Attention NYC area peeps: Tonight it’s Pecha Kucha from 4-7 at Cooper Union (in the Great Hall). It benefits Architecture for Humanity’s efforts in Haiti. $15, but suggested donation of $20.

What is Pecha Kucha? Each speaker presents 20 slides but gets only 20 seconds to present each slide–the slides move on with or without him or her. It’s fun and awesome and if the presenter sucks, it’s guaranteed to be short anyway, so no big deal.

Tonight’s line-up is JAM PACKED WITH ARCHITECTS. This may scare you. That is, SCARE YOU WITH AWESOMENESS! The program is full of heavy hitters: Stan Allen, Jesse Reiser, Steven Holl, Gregg Pasquarelli, Paul Lewis etc. There’ll be black sweaters and expensive eyewear and good times. This is a great chance to see what people are working on. For example, Paul Lewis is working on his double McTwist 1280. Stomp it!

Check it here:

http://pecha-kucha.org/night/new-york/9

Come tonight! I’m helping out in some capacity, working the door maybe? Come say hi. It’s for a great cause.

I hope that the next Pecha Kucha benefits a cure for OLYMPIC FEVER.

Thanks to Marco for organizing the event!

Whilst walking to the Village of the East I came across this beast. According to the banner in front, it is an “award winning” building. I believe the award is for Biggest Suck.

I know its hard to believe but the double helix band aid in front is not structural. It’s “decoration”, the way you might stab yourself in the eye so you can have a really cool scar that makes you stand out and, I suppose, win awards.

Dear architects,

Mindy Kaling, a GENIUS of The Office (American version), wrote an article about the holidays in the NY Times. In it she says this:

(For the record, Alex is a product of my imagination. I realize that no real people are actually architects, and that it is a profession that exists entirely in movies, like art gallery owner or children’s bookshop proprietor.)

ZOMG! Whereas I was sick of your shits, dear architects, Mindy Kaling doesn’t even acknowledge your existence! You are like a unicorn. Kind of. Maybe more like a minotaur. Or a centaur. You are perhaps, some version of man and beast, together in perfect harmony with a penchant for violence and a heightened attention to detail that most do not and will not appreciate. I hope you do not email her angry and mean things. I think she is AWESOME and I would like to be her when I grow up. So be nice.

Your friend,

Annie Choi

I was mentioned in this month’s Wallpaper! It’s actually a story about Emeco, the chair people, and their bench with Gehry. The bench was being auctioned at Sotheby’s, which I twatted about, but I guess I didn’t blog about it, woops. It’s hard for me, you know. If you’re wondering what a Sotheby’s auction looks like, here it is:

You can see the Gehry bench there. It’s pretty funny. Those people in the middle are like bidding on Eames tables and Hermes valets that cost more than I’ll probably ever make in an entire lifetime. Like who are you people? Is there not a recession? But the auction was pretty rad, it’s like Ebay on steroids with a lot nicer stuff. I mean you can bid on Tiffany lamps at Sotheby’s, and on Ebay you bid on lamps like this:

I’m not knocking this deer leg lamp or anything. It’s certainly a conversation starter. “Do you like my lamp? Wait to you see what I did with the genitals!”

Anyway, the Wallpaper article mentions yours truly, and my favorite line is “She now contributes to conceptual projects.” Seriously, I have NO idea what that means, I don’t really contribute much to anything. But it’s great to see Pecha Kucha and Pidgin get a shout-out, holla. The next PKNY is in September. It will be solar-powered, and, I suppose, human-powered.

You can read the article here (Thanks Lizzie for scanning it!). Keep in mind that it’ll start downloading IMMEDIATELY, so check your download thingy.

This might be one of the ugliest condos on the Lower East Side. Yes, that’s camouflage tile. What is it hiding from? Good taste, obviously. I think it’s mostly unoccupied. As far as I’m concerned, they should pay people to live there. Camouflage, dudes. Camouflage. It’s really blending in.

