A bunch of losers are complaining that NBC won’t stop airing beach and indoor volleyball all day instead of any of the other 33 worthy events. Sucks to be them! I am in HEAVEN.

Ooh, I like this shot better because Dalhausser’s massive block is hitting BRA in the face:

Dalhausser, nicknamed “The Thin Beast,” calls to mind my 1997 AOL screenname, “Block4aPt.” Yes, that would be a truncated version of the command: “block for a point.” As in “HEY! BARRETT! YOU HAVEN’T DONE A DAMN THING ALL MATCH! BLOCK FOR A MOTHER ****ING POINT ALREADY!” Roughly.

Anyway, he’s my fave. Go team!

SPORTS.

This just in from the Dept. of the Horrible — the Highlands Middle School Show Choir Orlando Trip of 1995 (HMSSCOT1995) is now living and breathing fresh new viruses onto the Internet. And not even the impressive part of the trip (when we festered in the Days Inn swimming pool for three straight hours and did not die), but rather the one song and dance number for which they let Kara and me take over the front row. WHY would you allow me to be in the front row of ANYTHING? I can’t remember if we bullied the director into that or she just felt sorry for us always being stuck in the back.

Gross.

Watch my new shiz, and if you’re out of your mind and really into American Idol, you should go ahead and watch the entire EW.com Idolatry series. It takes less than six hours and Michael Slezak is a total fox!

‘DWTS Talk’ — Season 6 Awards!
Field-testing the Wii Fit
‘Idolatry’ — Final 3 recap
‘Idolatry’ — David vs. David

DR correspondent Michael Slezak, always hip to the “zoo animals and gay” beat, found this bit of breaking news from the UK’s Sun.

Who are these zookeepers and this “onlooker” kidding? This gorilla is totally gay, and loved the big pink poster so much he wanted to take it back to his zoo cave. It’s really obvious, especially considering the way his hands lovingly cup the word “GAY,” and his assertive stance. I’m insulted.

This has been my second gorilla-related post in as many days. (Yesterday’s.)

If you were ever going to indulge me and watch just one EW.com video, watch this one because it’s only a minute long, and I buy a baked good.

My workerbuddy Samantha “Get Your Harm On” Harmon and I encountered this Statue of Liberty impersonator outside the Paramount builidng at 50th and Broadway. I’m not sure which corporation put him up to this — it had to be something, because why would a human decide on his own to don a rubber suit plus crown in 99-degree heat? It could have been that stupid restaurant behind/under him, Mars 2112, because they’re always up to something idiotic on the sidewalk. Would that mean the Statue of Liberty can now be classified as an alien creature? I say yes.

Anyway, the guy waves to us as we stagger by, hardly able to breathe despite our adorable, barely there summer outfits, and I chirp out a hearty Heidi Klum-esque “HELL-O!” I thought that’d be it. But then, inexplicably, Sam whirls around, post-pass, to make the nonchalant comment, “You must be really hot.” He nods. Awkward silence, and then she whips out: “Sorry!” and keeps walking.

This was one of Sam’s finer moments and the first pictorial evidence of her on DR. It was a big day for both of us.

What? It’s 99 degrees. I can barely bring myself to drag my finger to the “Publish” button.

OHHHHH SNAP I just did.

UPDATE: The longer I stare at that guy the more I think he just does this every day on different corners, because unless that big blue bucket is filled with ice water, it’s his change cup. Look at the size of that thing. How much change does he think he’s gonna get?

Check out these two episodes of Idolatry — live from Central Park! — on EW.com.

Part 1: “She had a lot of guttural, you know… errrrnh!” Please don’t speak.
Part 2: Dancin’ Dawnie, M-Sleaze, and I attempt to Blakedance.

Bonus: Hot dogs are involved. All right!

Two weeks ago, I moved to the Carroll Gardens/Red Hook vicinity. I’m so cool. Check out some of my fave sights from the environs thus far:

Ha.

Ha!

YES!

I always do!

Welcome to the neighborhood, Annie!

Fine, a few pics from inside the “Apt.” (I posted these and more a few days ago by burying them in the archives. But that was bogus. Wait, you don’t care.)

The essentials.

Some backstory on that sad tomato, from an April 13 e-mail from Dee Barrett:

At T (Target), I purchased a ceramic tomato that I am almost certain Meghan said “we just HAVE to buy this for Annie” last time we were there together. The clearance tags were mounted one on top of the other, suggesting that this really is the tomato that nobody would ever buy. I’ll bet Annie would have purchased it at its original price ! However, always after a deal, the tomato is now ours for the very low sticker price of $2.47 !

