About Annie

Past updates

May 2004
June 2004
July 200

Features

Alert level: Cuddly

Blogs are so, like, stupid.

iCan't believe iHave one.

Misery loves danish

Subway: drink fresh

Friends

Ask Why Not

I Carried the Watermelon

Insomnia Haiku

Red Lefe Web Blog

Your Treat

kk

Tomorrow marks my first official full-time job that I'll actually be interested in. Past employment gigs of mine have included making sure visitors to a valve factory in Melrose Park, IL put on their safety goggles before entering "the plant." I spent another summer "tweaking" foreign IT workers' resumes into Tekmark Global Solutions' official format (in other words, translating them into English). There was a Quizno's across the street.

Worse than actually sitting at these jobs eight hours a day was having to answer the phone: "Good morning, Henry Valve" and "Good afternoon, Tekmark Global Solutions." Believe it or not, I actually had to write that second one out for a few days. It probably wasn't so much that the text was difficult as much as I was just in disbelief that that was the company's name and that I was supposed to say it.

Sometimes the phone would ring and I'd literally have to stare at my post-it and practice the phrase before picking up. And sometimes I started laughing after the trial run. Seriously. I'd answer the phone saying "Tekmark Global Solutions" while clearly giggling.

I think that must have been somewhat on purpose. I might have figured that if I appeared to be lighthearted about having to say that name, maybe the callers would "be on my side" or something... and not make fun of me on the other end of the line for saying those three words together and in that order.

But that makes no sense. The people obviously knew who they were calling. Most of them were the job-seeking foreign IT workers themselves, and my giggling probably confused the hell out of them. The others were from Tekmark Global Solutions' headquarters in Edison, NJ. What did I think, that one of those times, someone would notice my sarcastic twang and suddenly commiserate with me: "Oh, I know, I think it's such a ridiculous name, too!"

No. Turns out my laughing benefitted no one. This is why I was ultimately not Tekmark Global Material. (Even though when I left, they gave me a forest green company polo.)

Although--one time, I came really close. I thought I had really clicked with one of those corporate schmucks because right after I answered, a concerned-sounding man said, "Yes, hello. I seem to have a major global problem." Ha! He was being faceitious! I rejoiced, and blurted out "Well, sir, we've got your global solution right here!" Turns out the caller was my dad, who phoned at least twice per morning to hear me say "Tekmark Global Solutions" and then make fun of me. Awesome.

In conclusion, don't make fun of the company if you have to answer the phone. But if your dad calls to make fun of the company, totally do it and talk loud enough for the guy down the hall to hear you and then have to send you out to retrieve him and his fat gut an Italian Beef sandwich "as punishment" but it won't really be because you'll get yourself a pizza puff!

Thank you.

In Diminishing Returns' ongoing quest to help you use your iPod correctly, we have come up with another situation in which iPod use might be considered inappropriate.

Specifically, iPods should not be used while driving a boat. In this particular glamour shot, I am searching for "Starship Trooper," by Yes, as I am both on a ship and a trooper in general. You see?

You might understandably be striving for that perfect aquatic atmosphere, complete with tunes such as "Come Sail Away," "Sit Down, You're Rockin' the [Rum Punch That's on the] Boat," or anything by that F-head Jimmy Buffett.

But spend too long scrolling through your tunes and you'll probably drive smack dab into a buoy. Or a baby. That would definitely suck. More rules.

In other news, I heart NB. Awww.

Is anyone still watching The Olympics now that beach volleyball is over?

Over 100 people wondering why Olympic divers shower after each dive have reached this site via Google and other blogs. I am honored, but more than that, I'm relieved I wasn't the only one wondering. If that's what you're here for, I'm sad to say I still don't know. But check out DR's unofficial explanations, brought to you by Speedo.