I don’t really remember my dreams, but the other night I had a funny one. I was living in a sweetass apartment in Tribeca, right next door to Steve Nash. He does actually live in Tribeca, right near Chambers St. He lives near my old gym, which was a nasty, nasty place (read: cheap) that smelled like jockstrap. I’ve never actually smelled a jockstrap but I don’t really have to because I’ve smelled my gym. There were guys literally hopped on roids. Big as a trucks these guys. I believe their testicles had pulled up inside their bodies by that point, because that is what the roids do. Anyway totally off topic. So I’m trying to get into my building, but I am carrying like the biggest bags of groceries ever. So then Steve Nash runs up to me and says, let me help you with that. No, he is not wearing his uniform. He’s wearing jeans. And I remember thinking, dude Steve Nash, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with actual pants on, only big polyester shorts, you look kind of funny. (You know like when you see someone who always wears a hat without their hat.) But I don’t actually say that because I am not an ass. Anyway he is a gentleman and helps me carry my stuff, and then I say I’m Annie and you are totally Steve Nash! And he is like yes, I am totally Steve Nash! (I remember thinking that Steve Nash seemed shorter in real life). We talk pleasantries, and then I ask Steve Nash and his wife to dinner, and he agrees, and I am all surprised and I say well it’s a dinner party, you can meet my friends. It will be good times. And you don’t have to bring anything special, just bring yourself. I find this last statement kind of weird. Because he’s Steve Nash and he’s bringing Steve Nash to the dinner party, which is pretty special if you think about it.

And so I have this dinner party, and the only people there are ARCHITECTS. OH GOD. ARCHITECTS. Who ultimately BORE THE SHIT OUT OF POOR STEVE FUCKING NASH. And they are arguing over something totally inane and not applicable to real life or real people and they have no idea that this is STEVE FUCKING NASH! And then Steve Nash and his wife leave early, and I feel guilty because I have not thoroughly entertained the guy. Steve Nash. I don’t even like basketball. But Steve Nash seemed pretty cool. I would totally have dinner with him (again).

The moral of the story is that Steve Nash looks funny in jeans.

The End.

My deepest thoughts, in a numbered list, below.

1. My co-worker and friend Brian Levinson was on Jeopardy and WON. Oh yes. We all watched it at Pete’s Candy Store in Willy, which is NOT a candy store, NO IT’S NOT A CANDY STORE STOP HOUNDING ME. Anyway congratulations to Brian! Bring home more cash monies and maybe your ass can finally buy me a cup of coffee you cheap bastard. I hate your guts. All of them. Even the bits of gut that everyone is like, what part is THAT from? WTF? Yeah, I hate that part too.

2. After Jeopardy was a quiz pub, also hosted by Brian, also at Pete’s Candy Store. We always lose so I’m not sure why I bother ever going, but I only go when Mike is in town from Hawaii, because that is how he rolls. Anyway I did NOT drink because the last time I got too drunk and left before 7. Oh yes, so this time I learned my lesson. Anyway I contributed to ONE answer and that was El Debarge. (The topic was “bands that have -bar in their names). It was the audio round. I was like El Debarge, holla. I hate myself.

3. I went to some fancypants writing/literati event last night at the new Enrique Norten building which is down the street from me. They say it’s on York but you and I both know it’s on Canal. You can’t give some other street name to a building that is SO CLEARLY on Canal, at the anus, if you will, of the Holland Tunnel. Anyway the building is meh, and I can’t say I’m a big fan of the colored LED lights in the lobby. It’s like being transported to an 80s disco. WHERE ARE MY FEATHERED BANGS? Anyway, that is NOT THE POINT. I am not a literati, but Aidan F-C is and works for a hoity toity (sp) “literary magazine.” I didn’t quite understand the event, but they asked famous/scenester writers to write a piece of flash fiction (Lewis Lapham, Jonathan Ames, Jonathan Lethem, Paul Haggis, AM Homes etc. and even Ernest Hemingway but he, unfortunately, was not at the party last night). Then they posted them on little boards and projected them against the building, which is nice. I dunno if it’s still up tonight, but it’s worth a look. Diesel and North vodka sponsored the event. i was so very very confused. I think it’s one big PR thing for Diesel and North and Norten. It made me a little nauseous. Anyway the pieces of fiction were great. And on the way up the elevator, I was standing next to AM Homes and the elevator ‘host’ was like well the bar is to your left and the flash fiction is to the right but I won’t tell anyone if you go straight to the left and I said, oh I’ll tell. I’ll totally tell. And then AM Homes said the same thing. So we are clearly the same person. Except she’s like waaay more successful. AM Homes if you are reading this, don’t you ever, ever steal my joke again or I’ll beat your little literati fancypants right up. JK JK JK, let’s be Facebook friendz LOLZ!

