About Annie


TV commentary

Annie's O.C. page

(more)

Past updates

Feb 2005
Jan 2005
Dec 2004
Nov 2004
Oct 2004
Sept 2004
August 2004
July 2004
June 2004
May 2004

Features

Alert level: Cuddly

Blogs are so, like, stupid.

iCan't believe iHave one.

Misery loves danish

Subway: drink fresh

Can you believe I only know three people who have blogs? What's wrong with my friends?

Ask Why Not
Insomnia Haiku
Your Treat

  Annie Barrett is a writer living in New York City. Annie Barrett. Annie Barrett is probably insane. Annie Barrett doesn't care.

This is how nasty I am: I just turned on Super Size Me on Showtime On Demand, simply because doing so gives me the option of looking at McDonald's food. Since I've seen it before and I have an important entry to write, I'm not even technically watching it. It's just on, in case I feel the need to glance up and look at fries.

This movie had the opposite effect on me as it did on most. I still don't think McDonald's is gross. The people who let themselvees become really fat are gross, totally. But not that amazing food. The gooey pies that are so tiny they look like doll food, like an American Girls accessory. Deliciously ambiguous chicken nuggets that forever dwell in possibility. The first bite of a Big Mac, when even the bun is greasy and after you chew, you wonder if it's weird that something just crunched in your mouth. Don't worry! It was probably the pickle, and if not, it's just a harmless "burger knot" that you can politely spit out and lay to rest on the yellow, non-biodegradable wrapper.

What?

Okay, McDonald's isn't even what I wanted to talk about. In fact, I didn't really want to talk about anything. This is why I miss my camera. People like pictures, not text. It's like, proven.

My sister (who's really good at looking tough) visited this weekend for a big Easter Extravaganza, during which the closest we came to acknowledging the holiday was picking out four lovely pastel Magnolia cupcakes. Oh, and while drunk, Meghan also wished the entire staff of Papaya Dog and about 30 W. 4th Street loiterers a "Happy Eeeeeeeaster!!!!" That was fun. And if I wanted to stretch it, we also ate some He is Risen Reese's Eggs and some damn fine Peter Cottontail Nachos Supreme. We also heard some church bells. That friggin' woke us up.

Anyway, about these cupcakes. There's a lot of hype about the Magnolia Bakery on Bleecker because it was featured on Sex and the City, blah blah blah. I think the cupcakes are really good, but I'm a complete sugar hound and sometimes eat only dessert items all day, so I'm probably biased. I checked out some of the customer reviews on Citysearch -- 9 out of 10 of them are negative, and more than half complain about the "hipper-than-thou" staff. It's really funny though, because despite all these disappointed customers, there is always a line around the corner. I like to laugh at this line as I jog by in my spandex shorts and jogbra.

"Is that true?"
"Yes. Everything except the jogging part."
(name the movie)

No, I don't run by the bakery. I do go there a lot and get cupcakes. I'm sorry, I think they're good. I treat them like ice cream cones, slowly licking (or fingering, for added kink) around the buttercream perimeter until I eat half the frosting; then I finally bite into the cake, which I could give or take.

The complainers are right about the cake part - it's dry and often tasteless. But I really don't see the point in slamming the staff. Last time I checked, there was no reason to be afraid of a girl in a bandana or a guy with a nose ring. They work in a bakery, remember? Their jobs probably suck. Get over yourselves, because not everyone in food service is going to act delighted to serve loud tourists in large groups. In fact, I sort of admire their honesty. They know they can act as disinterested and unhelpful as they want, because people will invariably keep coming back. That's pretty funny.

If I didn't like the icing so much, I'd call it obnoxious instead of funny, because I'd have to keep taking visitors to a place I didn't appreciate. As it is, I don't care if the chick behind the counter is a bitch as long as I get out of there with a box o' four. I'd say it's a pretty fair tradeoff.

