead I'd like to focus on this question: Why do different TCBY locations have different tasting fro yo? I don't mean flavors, I mean quality. Close to home here, in Troy, Michigan, is the best fro yo I've ever tasted. I get chocolate every time, sometimes strawberry. At any and every location I go to. But this location is superior, me thinks, because of the consistency of the texture. Does that make sense? Meaning, at other locations, it's almost as if they don't have their machines cold enough. Here, it stays nice and thick and isn't all runny. But I'm not sure if that's the reason. Perhaps there's something nefarious going on, something Seinfeld-esque. If you have any clues, email me at tipsters@froyo.com. Just kidding. Instead, comment below. If you leave me hanging, alone and answerless, I'll be forced to take a job at TCBY just so I can investigate this, undercover, on my own.

P.S. Wouldn't it be nice if they delivered? Or if there were a fro yo man/fro yo truck, like there is the ice cream man and ice cream truck…

Isn't It Ironic?

The other day I was shopping with some friends. We were in Petite Sophisticate. A lady, who must have been all of 4'10", was struggling to get a blouse down from the rack. "If this is a shop for petite women, why do they make everything so damn high" the wise, but stout, woman pondered aloud. I don't know, I don't know.

Last night, we were at the mall, waiting for a table to open up at P.F. Chang's. Since I was starving, and grumpy, Klaus thought he'd bribe me with a chocolate-covered strawberry at Godiva. Damn, he's smart. The young guy working there told us he's a diabetic. Diabetic and working at a candy store, Godiva at that. Life is cruel, life is cruel.

Speaking of ironic happenings, I don't know how I feel about using the word "ironic." I mean, there's such English-nerd debate about proper usage and such. But let's not get into that. Let's talk about oxymorons. Isn't that word silly? I mean, shouldn't it be "clevermoron" or something like that, to best exemplify its meaning? As is, it simply means, "oxygenated moron" and really, wouldn't we rather most morons be dead?

Lost in Translation

We went to see the new Sofia Coppola film, Lost in Translation, last night. It's one of those movies where pretty much nothing happens, but that's exactly the point. I know that annoys many people, but in this case, it really worked because it indeed really was the point of the movie. Well, basically.

The story revolves around Charlotte (played by Scarlett Johansson -- Enid's other half in Ghost World), a twentysomething wife of a photographer, and Bob Harris (Bill Murray), a has-been actor, both of whom are "stuck" in Tokyo –- he to make whiskey commercials, and she because she had "nothing going on" (her photographer husband is in town working on a shoot). She's a graduate of Yale, a philosophy major to be exact. She thought she'd be a writer, but realized she didn't like what she wrote, so then tried her hand at photography, but thinks her pictures are all mediocre -- as she says, all girls go through a photography phase of taking pictures of their own feet and such. She's bored, lonely and lacking attention from anyone. Her hubby's too busy and wrapped up in his own work, and so she sits around the hotel room staring out the window for most of the movie.

As does Bill Murray's character. He's in his fifties, married with kids, and is feeling very much like Charlotte. He used to be a good actor and now he's shooting these Japanese whiskey commercials because they pay him $2 million and he has no other work. His marriage is less than perfect, especially now that they have kids, but he says kids are a delight. Murray takes notice of Charlotte, as they're both staying at the same hotel, and they begin hanging out. They give each other the attention and companionship that each so desperately needs. And that pretty much is the movie, aside from wondering if they're going to have a physical affair and what will become of their lives.

But the whole tone of the movie is slow, with not much happening. Which, as you can gather, is the point. That universal feeling that I imagine every human being feels at different times in their life -- having to answer, "So what do you do" questions. Having to figure out what they want to do with their lives, and what the meaning of it all is. This movie does not solve those questions. There is no neat and tidy ending. Instead it just highlights the question, illuminating that feeling of loneliness and uncertainty. Those times where we're so consciously aware that we're just drifting through life.