3. Marco is organizing speakers for a Nokia internal conference and asked me to speak. It’s in the Pecha Kucha style (20 slides, 20 seconds each slide) and I’ll be talking about what I’d do with the million dollars Nokia saves if the employees carpooled. I was thinking I’d buy 1 million 99 cent bags of Frito’s and then I’d have one million cents leftover so it’s like I’d be making money on the deal.

4. Uh, I need to go to the grocery store.

This is for you architects out there, go ahead and hate me:

Santiago Calatrava is a steaming pile of douche. I had no idea, because I am not an architect, but holy shit on a stick. He pretty much embodies the worst of architecture, as a person. I was reading the New Yorker (oh yes I was) which is the “style issue” (oh yes it was) and there’s a profile on Calatrava (oh no they didn’t) and all I can say is the guy is high on his own supply of hot air. You can read the full article here but I recommend waiting at least an hour after your last meal. Kind of like you’re swimming. In a pool of douche.

I am so sad. There are nice, modest, humble architects out there that do nice things and build nice stuff and shut their faceholes and wouldn’t it be nice if people created/designed/wrote totally anonymously and then this guy is all behold! My boner! Let me release a pair of doves over my creation! He’s just totally out of touch. Anyway I just needed to vent because it was piling up inside of me. AND YES, I understand that architects are not the only blowhards on this planet. You can read the Marc Jacobs profile in the same issue. Not to say that he’s a blowhard, I actually found him sad in other ways, but he’s also not claiming to give back to “deliver something to those who don’t have anything” whenever he makes something.

Also, my office now has mice.

Last week, I was in Richmond, where everything is Asian. The idea was to go to karaoke, but on the way there we stopped for egg balls (which I think of as egg waffles, but sure, I guess they’re egg balls) and then walked past a lingerie shop.

I’ve been on the lookout for a slip, because I have two white dresses that are really sheer. Like, check out the moles on my chest sheer. This might work for some chicks, but not for me. I like to keep my ladyparts covered up when I’m out in public places.

There were no slips. Instead, the store was all about the push-up bra. Hundreds and hundreds of extremely ugly push-up bras that one associates with one’s grandmother.

I think I wasn’t quite awake or something, because suddenly, I found myself swarmed by the salesladies. One saleslady asked me if it was OK to measure for my size. I said yes, thinking that she was going to pull a measuring tape from her pocket.

I WAS WRONG.  She felt me up. Then sent me to a dressing room.

The miraculous thing is that she brought me the perfect fitting bra. She must have magic hands. She should patent her hands, because they are better than any tape measure on the market. After I strapped myself into a massive ugly peach lace bra, she taught me a Judy Blume-like “I must I must increase my bust” kind of exercise and tried to sell me a shoulder harness to move my back fats forward to my chest. The idea is back fats=boobs.

Asians are totes excellent at math, right? Back fats=boobs is the best equation ever. So is B cup=D cup. I might go back to school and major in bra architecture.

On Friday night I had drinks with a big group (read: architects) to honor Troy who was leaving OMA and heading off to teach at Rice. I think eight or nine offices were represented. At some point Troy tried to count but he was too wasted and got confused and then someone handed him a beer and he was not confused anymore. That is a good tactic. If someone is confused at work, hand him or her a beer. Suddenly, everything is clear. I’m telling you, it’s magic. Anyway that’s totally beside the point. We were drinking and dining al fresco, which is a fancy way of saying “eat and drink outside and watch Annie get eaten alive by mosquitoes.” Note that no one else got bit. I have no idea how this works, but I got something like eleven bites all over my legs.

So here is something interesting: mosquitoes feed mostly on nectar, but females are the ones that bite and feed on blood because they need the extra protein and iron to lay eggs. What I’m trying to say here is that the bitches are the ones causing problems and getting out of pocket. Also what I’m trying to say here is that the bitches love me. I need pants made out of Calamine lotion.