Recently in I DON'T GET IT! Category

Why didn't anyone tell me that Jessica Biel I have been dating Justin Timberlake since May at least? Some sources say as long as a YEAR! Boy, have I been busy. I have accepted that my being Jessica Biel means the existence of an alternate parallel Universe that clearly I don't get to consciously experience. And I need to watch the E! a little more, I guess, as that's how I found out about my "love life" in the wee hours of the morning. What's with THE EMPHATIC EXCLAMATION POINT ASSOCIATED WITH ENTERTAINMENT TELEVISION®? I even TYPED it with extra (and unnecessary force); I felt compelled.

Ironically, I heard Justin - my Sweetie Pie? (Cookie Face? Honey Buns???) - allude to our relationship on Oprah, which I don't watch very often, but happened to catch just LAST WEEK. He didn't mention her me by name, though he said, "But all I can tell you is she smells lovely." AND he sang a a lovely duet with Reba McEntire that HE wrote. Sorry - that all makes me a little verklempt - please talk amongst yourselves. Choose your own damn topic. And look at all the pictures of Justin and Jessica me; we're eye candy.

Phew. Okay. Now will someone PLEASE tell me how I get into that alternate reality? Even if it's just for a little while? I could use a trip to Europe and being one of the "young and beautiful" and some MONEY and all that jazz. I know that the paparazzi gets old, and Hollywood relationships don't tend to last very long, and the shallowness, blah, blah, BLAH, so I'll just settle for a TASTE of young, fashionable celebrity dating - fifteen minutes of fame - just a piffling soupçon. That's ALL I ASK.

I wonder if I would have motion sickness (and asthma, et al.) in my parallel alternate Universe? It would be a little inconvenient for the jet-setting and such.

I have been known, occasionally, to use the following symbol (or "emoticon") when writing an email (only, naturally, when wit begs one to employ such a bon mot - only tastefully, sparingly, and cleverly):

And it causes exceeding delight in the recipient, because of its clever utilization. Ergo, the World is a better place.

You are most welcome.

In contrast, I have received emails and blog comments with the following figure:

I will admit: This has led to appreciable consternation on my part. "Why?" you may ask (even though you know I'll tell you whether you ask or not - you're welcome!).

Much in the vein of the lil' old lady in that Wendy's® commercial of old who demands, "Where's the BEEF?" I want to know, "Where's the NOSE?"

I should add at this point that the correspondents responsible for these schnoz-deficient symbols have all been MALE. Kindly disregard the example in the entry below about Shirleen, as she sent that emoticon in a text message, where brevity is the soul of wit and economy and all that.

I'm not going to leap to any sweeping conclusions such as:

• MEN HATE NOSES! WHY DO MEN HATE NOSES! MEN MUST HATE MY NOSE! I'VE ALWAYS THOUGHT IT LOOKED LIKE A LITTLE POTATO...


• MEN ARE SOOOO LAZY! THE DASH IS DIRECTLY ADJACENT TO THE RIGHT PARENTHESES, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!

What? Sweeping conclusions should be shouted vociferously.

I shall approach this inquiry using science. A lifetime or so ago I was very adept with scientific subjects and the fact that I watch a lot of the various flavours of CSI and Law and Order should make up for any gaps in my memory.

In my study I have a documented cohort of five men who have employed the "smiley" emoticon in their correspondence. I also have scads and scads of anecdotal evidence. In this inquiry that means that I strongly believe that anything I vaguely remember supports my hypothesis that men are more inclined to use the nose-free version of the smiley emoticon. Therefore it is fact. Kate fact. Twice as nutritious as actual facts, but with half the sugar.

Of my documented cohort, a staggering THREE of the five subjects wielded the smiley emoticon sans proboscis. That's 60 percent and I have chosen to ignore the idea of a margin of error (so messy - let's just leave that to trained statisticians).

I must also add that one of the men who does use a smiley emoticon with a snoot is Italian. Indeed, English isn't his first language (though he speaks FIVE or so languages putting most of us to shame and does a very nice job with English). And stereotype would also support the idea that Italian men are more demonstrative and such. I can vouch for the fact that he uses a great deal of extra punctuation (a period AND an exclamation point - or a question mark, a period and TWO exclamation points and a smiley emoticon with a nose).