In suburban supermarket news (SSN), Dominick's has officially become DR's favorite food provider. Dee and I were poking through the produce when suddenly an extremely loud thunder clap exploded through surround-sound speakers. I almost fell over out of fear and asked my mom, "What the F was that?" She stared at me like it was obvious and said, "It's about to rain." Then the produce-misting process began, and I let out a huge guffaw. That is so great. Cheers to Dom's for making the extra effort, and to Dee for being unintentionally funny. She's good at that.

Tonight I hit the Nordstrom Café with Kristers and VR. We stuck to the most sophisticated items offered (such as carrot cake), but did take time to notice the children's menu:

Cute, I guess, but I don't really get it. Chicken fingers are kind of common, and not exactly likely to make people wonder whether the people serving them are kidding. The creator of this menu is kidding, right?

For more evidence of fun: Adventures in Chicagoland

Yesterday I ran. WTF? This was unprecedented. I mean, there were those three times in college, but they were only for the sake of journalism. But this last run actually involved free will... and a staggering dose of Olympics Guilt.

I'm pretty sure I wasn't alone. I've never seen more people exercising than I did yesterday. As I thundered my way up the Village/Chelsea-area piers, I saw plenty of people in as poor shape as me, trying and failing to role-play Olympic champions. Many even had Nike logos on their clothes, just like the U.S. track team. Coincidence? Not in my book!

Even though I have horrible form and a less-than-sleek physique, in my mind, for those 25 horrible minutes, I was an Olympic runner. Right? For all the people around me knew, I just barely missed the qualifying time to go to Athens. Lots of people look flabby despite their hard training, right? Blame the metabolism!

I even envisioned running fast enough for my facial features to do that scary thing where they jiggle violently, independent of the rest of the human being. Is this not the most fun element of slow-motion Olympics coverage? I say "envision" because I could never will my body to move fast enough for this to happen.

Key to my assuming near-Olympian status were my obscene red-and-gold sporty sunglasses. (Go Boston College! Um, no.) They were completely unnecessary, as the sun had just set. But in New York (and everywhere else, but especially here), when you exercise, people look at you. There's no mercy whatsoever.

I think it's assumed that if you work out in NYC, you do so in order to be stared at. During my very few jaunts along the Hudson River, I've noticed that almost everyone whizzing by me on rollerblades, bikes, foot, etc. is really, really attractive and fit (excluding Olympics Guilt Week). It's almost like you need to be screened before venturing onto the pedestrian walkway (runway?). I feel like I just barely made the cutoff and am lucky I'm so tall and minimally chested that I could potentially pass as a really convincing transvestite who could F-ing POUND you if you tried to keep her from her daily jog because she still can't shake the dead-giveaway manly strength.

I can't stand stranger-to-stranger eye contact, especially when I'm groveling in a pool of city grime, tap-water-poured-into-an-Evian-bottle and, most importantly, my own sweat. Mmmmm.

Of course, I may resent the voyeurism, but I'm not above it. Hence the eyewear! The unnecessary glasses give me official license to stare at other people and hold the gaze longer than would be appropriate sans eyewear. I go all sorts of beyond the comfort level from behind those things - but it's fine, because I'm cloaked by the shade(s) of my own creepiness.

And I'm no hypocrite - if someone wants to hold the gaze on me, I'm all for that, as long as I don't have to watch it. I don't mind if other sunglass-wearers stare at me inappropriately. It's bound to happen, as I am rather striking and inexplicably dress in all royal blue to go running. (It clashes with the iSkin. It's fun.) But please: NO EYE CONTACT. It freaks me out.

I've gotten over it to some degree, after realizing that as 'not a gay man,' I don't hold the interest of anyone in my neighborhood. I actually love this. People blatantly sizing each other up - especially if only one person is doing the staring - is one of the most unsettling parts of society, along with McDonald's Chicken Selects commericals and unattractive thongs on unattractive women peeking out of unattractive jeans.

Actually, it might be time for an official DR poll.