Of course, if they were mean to me, I'd probably complain too. I just don't see why they would be. I'm sooooo West Village-chic. Totally.

And now for a new monthly installment called "If I worked at the Magnolia Bakery..."

I just realized how sick I am of the word "cupcake," after reading all those reviews. If I worked at the Magnolia bakery, I'd become especially sick of it. The cashiers have to ask the customers what's in their boxes, and the answer is almost always "cupcakes." I'd want to kill myself. I'm sure they do, too, partly because they're sick of the word and partly because they're really frustrated that this arguably mediocre product is the only thing people ever buy. I'd seriously consider an operation to block out the word "cupcake" from my hearing and understanding. I guess I wouldn't really be a good employee then, but it seems none of them are anyway, so I'd probably fit right in. I have lots of bandanas. Hmmm. Why don't they just make a policy that people have to hold open their boxes so the cashiers can take inventory themselves? This would prevent a) lying, b) any dangerous verbal interaction between the tragically hip and the commoner, and c) the spoken word "cupcake." It'd be perfect.

Okay, end of monthly segment. At DR, we're always looking to cover the most hard-hitting issues of New York City life. We like to opine, and then eat more cupcakes.

Anyway, I confessed to Meghan my psychological problems involving these cupcakes, and instead of empathizing with me like I thought she would, she laughed in my face.

Here's the problem: When there's a food product I really value - and this is not limited to junk food like 99% of this site - I need to have a backup if I'm going to indulge.

This means that if I decide I want my last orange, I need to go out and buy another orange (or six) before I eat the first. The supply must be replenished before it depletes, or "diminishes," if I want to be cute about it.

This isn't funny. I have a serious problem. Late at night, I'll decide I want to cook penne pasta, and unless there's another box somewhere in apartment, I can't bring myself to do it because then I wouldn't have any more penne.

What?! I am insane! I know this. Just let me get it out, because you're already here and probably not about to leave (although now would be a great time).

I do this with mini Twix, mac 'n' cheese, lime Tostitos, and eggs, to name a few. I will even let rotting flowers sit on my coffee table while I procrastinate buying new ones, instead of just throwing them out as soon as they start to flake out. As I just realized this obsession extends beyond the edible and into plant life, I really think I might have some deep-rooted problems. Does anyone want to be my therapist for free? Comment with your unprofessional opinion of why the hell I do this.

I've thought about it for a few hours now (I have a really fulfilling life) and have concluded that it's only store-bought items that I need immediately replenished. If I cook eggplant parm or make tuna salad, it's not like I'm going to whip up another tray of it just because I'm almost done with the leftovers. That would be crazy! And when I have restaruant leftovers, I don't feel a strong urge to run back and order the same thing right away. Unless it was, you know, really good. No, the OCD seems to be limited to single items that are sold as small wholes unto themselves.

Case in point: Magnolia cupcakes. Meghan and I decided to split a box of four. I assumed this would provide a pretty good buffer zone for me, because she would only eat one (to my one) and leave me with two extra when she left. Then, I could safely eat the third while planning another trip to the bakery for more.

This is just wrong. I would apparently rather let the fourth innocent cupcake become stale and possibly never eaten than just eat all my purchased servings at once and live without the presence of cupcakes in my apartment for one whole day. I need some help.

When it was clear that Meghan was going to eat her second, I became despondent and confided this particular food-related OCD to her, to no avail. She thought I was nuts when I suggested that before we eat the second pair, we should walk over and get two more because the bakery wasn't closed yet!

When I type it out, it doesn't seem logical to me either. But at the time, the feeling was so intense, so certain. Look at those colors. Would you want to part with all of them without backup? Think about it. :(

Please have me committed.

Oh yeah, Dee, here's the pic you requested of your daughters on Easter, drinking raspberry champagne-tini things like good little Catholics. Don't worry, we toasted to Christ! In Italian! Prego.