Therefore, I'm tempted to throw him out of my documented cohort and stick with North Americans, but that seems so MEAN. Instead I'll just say it's more like I have a documented an eighty percent positive usage of the smiley emoticon amongst males that is honker-deficient, supported further by my large and very scientific glob of anecdotal evidence.

This engenders a tangential hypothesis. These smiley emoticons without their beaks look rather amphibious. Are men more likely to emulate emoti-FROGS? This could be. However, I can only think of stereotypical sexist evidence, such as the little boy catching the frog and hiding it in the little girl's desk because it would scare her so! No, no. That's not Kate Fact.

I shall have to conduct further research (scientific research, naturally) to answer why men use the smiley emoticon sans schnozzola.

I almost wrote, "...why men are inclined to..." but why go and cast doubt on my own conclusion reached with very careful scrutiny of all the empirical data? I shall NOT!

One thing I must point out. And this is just for you, B.Bo. If the smiley emoticon has no NOSE, how will its lil' goggles stay up? And I quote:

I decided that my emoticons at least need to have sort of protection from fingers while around you. So here it is with protective eye wear:

8)

Still no nose.

See? How would the protective eye-gear stay in place? Super glue?

I may have to just chalk this up to the great inexplicable mysteries of life.

Who am I kidding? What, precisely, is there that I need to mull over?

Just take a LOOK at her me:

I may very well have subconsciously purloined at least part of the following analogy, but I don't care. She appears I appear so luminous it's as if she's I've been swept by the faint iridescent magical dust of a thousand tiny faeries - each of them having left perfumed kisses containing a mélange of beguiling fragrance - every gentle caress redolent of the forest after rain and the subtle bouquet of fruit and blossoms.

In one fell swoop of whatever transmogrification or Freaky Friday magic is necessary, I would most GLADLY hand over to Ms. Biel the following:

• Twelve years


• The 1/2 inch height difference (I'd be shorter for THIS)


• However many additional pounds I carry - a special gift JUST for her


• My arthritis, asthma and all other festive health "issues" I will not itemize just now (they can be a SURPRISE)


• My whole wretched life wrapped up in a BEAUTIFUL bow (I can make a very nice bow)

I'll take her film career (I now realize that her very first film was that delightful little independent flick, Ulee's Gold - HER FIRST FILM). I'll take those offers for leads on Broadway. I'll take the money and what are no doubt very nice digs. And I'll CERTAINLY take this description:

Jessica Biel, with her striking good looks and wide range of talent, has become one of Hollywood's most sought-out actresses. Her television series acting debut on the WB's #1-rated show, "7th Heaven" (1996), has helped her emerge as a breakout star.

As a child Jessica initially pursued a career as a vocalist, performing in musical theater. Beginning at age nine, she starred in such productions as "Annie," "The Sound of Music," and "Beauty and the Beast." A natural beauty, Jessica soon turned to modeling and commercial work by competing in The International Modeling and Talent Association's Annual Conference in 1994.

After completing a year and a half of college at Tufts University in Boston, Jessica plans on going back to school in California for the remainder of her college years. In her spare time, she is involved with charities such as Best Friends Animal Sanctuary and PETA. Her hobbies include ballet, soccer, running, yoga and hiking with her dog "East." Jessica currently resides in Los Angeles.

I never watched Seventh Heaven and Annie makes me cringe a bit, but as a package, it's still a sweet, sweet deal.

She I can even carry off THIS:

As some of you may remember, my last two costumes (not counting the pink towel with questionable coverage) were "Crazy Cat Lady" and "Antarctica" (yes, the CONTINENT).

Grettir, since you're the one who made this shocking revelation, I think you should be the one to make this metamorphosis complete. Jessica I would be most appreciative. And, if I read the "rags," I'm sure I will find that I have already "moved on."

Yes, indeed, I am Jessica Biel.

Hold the phone, stop the presses - use any applicable metaphor that reflects suitable shock and awe at the prospect of this scenario: I AM JESSICA BIEL! I (along with the rest of the World's sizable population) might deem this statement as laughable, absurd and utterly ludicrous. But, it was Grettir, the GURU who made the startling revelation. Consider the following:

For those of you who are new here, “Kate” is a really Jessica Biel, who can't quite accept the fact that it's over between us!