Which of the following is most unsettling about society?

a) Getting stared at (including eye contact)
b) McDonald's Chicken Selects commercials
c) UTOUWPOOUJ

Take your mark... Beep!

I'm not quite sure what I'll do with myself after the Olympics are gone. (Not "over," but physically "gone" from My TV in My apartment. Because it's all about Me.) I'm currently viewing Wednesday night's REPEAT of primetime coverage. Guess what? I watched most of it during primetime too. This is pathetic.

On to my other area of expertise. Check out this picture I found in the backseat of my dad's Explorer, which doubles as his office.

It's a display of metal cabinet attachments. But, um, come on. Doesn't it also totally look like cookie dough?

This had to be intentional. Someone involved in the Oil Rubbed Bronze Collection had The Dough on the mind. It's so obvious. Particularly on the top figure. Every cookie features a unique smattering of chocolate chips both large and small - and this ad's designer was totally rocking that theme.

Diminishing Returns applauds our friends at Avante for having the smarts to model their products on so lofty a substance.

In other news, I completely hate that Nabisco finds it necessary to name these "Double Stuf" - with one f. WTF (Where's the F)? It's not like they need to be distinctive in the extra-icing-Oreo-type-cookie competition. Don't they sort of have a monopoly as it is? Who's the genius that was like "I've got it! JUST ONE F!"

Less may be more in some cases, but isn't the message of the Double Stuf Oreo that MORE is more? I could definitely deal with "Stufff." But this way, it doesn't add up.

Grade: F- (get it? LOL!)

Now that I've been updating daily, Google has been picking up each day's entry as a new page. Thanks, invisible Web crawlers that until yesterday didn't know this site existed. It's amazing what selling out can do for your site's traffic!

Anyway, I was somewhat amused to learn via my elaborate "stalk the stalkers" system that in the past few days, people have come across Diminishing Returns by Google searching phrases both boring ("swim cap worn at athens") and obvious ("synchronized diving sucks"). Nice.

But I became absolutely thrilled after learning that apparently, at least three other people worldwide are with me in wondering why the F Olympic divers take little showers AFTER GETTING OUT OF THE POOL. Is this not redundant? They were just in the water! What is going on? Nihilism Bear?

It didn't occur to me until after finding out people actually searched "olympic synchronized diving rinse," "synchronized diving shower," and FINALLY, "why do olympic divers rinse off after a dive" that I was not alone in my pondering.

So, since three wayward souls have already clicked on DR to find out, I feel sort of obliged to at least attempt an explanation or six. Here they are:

a) The rinse water is fresh, and the pool water is chlorinated. Chlorine makes hair turn green. Divers are on TV so their hair CANNOT turn green. (Within 20 seconds.)

b) The divers are ON TV! And they have hard bodies! They want more attention paid to their hard bodies. They must rinse off every inch of their hard, hard bodies just for their fans. And for creeps.

c) NBC planted these showers to improve ratings. "Water! Hard bodies! Being the only channel that shows The Olympics! We can't lose!" Slow-motion footage can also be used surrounding commercial breaks. Instead of, you know, the dives.

d) Divers need something to do between diving and receiving their scores. God forbid they interact with each other, so they rinse off, just because. Plus, it's rude to stare at the judges. You should entice them instead.

e) Divers just really, really love water and can't get enough of it. To get enough of it, they need to arch their backs and slowly exhale with their eyes closed and the "go ahead, spritz me" facial expression of their choice.

f) None of the above, moron.

I can't find an image online. This must not be a big enough deal. But come on! Three people plus me! That's like a minor phenomenon.

Feel free to shoot me, but I think the Sprint commercials with the kids about the overtime minutes are hilarious.

I've been watchcing the Olympics for six straight hours now, but feel no shame because it doesn't really feel like TV. Today's obsession is how absolutely gorgeous all of the athletes are. Seriously, with all of them - even if the face isn't great, the body is so perfect that you kind of just stare. And gape. And snack on sugary cereal.