Read this. The lede is pretty funny, but the last line is classic. Long live The O.G.!

It was so unnecessary to name the restaurant. I truly believe they did it for comic value. What do you think?

I won't pretend I'm the first person to ever loathe Old Navy commercials. Been there, done that, bought the leotard. I think you'll agree, though, that its latest spot about Bermuda shorts is the chain's worst yet.

I don't mean in a "so bad it's good" way. I get the feeling Old Navy knows how much people must despise its colorful, ultra-campy commercials, but keeps making them because they're sort of endearing in their own right.

No. They're not. In fact, every time this new one comes on, I don't hit mute anymore, like I used to. I literally lunge for the remote or the TV itself (which is usually closer, considering the size of the Pink Palace) so I can actually turn it off or fast forward. Anything that'll get it completely out of my sight.

With DVR (my life partner), it's so easy to forego commercials when I'm really serious about watching a show. But when I'm trying to read or write and the TV is just on, I have recently had horrible luck with this commercial. It's like my personal nemesis. I think it might actually live in my cable system. Maybe it realized how much I freak out whenever it comes on and has stored itself as a unique recording for those special, rare moments when I'm actually being happily productive... just so it can blast itself in an in-your-face "Up yours, Barrett!" type of way.

I just read that paragraph over and realized how moronic I sound. I could just... not have the TV on. Duh.

But that would be too easy. Plus, I like having the news <cough>SNL reruns<cough> on just in case there's a breaking story I should know about. This also cuts down on my gossip website-reading time, so everyone wins. Except me.

You've seen this commercial, right? It's set to the tune of that song from Fame. "I'm gonna live forever... I'm gonna learn how to fly (FAME!)" The choreography is the final scene in Fame times five in terms of obnoxiousness and jazz hands.

Yeah. Here are the lyrics to the Old Navy commercial. You think they sound stupid on TV? You have no idea how dumb they appear in print:

Bermuda shorts (SHORTS!)
I'm gonna wear them forever
Even if the weather is mild (SHORTS!)
My family's lookin' so crisp and clever
Long shorts from the tropical isle (SHORTS!)
You'll wanna wear 'em forever
You should remember their name
Bermuda! Bermuda! Bermuda! Bermuda!
Old Navy! Bermuda!

This is the part where it absolutely kills me that my camera is being repaired (for, like, weeks) and I can't snap a pic of this one perfect frame. It's on the second SHORTS! outburst, and they zoom in on this dude's crotch with a huge "Shorts!" superimposed just above. Is that necessary? We get it! Bermuda! Shorts! "Remember their name?" They're Bermuda shorts! We already knew about them! Ugh. It's all so suffocating.

But since I've dedicated a shamless amount of energy to it already, I should at least adapt the jingle for my own purposes.

Annie's shitty website (DIMINISHING RETURNS!)
You're gonna read it forever
Even when it's totally bland (DIMINISHING RETURNS!)
Wonder why it's never that clever?
She's always high on Stoli Raz/cran (BOOZE!)
You really don't wanna be here
It's not gonna brighten your day
West Village! 20-something! She's clueless! Stop coming!
Annie Barrett! DR!

Don't even get me started on the Gap's "Pretty Khaki" commercials. Khaki? Not pretty. Is not even remotely associated with prettiness. Carrie Bradshaw would be seriously horrified.

I particularly hate how there are two dramatic buildups with "I enjoy being a..." and then she just speaks the word "girl." What a mindfuck. Is anyone else frustrated that she doesn't let loose and just belt out the high notes? It's not like she couldn't do it. I want to tell her "You're SJP. Trust us. We'll listen. We'll think you're adorable even if it sounds a little off!"

I keep thinking one of these times, they'll surprise us and she'll actually capitalize on the buildup with a resounding "giiiiiiirl!" I'd be so satisfied I might even turn off the TV.