Move on, “Kate.” Move on…

All of this is confusing in many regards, I admit. First, I don't know why Grettir prefaced this revelation with the phrase, "For those of you who are new here..." as everyone who has bothered to read TinyPineapple.com at all well knows, I have plagued almost every entry ever written on the site with my voluble and somewhat nonsensical comments, and this is the FIRST mention of "Kate" as "Jessica Biel." It occurred to me that perhaps, JUST PERHAPS, this declaration of my "true" identity could be an ever-so-overly-deferential way of saying, "SHUT UP ALREADY, KATE."

Jessica Biel ME

Then there's the seeming incongruity of Grettir's claim that he hasn't been on a date in five thousand or so years and the assertion that "...it's over between us." This would imply that there WAS something between Grettir and I Jessica Biel. Considering that she is I am TWENTY-FIVE-YEARS OLD, in the interest of any VAGUE sense of propriety this would have to be a recent affaire de coeur. This discordance is especially upsetting in that I have Jessica Biel (?) has always considered Grettir to be a gentleman and a scholar who therefore should consider veracity preeminent.

Foremost, the - oh - minor detail that I have no memory whatsoever of my life as Jessica Biel myself is discomfiting, to say the least. And the fact that I have been witnessed on more than one occasion confusing Jessica Biel myself with Jennifer Beals of Flashdance fame is, to say the least, odd.

I, Jessica?, most certainly need to ponder this further.

As I've mentioned, I prefer that my clothing be fabricated (ha) of either natural fibers, or scientific blends (ones with a high SPF, and/or wicking properties, and/or built-in insect repellant, and/a place to rig your fishing rod - I have one of those so don't think I'm just yanking your chain - and/or powers to defy the laws of time and gravity (especially in regards to Kepler's gravitational laws because he was SOOO obsessed with the planets)). I just want the basics.

Whilst in Maryland/D.C./dipping into Virginia, David and Julianne were very amused by my "science" garb. Rightly so; I deserved some good-natured ribbing about my high-tech attire. So if I happened to mention that I was wearing a "science" shirt they would ask, "Does it do thus and such?" or "Can your shirt fix the car?" and so on. But here's the thing: The question they asked most consistently was, "Does it make toast?" Yes, toast.

I like toast as much as the next person (though LIGHTLY done, thank you very much), but I do not understand how whether or not something makes toast became the gold standard by which one must evaluate of the performance of highly technological apparati (I don't care - I know it's not a word, but I don't LIKE the term "apparatuses").

If they (they being the very clever scientists who may or may not have questionable habits when it comes to personal hygiene, though that's not particularly germane to the topic - I just want you to get a feel for "them"), build a wondrous new microscope that can magnify sub-sub-SUB-atomic particles (I guess that would be "The Babies of Quark Babies?" I'm a little out of the loop here) I am not convinced that the first thing the Nobel Prize Committee would ask would be, "Does it make TOAST?"

And were they (being the scientists) to answer, "Uhm, NO," I do not believe the Nobel Prize Committee would turn on its heels and say, "Well then. The prize goes to Ron Popeil for his newest version of the Popeil Pocket Fisherman which is not only a MIRACLE of recreational ultra-high-tech fishing science - BUT WAIT - THERE'S MORE - it also makes toast (and is available with an optional bagel slot)."

Believe it or not, I DO have some vague mental lineup concerning what I'd like to write on my blog. But this trumps, for the moment, everything I had in mind.

According to a widely-circulated, International, peer-reviewed journal*, I AM A COUGAR.

In the scientific journal article, for which they used a VERY limited sample, I think, and a rather vacuous title - "Cougars on the Prowl in Hollywood" - three of the four couples included a woman in her VERY EARLY THIRTIES. And they were pointing out age differences of four or five years as though they were comparing the Precambrian Eon versus the Mesozoic Era .

Don't mistake me, I have the greatest affection and admiration for many a "Cougar." So don't get perturbed, Terry; you're the best! It's just that I thought you had to be at least FORTY to be a "cougar."