Oh, D (Dee) !

The essentials (cont.)

Best desk ever. Note the pack of brownie bites sidling up to the PTP.

From living room into office. Jury’s still out on whether this room is called Office or Study. (Bordering-on-Tacky Lair of Sublime Creativity, Possibly, In The Future, If I Ever Get My Act Together… was too long.)

Kitchen, including the bane of my existence for 3.5 years: Three incredibly annoying “Lack” shelves from Ikea that are literally impossible to put in a wall. Milk crates, rug gripper, stand ‘em up on the floor? Sure!

Living room. Time to play Where’s The Cheeseburger Pillow?

First documented homemade Mexican Pizza featuring: Scallions! (4/30/07)

The End.

I honestly almost bent down and did it for them. But then they would have gotten all AFRAID and flown away, and I’d be the girl pawing at a stranger’s abanonded lunch on the sidewalk. Plus, those filthy animals are probably carrying diseases. Not to mention the diseases of the original pizza-eater / sinner. And the fact that I’d be diverting my usually slow and lazy strolling path to cross the street and interact with pigeons. What would the other humans have thought?! They’d pass by giving me dirty looks, to which I’d snarl “They were missing the best part!”

This is totally something I’d have done if I was walking with a companion. I’d make it this big to-do, like “Just watch me go help out those pigeons” and she’d say “Okay…” while thinking “You’re disgusting and I’m never leaving the building in your company again.”

It also appears that during that moment of weakness, I forgot about how much I hate pigeons and they hate me.

Last week, I got a haircut at The Beach on Christopher Street. I am so cool! I live in the West Village!

Anyway, my illustrious stylist Thom ran across the street during my appointment to get these cheesy, bready “puffs” he kept talking about. “It’s like bread… and oil… and spices… oh, and obviously cheese!” he kept sputtering. Obviously. Curious as all hell but also in shock that there existed a trend in snacking of which I was not yet aware, I just glared at him and asked what he was talking about. It was a combination of shame and intense interest. I must have had an “Enlighten me. Now. I’m hungry.” death stare going on because when I looked up, he was gone.

We have a cute relationship like that. Last time, I bought him a peanut butter-chocolate bar from the Polka Dot Cake Studio after he opined, mid-foil, that there was nothing in the world better than a Reese’s. Until I discovered this bar, I might have agreed with him (as evidenced by my favorite poster), but I couldn’t let him go on living in a massive delusion and so delivered a bar to him promptly. His bringning me a cheesy puff must have been payback for that.

The puffs came from Pai Pao, across the street from the salon. Here’s a pic from inside:

Thom declared the puff ‘’this year’s Magnolia cupcake” and I already agree. Plus, the store staff doesn’t try to intimidate you with What the fuck are you doing in our bakery? looks, so that’s a perk. The puffs are small in stature so it’s like you’re eating less; plus, you get to feel like a giant. Wait, I already feel like a giant. Hmm. Then, a really thin and beautiful giant, with amazing hair, who’s stuffing fried cheese into her mouth because it’s suddenly trendy. Hooray.

Five puffs cost only $3.50. You could make them a meal, unless you’re really hungry, a big pig, or me. Here’s a cross-section of the NY Cheddar. It looks sort of disgusting, which is why I don’t get how it can be so good. Then again, a big platter of nacho soup (when there aren’t any more chips and the main course has yet to arrive) looks really gross, too, and clearly it’s amazing.

I was eating my puffs on the Christopher Street pier, and within eyeshot was this incredibly lame photo shoot:

What was this for? My guess is the J. Crew catalogue or some high-society magazine. WASP Weekly, perhaps. I still don’t get why they wanted the Hoboken skyline in the background or why they couldn’t have waited for a sunny day. I was intrigued by what sort of fake food could have been in their picnic basket, but I didn’t have the courage to ask. Models are so much cooler than me!