Sure, at times we're really busy or feeling successful because we've scored a cool job, or feeling haggard and stressed because the kids won't shut up, or anything, but aren't those just distractions getting you through life? Distracting you from the feeling of drifting and of numbness. Keeping your mind busy so you don't have to contemplate the meaning of your existence. Damn you Sofia Coppola!

Holiday, Celebrate

I'd like to give a whoppa of a shout out to my moms down in San Antone -- Happy Birthday you Texas Tart! I'd also like to wish her and my pops a very merry 30th wedding anniversary -- that's like 210 in Hollywood years!

If anyone wants to send them gifts, mail them to:

555 S.Old Woodward, Ste. 1506
Birmingham, MI 48009

Okay, so that's my address, but I've gotta have something to give them for Christmas, aight? Now for your viewing pleasure, check out my nephew, Ozzy, dressed up in his Halloween costume! My sister's entering him in a costume contest so send good vibes their way! And yes, she made that devilish outfit with her own two hands (okay, moms helped with the horns)....

Big Beaver and the Triple Nickel

For those of you not familiar with Detroit, there's a road here called Big Beaver. Yes, I know. I know. Being new to the area, I've been getting tons of mail from salons, doctors, etc. soliciting my bizniz. I thought my favorite of these would be the offer for a free haircut, manicure and pedicure -- a steal I know! But then today I received an invitation to an OB/GYN office. Located where? On Big Beaver. Now come on. Who could seriously make an appointment to see the gyno located on Big Beaver Road? Obviously not someone as immature as me. They claim to be "Fluent in Polish," but I wonder if they're fluent enough in the English lexicon to know the irony of their location. Perhaps I'll call and find out...

Also in local news, there's been big action at the Triple Nickel lately. The Triple Nickel is the building in which I reside, named so because the address is 555 S. Old Woodward. Clever no? But back to the action. Late last week at around 2 a.m., the alarm of the jewelry store went off for like 40 minutes. I stuck my head out the window and watched the cops stand around for a long time. Some walked around with flashlights. About 30 minutes into the whole ordeal, the owners cruised up in their 7-series BMW and, shortly after, the alarm ceased. A simple mishap or a true jewelry heist? Perhaps I'd venture downstairs to inquire, but it's 30 something degrees outside and I'm not that foolish.

Then on Monday afternoon, three fire trucks showed up outside of the building. Being on the top floor, I’m often paranoid about what I would do in the event of the fire. Klaus attempts to comfort me by saying the building is made of mostly concrete, which is not untrue. But I’ve seen Rescue 911 enough to know that it’s the carbon monoxide that kills you, not the actual fire. I originally thought I had the ultimate plan of just running up to the roof and waiting for a helicopter to rescue me. That was until the great blackout of 2003, when I realized I don’t have roof access. And, unless you prop the doors to each floor open, you can only go down the staircase. Which is a problem isn’t it? I mean, if you don’t know which floor the fire is on, and you’re supposed to feel the door and see if it’s hot, well if I needed to go back up the stairs I’d be trapped in the staircase! Not a pretty thought. Must tell landlord. Sooo, my other plan was to just stick my head out of the window. We have these big floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room – surely I could be rescued 15 floors up, right? Well, watching Felicity reruns last week made me question that plan. As Scott Foley warned Felicity during the student building fire, “Don’t open the window! Oxygen makes fire spread!” Ahhh! But I agree with my friend who said it’s better to get oxygen and let it spread. Otherwise the smoke would kill you, right?

So back to the fire trucks… All the firemen got out really nonchalantly, so I wasn’t tooo worried. There are five residents over the age of 90 in the building so I assumed one kicked zee ol bucket. Later an ambulance came, but it must have parked under the building where I couldn’t view the action. It went speeding off with sirens blaring, but the fire trucks hung out for like 15 minutes afterwards. I assumed all the drama was over, but then 20 minutes later a fire truck came back again, with sirens and all. But again, the guys got out real nonchalantly and seemed to do nothing. About 20 minutes later, they left. What’s going on at the Triple Nickel? I feel the need to make some clever nickel-and dimed joke, or something about putting in my two cents, but I’ll refrain. For now, I’ll just stop. Drop. And roll.