I was looking forward (in a few short years, I grant you) to the initiation ceremony. There's got to be some sort of rite of passage, yes? Doesn't someone award you the "Golden Claw" and an expensive jar of eye cream? COME ON!

Grettir was expressing frustration about his recent experiences as he goes back to take some University classes as a parent and "non-traditional student." Just so you know, Mr. Asmundarson, unfortunately you become a "non-traditional" student when you hit twenty-five. Therefore, I was a non-traditional student the entire time after I deigned to declare a major (or two).

As for the fact that you are number eight in a Google image search for the term "Middle-aged," anyone who sees that picture will suddenly gain a WHOLE NEW PERSPECTIVE about being "middle-aged." In fact, the aforementioned widely-circulated, International, peer-reviewed journal* would be proud to publish that picture in their "Guy Without His Shirt" section (subtitled "This month's half-naked hunk"). Okay, they MIGHT blank out the kidney parts...

Sheesh - you go out of town for a month and a half or so and the world goes to HELL.

*So it's Cosmo. And it isn't even MINE. Moreover, Ashley was perfectly justified in purchasing it as trashy fodder for beach reading. It's not like you want to get sand or salt water all over a nice copy of War and Peace or Finnegans Wake.

It's still a mystery. All of the sudden there are nuts and bolts ALL OVER the back patio. Oh - and one hook-shaped thingy (the scientific term, I'm telling you).

It did rain, I believe, but that is NOT the saying. And not a canine or feline in sight (well - in the YARD).

Yes, I somehow sent FOUR, count them FOUR notifications about the post that details my everlasting love of Peeps® when I didn't think I'd successfully transmitted any. Does that happen when I manage to be pithy or profound or droll? Nope. Peeps®.

I still love them. My ardor for Peeps® cannot be diminished even by my abject humiliation.

Now available in a sugar-free version sweetened with Splenda®. Festive new colours also for sale. And then there's a milk-chocolate egg with a Peep® INSIDE. Visit the Peeps® website and you can learn how to make a topiary...

I went to fetch Shirleen's minute white dogs this evening because she and the kids have gone to the wilderness or a National Park or something (during which time she must wear an orthopedic corset THAT HAS ITS OWN CASE - many folks know how fond I am of containers, but that's just going too far - but a she has to WEAR a foundation garment that IT'S OWN CASE - LIKE A GUITAR).

I decided to drive through Sonic (evidently "America's Drive-In!") to grab a bite and a gallon or so of caffeinated beverage. I chose Sonic because they believe in Happy Hour for CAFFEINE (not just caffeine, but I have my priorities). Perhaps I should have made a different choice tonight, as it was NOT Happy Hour.

It seemed like a very straightforward venture, but this is what happened: I drove up to the microphone and a male voice said, "Order when you're ready." The dogs were in the back seat making very gentle monkey-like "barky" noises, certainly nothing loud enough to interfere with microphone transmission. Nevertheless, when I said in my best "Secretary Voice" (long story - another time), "I'd like a ham, egg and cheese breakfast burrito," I guess it didn't carry very well. Oh yes - that's another good thing about Sonic - breakfast ALL DAY. The guy said, "I couldn't understand that." I was a little surprised, I must say, because usually when you are inside a restaurant that has a drive-through the people making orders from their cars sound like they're trying to be heard by an audience in a stadium without benefit of external amplification.

I repeated, "I'd like a ham, egg and cheese breakfast burrito." This time he responded, "Breakfast frumlik rurfm schmufujm bacon eedooo pimentos." I could SWEAR he said "pimentos." Again, "I'd like an ham, egg and cheese breakfast burrito." Then I decided to just continue with the order because by then I was using my very best and wonderful stage voice WITH SUPERB PROJECTION. So he began, "A Toaster sandwich with bacon and..." I stopped him. I PROJECTED VERY CLEARLY, "No, I want a breakfast BURRITO with ham, egg and cheese." He started again, "Okay - a breakfast burrito with ham, egg and cheese plus bacon and an extra-large diet..."