I have noticed, particularly during women's volleyball, that they do a lot more closeups of the prettiest two players on the court than the "stars" of the teams. Sometimes the cameras just follow them around for no reason. This was even more obnoxious during women's synchronized diving. They showed this beautiful German girl on every dive even though she came in close to last place. The seemingly unnecessary "rinse off" shower portion after every dive of hers was especially gratuitous.

I guess this isn't wrong. Anyone who makes it to the Olympics has a right to be on TV, and personally I'd rather watch nicer-looking people than ugly people. I feel horrible admitting that. On normal TV, there's none of this guilt because everyone in every show is aesthetically close to perfect. The Olympics can't screen like that.

Wait for the profoundness. It's coming. It's so close.

The Olympics are like the epitome of democracy. And they're in ATHENS! Democracy's BIRTHPLACE! It's, like, all coming together! Like.

Watch out, it's Friday the 13th!

Whatever the F that means. I don't know much about holidays, but I'm pretty sure that the only point of acknowledging Friday the 13th (FT13) is so that people can unnecessarily scare themselves into thinking that horrible things will happen to them that day.

But I do that every day. It's called a raging case of pessimism. And this could just be the pessimist talking, but I'm pretty sure that's nothing to celebrate. What's different about today?

Let's say a big "Screw You!" to all these evil capitalists capitalizing on FT13 propaganda and hereby pledge to make this FT13 the best FT13 EVER!

Wait! Better yet, let's make it the best DAY ever!

Who's with me?! Nihilsm Bear? Anyone?

Party on! I want pizza.

This site is turning into a full-fledged NYC Guide to Shitty Food. Yesterday we hit the Shake Shack in Madison Square Park, coincidentally my favorite park in the city. You can see Wendy's if you sit in the right spot.

There it is. Larry, get out of the way. Actually, the Shake Shack was his idea. I love him for his impressive knack for finding the worst food in the cutest spots.

True to my roots, I ordered the Chicago Dog. It said Vienna Beef, but it definitely wasn't. It was a TOTALLY NARROW excuse for a hot dog. Posers.

The highlight of the trip was finding the perfect "welcome" bar for Diminishing Returns. Check it out, above. We'll see how long it takes for me to get sick of it.

But come on. I can't think of anything in that shape that so accurately embodies the themes of this site. It's sort of like a disclaimer for newcomers, like a preview of just what they're getting themselves into by scrolling down.

Hey, look. It's Paul Crocetti in the City! (And Kate! And Becks.)

In conclusion, I skipped my biweekly jog to create this entry.

Does anyone else feel a little uneasy in the time surrounding, and especially during, the Olympics? I always feel so worthless whenever I watch them, particularly the women's events.

While watching the Olympics during high school, I'd always keep one eye on my parents and one eye on the screen, scanning their expressions to see if they'd have that disappointed "Annie, that could have been you" face.

Sometimes I ended up not caring about who wins the medals and instead searched the screen for that girl who spent her entire 17-year life training for one Olympic event and just came in seventh.

That sucks. I wonder if she thought it was worth it. Don't get me wrong, seventh place worldwide is a huge accomplishment. But part of her had to be thinking, "Fine. It's over. I'm a failure. NOW can I eat some donuts?"

I speak from experience. When I was 13 and on a local swim team, this evil 14-year-old named Trish Jackson edged me out from my rightful place on the Timber Trails Swim Club 13-14 Girls Medley Relay.

Our group of four had won gold medals at the annual inter-suburban conference for three years now. I was the slowest of the four, so swam the final freestyle leg, also known as the "let the other people get the lead for you and then try not to fuck it up" leg.

But suddenly, we did "time trials" during practice and Trish Jackson swam freestyle faster than me. I was devastated. I had to swim butterfly, the hardest stroke, in the B relay. At meets, I watched the other three - MY three - gossiping with the cool older girl from two lanes over.

