How about the vivid colors on this 85-year-old map, eh? Bright and sparkly and looking brand-new.
Take a gander at that one again. The icon they show for the largest population only shows over 500,000. But that was in 1930, when none of us was alive to fill the census count.
The word “pineapple” in English was first recorded to describe the reproductive organs of conifer trees (now termed pine cones). When European explorers discovered this tropical fruit in the Americas, they called them “pineapples” (first referenced in 1664, for resemblance to the pine cone). So says the Great and Powerful Oz. I mean wikipedia.
So that’s it. That’s why a fruit that is neither pine nor apple is called pineapple. End of story. Next stop: eggplant.
But in the course of my brief pineapple study, I disovered a site which marries the two: Pineapples and Pinecones, purveyors of fine travel. This made me sad because:
a) I don’t use the word purvey enough. If being a purveyor means you provide something, then I suppose I provide old pictures. Just typing the word is weird. It looks pervy.
b) I’ve never been privy to “fine travel.”
The website “purveys” cruises (never been on one, but I watched umpteen seasons of “The Love Boat,” followed by “Fantasy Island”). They offer custom touring (never done that either). They “would be pleased to tailor an itinerary” to me. Has anyone ever said those words to you? They should only be said in an uppity accent. The only thing tailored for me was my bridal gown, and the shop screwed that up big time. But that’s another story.
After I shake down our money tree in the backyard, I can take that schmancy cruise and blog about my “cultural shore excursions.” I’d tell you about the lovely welcome-aboard cocktail reception I received as I boarded the Golden Princess and the awe-inspiring Fiji sunset views at night. I would share how we laughed with the captain and sang showtunes from the movie South Pacific and I would mimic washing a man right out of my hair, and it would be a gay old time. And I could talk to the ex-senator and his wife, who seem to be enjoying retirement.
But for now (sigh) the closest I can get is a hot bath and some pineapple juice. Cheers.
Several days later, and dragging the unwilling passenger down the aisle is still making the news. I bet Pepsi is glad for the distraction.
Twitter is alive with creativity.
We very rarely fly, so boycotting is a moot point for our family. What about you? Will this treatment change your travel itinerary? Perhaps they should change their name to Divided.
Birches and maples reach toward the sky, shading campers in Peninsula State Park, Wisconsin.
Here we see Cary Grantish introducing his new girlfriend in red (who may have either scoliosis or some sort of pelvic trauma causing that posture) to his former flame, Lana Turnerish, in purple. Lana asks, “Oh, is that where you met? How interesting.”
Cary, in his oblivion, doesn’t think there’s cause for cattiness, since that relationship ended over a decade ago, but that doesn’t stop Green Striped Hat from sizing up his current squeeze.
But the real flirtation is with these two. They’re obviously not married; no wife would beam at her man like that (unless she’s Nancy Reagan). No, this gal is setting a snare. 
All aboard a Pullman!
This Oldsmobile isn’t a taxi, but it sho nuff is taxi cab yellow. Look how sleek! How rich people on horses wave to rich people in cars! How swag that dog is! No seatbelts!
Why, even simple Delores can operate heavy machinery because there’s no confusing clutch. All she has to do is simply coordinate her headband, jacket, and skirt, don some white gloves, curl her hair, and slip into the bench seat to drive to Vegas and bet on the ponies like the old man used to do. Gas it, Delores!
Did you just try to smell your own elbow?
A serviceman gazes up at mostly-white skivvies drying in the warm Genoan sun as he steadily climbs upward in the Truogoli di Santa Brigida. Due to a shortage of space, Genoan buildings grow upward.
Incidentally, the quiet nook of Truogoli di Santa Brigida receives a 4.5 out of 5 stars on TripAdvisor.
One reviewer said, “ジェノバ・プリンチペ駅から王宮へ向かって道を下る途中、王宮手前の右手に路地へ入っていく場所がある。 この様に口コミサイ…” which means “much fun party!” No, I don’t know what that says.
Another review read, “Reliable local simple and tasty cuisine, in a beautiful and typical square of the historic center of Genoa, just behind the Royal Palace of Via Balbi. Among the first great typical ravioli Genoese touch and fresh pasta, good also with meat, often cooked according to traditional recipes from Liguria (rabbit, roast), plus a few fast and light dish like octopus with vegetables. Discrete bottled wines, excellent quality/price ratio.”
Makes one wonder if the laundry drying in the Italian sun would smell “linen fresh” or ripe with hints of game and basil…
In addition to scuba diving, my aunt and uncle also snorkeled in mangroves with crocodiles.
What do you think of these teeth? Would you get anywhere near them?
I Don't Get It 