"NO BACON," I said firmly. Then, "I'm sorry," I said, and I repeated the whole order again (see - I had to apologize so no one would spit in my food). There was a very, VERY long pause. Then I heard the glorious words, "A ham, egg and cheese burrito, an extra-large diet Coke with lime and a tropical yogurt and fruit smoothie." The Hallelujah Chorus rang throughout all the world and I got my drinks (INUNDATED WITH BEVERAGES - it's the best) and food and drove home with the wee chirping monkey dogs.

I sat down with the HAM, EGG AND CHEESE BREAKFAST BURRITO that I'd put on a plate with some salsa. I took a bite. Something was a little off... I took another bite - sausage. SAUSAGE, egg and cheese.

Is it peculiar that I felt slightly guilty at the prospect of eating ham during Passover even though I'm not Jewish? Come to think of it, I don't think the sausage is sitting too well.

I have "mourned" over the last couple of years the fact that I have been living away from what had for so many years become "my city" - Salt Lake City. But in light of what happened last night at Trolley Square it would be utterly ridiculous - the worst possible narcissism for me to use the term "mourn" merely because I miss the life I once had in "my city."

Last night, in a matter of minutes, six people died at Trolley Square* and others were critically wounded. Grief and mourning belongs to those who lost their loved ones who were innocently shopping for Valentine's Day, having birthday dinners, or just spending a night at the mall.

True mourning also belongs to a Bosnian family, having come to this country to escape the horrors of being Muslims in the wrong place and time, and having lived a ravaged, horrific existence. They now are forced to struggle not only with the death of their child and brother, eighteen-year-old Sulejman Talovic, but must grapple with the inexplicable, incomprehensible concept that this "good boy" had become a mass murderer. And no one will ever know why.

I suppose one could be relieved that this didn't take place less than a month ago, during the Sundance Film Festival. I've been to Festival premieres at the theatre directly across the street from Trolley Square. I don't know if the Festival uses those theatres any more, but if they do and that had been the timing, the Trolley Square area would have been filled with thousands of people rather than hundreds. Also, had this massacre been today and not yesterday, I'm sure that there would have been hundreds of additional last-minute Valentine's Day shoppers on the scene.

And I cannot help but think of all the myriad times I went to Trolley Square. I have fond recollections of almost every restaurant and store in the place. Those memories will never seem quite the same. Nevertheless, like the perspective I now have that makes my use of the word "mourning" in terms of my own "loss" seem flippant, I acknowledge that I cannot begin to comprehend what the employees and children and families and individuals who were THERE experienced. Those memories burned an indelible mark in each participant's psyche, I'm certain.

But it's important to acknowledge that there were champions - heroes - there last night amidst the horror and turmoil. I am proud of the quick and appropriate response of the Salt Lake City Police. I am proud of the off-duty Ogden Police Officer who was having an early Valentine's date with his pregnant wife, who, having assessed the situation, sent her to call 911 and tell others to "lock down" and then engaged and distracted the gunman and doubtless saved many lives. I am proud of store owners and employees who warned people - some risking their own lives in the process - to stay away from the shooter and those who sheltered frightened patrons in their storage rooms, bathrooms and even a freezer. I am proud of the first shooting victim, seriously wounded from being hit multiple times as he was leaving the mall, who ran back TOWARDS the shopping center in order to warn others not to come outside. If I am not mistaken, his selfless actions also prompted the first 911 call. These individuals claim that they did "what anyone else would have done in the same situation." Even if that is the case, they are still heroes.

Now I mourn for "my city" - not for myself, but for this senseless tragedy. I grieve, too, that it is a reality in LIFE that senseless tragedy can happen at any time and any place, bringing out the very worst in humanity but also the very best, as though Janus incarnate.

My thoughts and no doubt the good wishes of people around the World go out the seriously wounded:

Alan "AJ" Walker, who lost his Father
Carolyn Tuft, who lost her Daughter
Stacy Hanson
Shawn Munns, who ran towards danger, not away from it

And in honoured memory of:

Jeffery Walker, Father of sixteen-year-old Alan "AJ" Walker
Kirsten Hinckley, fifteen-year-old Daughter of Carolyn Tuft
Vanessa Quinn
Brad Frantz
Teresa Ellis

I cannot presume to imagine how much they will be missed.

*Read more about the shootings in any major paper. The largest Utah newspapers are The Salt Lake Tribune and the Deseret News.