Trish never put on her bathing cap until two seconds before her event was called - she was that cool. I envisioned mauling her in the face with her bathing cap, forcing her into the water only to be drowned by her own wayward locks of hair. "MAYBE YOU SHOULD HAVE WORN YOUR BATHING CAP!" I would have screeched, in cold blood.

Then it came time for the biggest event of the summer, the inter-suburban conference. Booyah. I still wasn't on the medley relay, but I was one of two Timber Trails representatives in the 50-yard freestyle event along with - you guessed it - Trish the Dish. We were so close in time that she was the third seed and I the fourth, out of 20 swimmers.

The pressure was high. I can honestly say, even after ten subsequent years of beer and nachos cravings, that in my entire life I have never wanted anything more than to beat her time, even by one hundreth of a second. I had never won a medal of my own, and this was my chance. It would be mine. Pure, glimmering, bullet-proof... bronze.

(Sidenote: this just proves that I am not Olympic material. I don't need to "win it all." I just need to beat the people I don't like.)

Race time. I looked over at Trish. Still no bathing cap. She was making friends with girls from other teams, totally NOT focusing on the race.

I decided I would beat her. Maybe, throughout my intense swim club career, I just hadn't been trying. Maybe I wasn't using my spindly little limbs to their fullest capacity. That was it. I would simply swim faster than ever, at a pace not even the coaches would believe. Those evil dictators, Bob and Marc, would be stopped dead in their tracks at the side of the pool, able to muster up only enough movement to reach up and slowly lower their knockoff Ray-Bans in utter amazement.

The most pathetic self-psych-up of all time ensued. I closed my eyes and clenched my fists, thinking that might help. I performed the "visualization" exercise our coaches had taught us, except my version didn't involve the race, just the moment after the race, when my name would come up next to "3" and Trish would look perplexed. And then start to cry.

It was settled. I would win the bronze medal and Trish would get the puke yellow 4th place ribbon. I was sure of it.

Then she beat me by .04 seconds. My insignificant 13-year-old world crashed down around me.

Well, sort of. After all that drama, I'm pretty sure I hid my oppressive, overflowing emotions from my mom and simply begged her to take me to Applebee's or something. It was easier that way, plus I got to eat Applebee's.

Because, you see, I'm not Olympic material. And nothing looks prettier next to puke yellow than an Oriental Chicken Salad Rollup and huge fountain Coke.

...And I'm sick of following the rules. I'm trying to think of ways to NOT use an exercise ball for the next DR column (which is apparently now called a "feature"). Geez. I mean, you hire a Webmaster and she goes and changes your lingo around on you. I should probably stop paying her. In drugs.

The only thing I can think of right now is just sitting on the ball and eating. Maybe this won't work.

Nap. More later. Suggestions encouraged.

***Warning: this post contains uncharacteristic thoughtfulness. But not right away.***

Saturday night, I sipped a mocha frappucino (courtesy of I Carried the Watermelon) and decided I would start cutting back on the crap food.

Sunday afternoon, this happened:

Look at the carrots, just beggin' for it. No thanks.

So yeah, maybe tomorrow. But I've decided that every Sunday I'm going back to this place. It's called Wogie's on Greenwich Ave. and I'm completely obsessed with it. Many restaurants in New York piss me off. There's so many of them that they all have to be MORE different and MORE edgy than the next. To me, ambiguous terms like "New American" and even worse, "fusion" are just synonyms for "overpriced." Finding an unpretentious non-chain that serves cheesesteaks and wings for Sunday brunch is rather refreshing. As are cheesesteaks and wings after a rough late night of pizza and ice cream.