Oh wait, and does anyone else want to vomit at the "Men think I'm cute and funny" part? I can't believe she stole my personal mantra! Ha. Okay. I'm pulling the plug now. It's time.

P.S. San Francisco pics

BREAKING NEWS: I'm in love.

Okay, that wasn't the breaking news, although it was true and heartfelt. And green! Hooray for Irish people, etc. The real story is that I've sold out. I bought Better 'n Eggs "real egg product" today. I was proud of this purchase as I would save time and arm movements because I'm sick of stirring my egg whites and these eggs are already liquified for me.

Turns out my sister, who knows everything about stuff like this, totally ragged on my new buy. I thought she'd be all for it, especially after I warmed her up by asking about another healthier egg product, the "beaters" variety, which I knew she used. But it completely backfired. Take a look:

Banannie54: do you ever eat egg beaters?
NutMeg54: i did
NutMeg54: i don't know why

Exsqueeze me? Come again?

Banannie54: not good?
NutMeg54: b;/c they were REALLY disgusting
NutMeg54: like moldy runny goo that somewhat resembles the color and shape but not texture of real eggs
Banannie54: eww

Who was this person? She made sense and was arguing for real food instead of chemically arranged, nightmarish food products. Though alarmed, for some reason, I decided to forge ahead with my devastating news. I had already brought up eggs, after all.

Banannie54: i bought another egg product today
Banannie54: not beaters
NutMeg54: i don't really get why people buy them when they can just buy real eggs and quickly beat them together

What?! Her line of really good reasoning threw me for a loop. Here's when I knew my sister has returned from the Dark Side (and that I have plunged into it). She used to be obsessed with diet-friendly alternatives. What has happened to her? What has happened to me?

NutMeg54: what one
NutMeg54: why?
NutMeg54: eggs are great

I feel like crying out here. I know! I love eggs so much! At this point, I'm suffering an intense identity crisis. Who the F claims to be a true food lover and then buys something that claims to be an improvement upon, or "'n," that food? Save me from the egg product, Meghan. Take me back! Reel me in! I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. Eggs are great. All those times you told me I shouldn't be eating the orange part must have just gotten to me. I'll make it up to you, I promise!

Banannie54: um... Better 'n Eggs
Banannie54: oh god, i will probably hate it
NutMeg54: try it though
NutMeg54: why did you buy it?
Banannie54: it says "real egg product"
NutMeg54: easier to make?
Banannie54: yeah
NutMeg54: it's probably not
NutMeg54: real
Banannie54: oh god
Banannie54: then how can they say that?
NutMeg54: i'm sure it's easier
NutMeg54: it has to be illegal

Hmmm. Cut ahead two hours. I just whipped up a few breakfast burritos with the real egg product and thought they were pretty good. This could simply be due to my flair with a skillet, but I'm going to count this post as a win for Annie and another blatant loss for Meghan Barrett and - as always - the readers of Diminishing Returns. I'm sorry. For everything.

Being bed-ridden for days has its advantages... like sleeping a lot, eating little, and watching the entire first season of HBO's Unscripted. There are disadvantages too, like rubbing your nose raw, eating little, and realizing you just sat through the entire first season of HBO's Unscripted.

Another recent love/hate obsession of mine is the theme song to Real Time with Bill Maher. Today I watched all four episodes from this season. He's great. If you're a fan, you know the groove of which I speak is not even a "song"; it's more like the same measure repeated about 40 times.It's addictive. I love it. I just don't think I'll appreciate it as much when I'm trying to fall asleep later. Because with its certain low, grunty, rap-star-to-the-tune-of-aging-white-intellectual beat, the song could easily be a porn soundtrack or even the theme to an endless nightmare. And as I am still really sick, either interpretation will just be really distracting.

Outside of cable, in my world of Non Demand (which still happens to revolve around television), the highlight of last night was marvelling that the Fox show House uses a Massive Attack song for its opening credits. Really. I was thrilled. I think I even sat up in bed, or at least craned my neck to evoke a hint of reaction. Which, at that time, would have been a triumph.

