TASTI D-WHO?

While all eyes have shifted and locked on the financial implosion on Wall Street, back uptown Tasti D-Lite is having a crisis of its own. And aside from a few other disoriented Tastiholics I've seen- staring blankly at where my local outpost used to stand- the problem has gone largely unnoticed.  Sure, I'm sorry the second Great Depression is around the bend, but the collapse of my frozen dessert obsession deserves attention too. 

I should have seen this coming- I saw the signs.

At first, the changes were nearly imperceptible.  So slight, in fact, I thought maybe it was just me.  First, the color of the trademark cup morphed from royal to a less majestic baby blue.  The logo went from the now retro original to a cuter pastel design.  Then, the cup size seemed different- was it deeper?  was it narrower?  My friendly Tasti counter gal assured me it was not.

I saw the toppings selection was changing- more fresh fruit and other naturalish things  like apple chips.  I wrote it off as the inevitable result of living in an ever increasingly Pinkberry/Yolato world.  Denial's a funny thing.

But yesterday afternoon, there was no more lying.  Upon landing on West 80th street after a long car trip- a carsick journey, by the way, spent chomping on Nicorette, visualizing TDL, concocting the utopian flavor combination of Peanut Butter Fudge/NY Cheesecake- I went directly bag still in hand, to my closest, and therefore favorite, branch.  

It was magically replaced by The Lite Choice, which so far I can tell is the Designer Imposter version.  I admit it, I had a sample.  It tasted like a manilla folder.  The same counter gal was there, now in a new uniform.  She acted like she didn't even know me.  

Frantic, I sprinted up Broadway to my next closet branch.  It was still there, but with a "new look" and "new attitude" and a cheery pink grand REopening sign.  The flavors remained, but a new quote/mantra is painted on the wall:

DESSERT YOUR GUILT: A CELEBRATION OF HEALTH AND LIFE

Not even I, perhaps the most d-voted d-lite fan, am buying that.  

Healthy?  Well, it is mostly air.  A celebration of life?  While I don't recommend it, I have, in fact, lived on it.   Just give me the 12 ounces of heaven and save me the Oprah affirmation.

At least it's still kosher.

POLL DANCING

America loves a poll.  

I devour them- Gallop to Glamour, Pew Research to Teen People.  Bring it on.

But this latest Washington Post/ABC News Palin poll, which indicates her popularity with petulant PTA moms has propelled the Republican ticket into the lead has me absolutely sick.

Come on ladies.  

Thanks RNC!

And to think I'd almost fully repressed the memory of former Hizzonerette, Rudy Giullani.

Thanks RNC, the grand old party could use a few more big bad queens from Brooklyn.

PBCSSD

Maybe it's the fancy schmancy Fashion Week invite that just arrived in the mail.  Perhaps it's a simple case of PBCSSD (Post Barney's Co-op Sale Stress Disorder).   Quite possibly, it's the obsessive week long hunt I've been on for the mythological, perfect-in-every-way dress that, like so many things, exists only in my mind.  

Whate'er it be, I woke this morning mentally scrolling through the list of clothes items I would outlaw if I had the power and there were legal fashion mandates.

So before I set out for another mind numbing day of pushy sales types born in the mid 1980's, iron maiden style dressing rooms, looking at my body from every blessed angle under every sort of sacred light, a small list of garments to be eliminated forever:

• gaucho pants
  
• empire waist t-shirts aka baby bump tees
  
• stiletto ankles boots
  
• prairie dresses
  
• arm warmers
  
• bubble skirts
  
• kimono sleeves on things other than kimonos
• high waisted shorts
• bandeau bikini tops
  
• anything ruched
  

This is in no way exhaustive. but list making is just so soothing.

MISS ALMOST

  First runner up Miss Alaska 1984 and now McCain's concessional token female VP choice.

Sara Palin, a truly second class lady.

I love her hair though.

AN IRONIC DEATH

The news that "100 Things To Do Before you Die," author Dave Freeman has, well, died, confirms my absolute worst fear: 

DYING AN IRONIC DEATH.

My adult onset terror surrounding all things chronic and ironic started in the days leading up to age 30. 

Here's the pre-birthday posthumous script I wrote in my head:

FRIEND #1: Hey, did you hear about Liz?

FRIEND #2: Yah, I'm sorry I missed her birthday party. The big 3-0! I can't believe she survived her 20's!

FRIEND #1: No, dude. She didn't. She was hit by the crosstown M79 bus the night before turning 30.  Pretty sad.

FRIEND #2: Wow, That's terrible. But hey, she would have appreciated the irony, right?

There are darker scenes suited for even more joyous occasions, but I'm afraid to write them.  And yes, gentle ironist, I realize the irony of, I Ironia, fearing irony.

I'm almost afraid to mention this phobia, lest I add another layer of irony to the ironic death that could be lurking around the next corner.  But compulsion trumps superstition and so I begrudgingly press PUBLISH POST.

THE PANTSUIT STRIKES BACK

There are just some lines that are so brilliant, so obvious, so completely on the nose that a writer can spend the better part of a day trying to figure how she didn't think to write it first.  This she has done just that.  

How could I not have thought to marry two popical (that's topical and popular culture, better late than never) references?  It's like that category on Jeopardy:

The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants + Pantsuit = Genius.

  

I'm Greek.  I had a Yia Yia.  How did I miss it?  I hate myself.

Make no mistake: I've never had a single ounce of affection for Hillary Clinton.  Not one cc.  But during the non-stop pantsuit comedy roast primary season, I jumped to HRC's fashion defense(see this blog, July 6th, until I can figure out how to link), not because I liked her, but because:

1. I like pantsuits a lot

2. Yves Saint Laurent had just gone to the big garment district in the sky

3. It was the feminist thing to do

But with that one line- HOW DID I NOT THINK OF IT?- justice was served.

Today, August 27, 2008 marks the day I became a fan of Hillary.  Or at least her speech writer.