Loving: 99-cent 2-liters of Coke Zero
Hating: entire Thai food lunch special that I just knocked onto the floor

Not updating this website is addictive. I bet you didn’t know that the absence of something, literally a non-activity, could have addictive qualities. But it can. It’s not the same as being addicted to a substance or activity, like drugs or doing drugs. I don’t go around thinking about my next “fix” of “doing anything else except writing in this space” but I do sit there motionlessly (”going around” sounds a little too active for me) and think to myself “You know what I feel like doing right now? Not updating my website.” Which at least means something — that I’m thinking about the website instead of thinking about nothing — but what ends up happening has nothing to do with the website at all. Namely, that I end up doing nothing that has to do with the website and nothing that doesn’t, either. I just got lost myself too, don’t worry. You see, not updating the website means that it’s that many more days until I can remember how to form coherent sentences again. And realize when it’s time to end an atrocity of a paragraph.

Here is proof that I had a reason to keep basking in the not updating:

See? I was at the lake (Michigan, where they don’t even have computers yet), looking nasty and acting smug in front of the camera for no reason. Who am I kidding with my hand on my hip and the no-teeth smile here? It’s like I’m saying “Yeah dude, check out my lake. Made it all by myself. Whoosh! Lake.” Gross.

Yes, my shirt does say “Western Springs Recreation Girls Youth Basketball.” It’s making my chest look disfigured, but that’s probably due to the bathing suit underneath. Bet I could sell that tee to a downtown thrift store for $16, which I would promptly carry to and deposit at Chipotle.

I’ve been getting 2-3 Slurpees per day at NYC’s first-ever 7-Eleven. I now excrete sugary syrup from my pores without even trying. Whoosh! It’s lovely.

This weekend I walked around for a total of about eight hours. Everyone was outside, all excited that it was “warm.” It was maybe 45 degrees during peak hours. Anyway, on Saturday, the Zach Attack and I headed out to the piers with coffee. I thought my face got a little color, which Zach callously threw down as just a “raging case of windburn, if that.” Thanks.

At 3 p.m. amidst all the wind and warmth, there was really no other option than to co-host an impromptu beerbeque (sans any sort of meat, so just… beer) on my roof. Check it out.

Note the obligatory feather boa with its own chair. Here’s the view northward, and eastward. Oh no! I’ve become “that New Yorker.”

And Dee! Look what else made it up there! Nothing goes better with Sierra Nevada special-edition “Celebration” ale than Kirschbaum’s tea cookies. And ridiculously strong barbeque chips. And… salsa. I think these rancid chips burned a sizable hole in my stomach lining. To prevent permanent damage, I made sure to coat the area with a thick, steady stream of alcohol the rest of the night. I call it “Safe Drinking.”

A few updates:

–I am now tan, even though it’s still cloudy.

–Despite being sick, I am eating like a fiend.

–Up to 50,000 people may have died in that tsunami, and here I am complaining about phlegm.

–A few days ago, Dee saw a green flash of light when the sun was setting. Apparently it’s really rare and most people think it’s a myth, but if you look directly at the horizon as the sun is setting, you can see it, and she claims she did. So she’s been trying to get us to see it ever since, but we can’t, so now we make fun of her as if she’s into aliens and UFOs. Well, Bill and I do. By that time, Meghan’s about two hours deep into her gym time.

–Somehow, amazingly, we have constant Internet connection in The Unit. This makes for some excellently creepy stalk sessions, during which I sit on our grond-level screened porch and peer out from above the giant Mactop and spy on everyone who walks by. They are jealous of my machine and of my ability to accurately judge people within three seconds. They would love to know what I think. But they won’t.

–Haha - Dee just walked by, waving. She’s excluded from the judging.

–My sister gave me a black sweatshirt with “Villanova” written in pink letters across the chest for Christmas. I never take it off. That must mean I like it. But ew…. pink letters.

–I’ve just decided that 3:15 p.m. is late enough to be considered Happy Hour.

Here’s Union Square Park and half of Zach’s face. We’re making fun of the figure in the circle. Why?

He had a REINDEER SWEATER on. In October! Actually, we sort of loved the effort. It was more funny that someone was wearing a reindeer sweater in Manhattan than the fact that he was way off month-wise. It reminded Zach of when his uncle wore a cowboy hat during his entire visit here. He’s working on an essay about it, entitled “Udderly Fabulous: The Life and Times of an Urban Cowboy.”

I just ventured to the roof deck for the first time unescorted. When I say “escort,” I don’t mean some dashing young man who brought me on his arm up to the roof. I mean like, the super. Or my sister, or Rebecca or something. In other words, nobody important.

However, I did manage to snap her photo. Here it is:

Isn’t she pretty? She was getting maximum sun by having her toe pointed like that.