---t---h---o---u---g---h--t---f---u---l---p---o---r---t---i---o---n---

I thought about college for the first time in months tonight. I wrote down all these specific, tangible things I remember, like the dark, frozen roads surrounding Upper Campus in November '99, when I still had no idea which direction they ran, where Comm Ave was in comparison, what would happen if I just kept walking away. I wouldn't want to go back there, but for some reason I loved remembering how much that period in my life was so painfully confused and unclear. (Good thing that's not the case anymore!) I even closed my eyes and sort of squirmed in my chair trying to make the feeling more intense, even though that would make it a little worse. I liked it.

I wouldn't necessarily want to remember specific painful/awkward/ generally horrible moments like this. Some things are better left blocked out entirely, if possible. But when one image can capture an entire feeling - the temperature, a state of mind, etc. - I think it's amazing. And for me, anyway, profoundly important.

I have all these "photos" in my head that immediately conjure up a specific overall feeling. They're hard to put into words. "1997 ... reckless driving ... toll booth antics ... summer leagues ... Slurpee." That doesn't work. It's more like an overwhleming totality of things that you don't mind not verbalizing because you know you've got it right in your head.

I love how it's the sounds and objects that conjure everything up, but it's whatever was dominating your head at that time that you actually remember. Does everyone do this?

Having not considered the four college years for so long, it all came as a rush. I feel like I've lost a lot of it. Do you ever suddenly worry that if you don't recall your memories often enough, they'll disappear?

Just blew into the bottom row of keys on my laptop and all these crumbs flew out. Buffalo shrimp batter, Dorito cheese mold and, most recently, Mrs. Gallagher's caramel brownie droppings (holla!). This scattering reminds me of one of the post-its on the multicolored "quote wall" Kelly and Meaghan made senior year at BC. Most of the quotes were short and sweet, but one time Kelly took the liberty of writing out something I appreantly said out loud about my open laptop being the perfect-sized tray for those nasty homemade garlic-bread-and-bruschetta things I used to make. Did anyone take a digipic of that wall?

I was thinking about food earlier, which was weird, and suddenly realized that I made a big mistake in not securing more leftovers from Dee's big New Buffalo bash. We got loads and loads of these awesome ribs from the Red Arrow Roadhouse (holla!) and for some reason that won't be mentioned on the Internet, I was so distracted that I only ate four that night. Now I'm sitting here in New York with no groceries and a freezer full of Lean Cuisines I'll never eat, dreaming about that sweet, tangy, glorious meat. I should have taken about 100 ribs, carefully shaved off just the meat, and packed it oh so tightly into a huge plastic bowl to take on the plane. I bet I still wouldn't be at the bottom of the bowl yet, if I'd used enough packing force. Every few hours, or minutes, I could lazily dip my fork, or finger, into the meaty mess and pluck out a few more shreds of absolute delight. I'd swirl it around in my mouth with a beverage or just suck on it like tallow, depending on my current activity or lack thereof.

I guess the good thing about me not having transported the ribs that is that I won't have to bear the disappointment of the bottom of the bowl. This way, I can talk to my parents while they're eating the leftovers for dinner and wistfully describe what I "should have done" while smugly knowing that they themselves will eventually reach the bottom of the huge, glistening aluminum tray. Take that, Deedles.

I'll be starting a full-time Entertainment Weekly internship at the end of the month. Yay! I'm pumped. I know it'll take my nationwide following awhile to get used to the idea of me working during daylight hours, but I will try to smooth the transition by altering the time on my posts to read "5:30 a.m." just like they used to.

10:47 pm - Wipeout, pre-flight

Last Thursday on my way to class, I encountered my grad school friends Matt, Maggie, and Zach:

I had a rolling suitcase and a few minutes to spare, so I casually propped it against a scaffolding pole and leaned against (sat on) it to chat with them. But within five minutes, the luggage barreled out from under me and I completely wiped out onto the ground.

Zach managed to capture a blurry "after" shot of me laughing hysterically. I think the people walking by for freshman orientation were really impressed! If anything, I calmed their fears about having to be suave and savvy in New York City. Now they know that there's at least one person nerdier than them.