THE GREAT PINK HYPE

When I was growing up in the Valley back when the being from the Valley meant something, the only frozen yogurt we knew about came from the supermarket. They were called "Push-Ups" and came in citrusy flavors. Push ups shared space with ice cream and the gone-but-not-fogotten "ice milk," of which Grandma Ethel always had a plentiful supply, usually in vanilla. The problem with Grandma Ethel's ice milk, though, was that it was so old that sheets of ice often grew wild inside the plastic container.

If you lived in Sepulveda and wanted a cold, sweet dessert, Baskin Robbins was just about the only game in town or, if iyou were really stoned, you'd might trek south to Farrells on Van Nuys Boulevard. Then, somewhere around 1976 (right around the time I wanted one of those revolutionary and shockingly expensive pocket calculators for my birthday), Swensons opend up in our soon-to-be ghetto shopping center at the northwest corner of Parthenia and Sepulveda Boulevard. Unlike BR, Swensons looked like an old-fashioned ice cream parlor. I grew to obsess over the coffee chip (still my fave flavor), but at age 11, I was totally snookered by the "bubble gum" flavor, which was basically artificially colored blue vanilla with a mess o' gumballs But when you're that age, more is more.

Somehere in the mid-80s, we experienced the first wave of frozen yogurt shops -- Penguin, Golden Spoon and the like. It wasn't ice cream and its caloric benefits weren't always so hot, but it was okay in a piece of mind sort of way. But frozen yogurt seemed like a fad, and, indeed, its popularity has wavered greatly over the past two decades.

Now deep into middle age, I'm still of the mind that a good, full-fatted ice cream can't be beat (topped by a mountain of Carnation Malted Milk. Yum). Yet I can't hit the good stuff as often I as once did and have grown to embrace, sometimes even crave frozen yogurt at local hangs like Studio CIty Yogurt (where the doom-faced employees are almost worth the price of admission) or our new favorite neighborhood place, Menchies, which is a bit of a trough. Think Sizzler or Soup Plantation: How high can you fill the styrofoam cup, how much shit can you pile inside? Of course, you pile it high because you can -- you, the consumer, have the power. Then you pay the price, in many ways (they charge by weight). The Little Woman can trick herself into believing "carblite" yogurt options actually taste good, but that's where I draw my line in the sand. Life's too short too eat chalk disguised as dessert. I'll eat nonfat, but blow it by tossing in mega-fatted toppings.

Which brings me to the whole point of this. What the fuck is up with Pinkberry? Whoever's doing its marketing is doing some kind of mind control job on the trendy masses. I've been there (they opened one not far from my beloved Studio City Yogurt) and I have no clue what the fuss is about. Maybe it's the Japanese thing (related question: why is my daughter enamored with something as amorphous as Hello Kitty?). It can't be the yogurt. When did "sour" became a yogurt flavor. Green tea? Come on. No one really likes that flavor, do they? No one really puts fruit on their yogurt. Where's the M&Ms? Reeses? Cocoa Pebbles?

Yet this place has become a weird L.A. phenomenon. When I say I don't like it, people think I'm crazy. But I say it's just a silly little trend. For whatever reason, people are forcing themselves to scarf this expensive tart nothingness (and then top it with kiwi -- how insane is that?). I give it two years and then all Pinkberrys will become Winchells when the great donught renaissance of '09 grips the nation.

But I'm sure footage of the lemmings lining up for this vile stuff will make a funny segment when VH1 does its "I Love the Early 21st Century" special.