Right now, the Next Top Model candidates are strutting down a makeshift runway in Kmart, which appears to have been renamed "Super K" or something. Wait. No, it's "Big K." I'm so confused. By all of it.

Thank you for your concern. The neck thing is still a mystery but I think I should blame my constantly rattling heater pipe. I have just mustered up the energy and will to go out for Dunkin' Donuts coffee and zinc tablets. I figure taking that and multi-vitamins will be easier than trying to find and consume foods that actually contain vitamins themselves. That would also be too easy.

I am back. But I'm really, really sick. Either the plane, the airport, or Panda Express is to blame. I'd feel like a traitor if I went with the last one, even though it's so obvious. Apologies to all - make that both - of our readers, even though mom and dad, I, like, just saw you, so get over it. Also, I can't move my neck. Prego.

If you're wondering, in honor of March and St. Patrick's Day, I replaced the "Annie glancing away from random object with puce background" headshot with a photo of me looking leprechaun-like by dressing in about six clashing shades of green. Leprechauns, unlike me, can fit easily into the trunks of rental cars. But I did make the effort.

Yesterday was my last day at EW. Tear! There was a cupcakes 'n' champagne feast in my honor. I couldn't believe it! Just kidding. I expected no less, damnit. Since everyone I know has asked me at least five times, yes, I will get to keep writing the O.C. stuff. Yay!

Speaking of which, there's an O.C. commercial playing on Fox about every 20 minutes that features a quote - OUT OF CONTEXT, I tell you - from my last commentary. Apparently the producers agreed that last week's ep was "what critics are calling 'the absolute best show in the history of television'" and are replaying it again this week. In about 20 minutes, actually. It's exciting to be featured on TV, but how embarrassing is that particular quote? I was exaggerating! And I'd gone on to say "...or at least on Fox in 2005." Hmmm. I wonder why they didn't use the whole sentence!

As I am now unemployed, consider this post an open letter to series creator Josh Schwartz (who apparently finds the nickname "Lindsbree" a hoot) for a sweet gig on his show out in L.A. Dude. I'm as reliable as a sunny day in Newport Beach. Sometimes. I also love bagels. Call me!

So today, I decided to start acting like a grad student again and joined a listserv for my class. The password assigned to me is (get this): TALL TREE. My volleyball teammates in high school used to call me "Tree" because I was so tall and gangly that my arms looked like massive, menacing branches over the net. How did they know?

I'm off to Italy tomorrow for a week because my family - despite having no Italian blood or really any connection to the country - is completely obsessed with it. I am completely obsessed with the food there, so it totally works out.

Dee says I always pick the best thing on the menu, and she's right. I do that all the time here in America. It's very important to me and the character trait in which I take the most pride. But I get nervous about doing it in Italy because I have no idea what anything says. Except I do know the word for "eggplant."

I could be like my father and revel in my cluelessness by asking the waiter if we could have "zucchini alfredo" as an appetizer. He meant eggplant parmesan. Somehow. The best part about this is that the waiter actually picked up on his twice-removed translation (Italian to English, English to Bill Barrett) and said "Ah! Melanzane! Si, si!" (See? I know it.) Bill's method might get me some laughs, but I prefer to have at least some idea of what's going on during those crucial pre-vino moments, because we all know it's downhill from there.

Meghan's spotty understanding of the language helps, but we only have time to go through half the menu items at most before order time. When the moment of truth comes, I choose something random, then have these mini anxiety attacks as we pass the menus back to the server because I have no idea if I ordered the best thing. I know. Life sucks. It's not easy being me.

Hmm. The laundromat downstairs says "7AM - 9PM" on the door. It's 8:40, and the place is all boarded up. With all the clothes I need to pack (presumably) inside. Maybe life does suck. Shit.