Steve just told me that his Homie got SNATCHED. He received an envelope with my note, but with no Homie. I’m really sad. And in addition angry. If you have to steal and be a jerk, then take money or drugs or some electronic equipment that you can actually GET MONEY FOR, YOU MORON. LEAVE THE HOMIES ALONE.

So now I worry that all the Homies I have sent off in the world are going to be Homie-snatched too. And all of you will remain homieless. I’ll have to start some kind of fundraiser for the homieless. So to my human homies, I apologize that New York-based United States postal workers cannot be trusted with toy Homies, I’m sorry if you don’t receive yours because of some filthy Homie pirates.

I will be mad pissed if my Homie doesn’t make it to Australia. Can you imagine? It takes like a hundred years for crap to get there, and then on the other end, you just get a stupid note without a Homie. Like what is the point of even living.

Boo.

Heath Ledger is dead. His masseuse (ahem) and housekeeper found him in bed, unconscious, next to a bottle of pills. People suspect the pills and the death are related. It’s like how could they not be? What else would a 28-year-old actor die from in Manhattan? Happiness? Good looks?

He was found in Mary Kate Olsen’s apartment!

Everyone in the office waskind of shocked and then the jokes started flying in like two seconds, including:

“I guess there’s an apartment up for rent.”
“Maybe it was an illegal sublet?”
“No that area’s landmark now. You won’t be able to get in.”
“Shit.”

“I think Mary Kate killed him so she could eat him (and later barf him up.)”

“Pills? LAME. That is not rock n’ roll. Motorcycle accident. That’s the real way.”
“No, shark attack. That’s how you do it. That’s real rock n’ roll.”

“Maybe Jack Nicholson killed him.” (Ledger was supposed to be the new Joker in the new Batman)

“Maybe he wanted a tug and some pills. Nothing wrong with that. EXCEPT FOR DYING.”

I don’t really feel sorry when celebrities die. Like are they not supposed to die because they are famous? Like oh, I’m famous, that means I can take 4x the regular amount of drugs than a non-famous person! I was bummed when Cobain died but I was, like, sixteen or something. I cried at everything. Anyway both left a kid, which is really the saddest part.

ALSO: Why are celebrities who commit suicide or die of an OD always found naked? It’s like, I’m going to take these pills, but first I will strip.

OK now I’m being insensitive. Sorry.

UPDATE: It was not Mary Kate’s apartment as newspapers had previously reported. He was renting it. Now it might not be suicide, hard to say. Autopsy is pending. I know the kid had a lot of demons, so suicide wouldn’t be surprising. Still a shame though.

I can’t tell if the universe is like, hey Annie, I am down with you let’s be BFF 4-eva k thx or if the universe is like, hey Annie, I hate you and I will slap you on the mouth.

About two weeks ago, I had band practice. You know how moving is a pain in the ass, with all the packing up heavy stuff and moving heavy stuff and then unpacking heavy stuff? Well basically everytime I have band practice it is like moving. It SUCKS. Monthly spaces are too expensive, so we use hourly spaces and that means we have to HAUL HEAVY SHIT across town. So to make my life easier, Heather keeps my xylophone for me because she doesn’t have to bring anything with her, except for her voice, which is pretty portable last time I checked. Meanwhile Andy and I have to bring like two tons of shit. Which is fine. I will move heavy things in the name of rock. DO YOU SEE HOW DEDICATED I AM?

Anyway she accidentally left it in a cab two weeks ago and we basically went into oh-shit mode. That is when you say “Oh shit” several times in a row, in case you are wondering. We filed a report with the Lost Property Unit. This sounds more official than it really is. Basically you call, leave a sobbing message about your lost property, and then no one calls you back because there are more important things the NYPD does than look for your stupid xylophone, like track down criminals and tow cars. Then we called every taxi garage in Long Island City and Manhattan to no avail. There’s literally like 50 garages in Manhattan alone. So as a last-ditch effort, I posted an ad on Craigslist’s Lost & Found, which is like a forum of desperation. It’s full of people who have lost their cute pets and their iPods and their wallets and their grandmother’s wedding ring and it’s like you KNOW no one is ever going to find anything. But I posted anyway. Long shot. Now we have a show coming up so I thought, OK. I have buy another one. THIS SUCKS. So I bought one on Ebay.

Last night I got an email from a woman who was trolling on Craigslist and she happened to work for Checker Cab. And she happened across my ad AND OH MY GOD SHE HAS MY XYLOPHONE. One of her drivers brought it in. I almost peed myself. I was like HOLY SHIT ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? What are the odds?

Then I thought. WAIT A SECOND. I just BOUGHT a new one and can’t return it because it was from Ebay. So that is when I realized the universe was taking a piss on me. I am standing here, wet from piss. I can tell you right now the universe had asparagus for dinner last night.

So now I have TWO xylophones. TWO! That’s one more than I need, and like TWO more than normal people need.

If you are not normal and want a xylophone I will sell one to you.

If you already have a xylophone, and want another one, I will sell one to you.

And in an unrelated note, we just got an email from a kid “What do emo people do? What is emo exactly?”

So I am working at home today and suddenly I heard this INSANE LOUD sound. Like the sound of a building crashing. And I kind of sit at my desk/kitchen table/coat rack thinking, oh man, do I go outside? Do I want to see whatever it is that made that sound? Then I heard the ambulances and the fire trucks and then I heard helicopters and people yelling. So I thought, do I really want to know what’s going on? Am I better off not knowing? I am conflicted. So I think, OK. I’ll go outside, and be that rubber-necking gawking asshole.

Turns out there were a lot of other rubber-necking gawking assholes gathered on my street because they had evacuated some of the buildings in the area. Apparently there was an accident at the construction site for the new Trump “Hotel/Condominium” on Spring and Varick. It’s not totally clear what happened, but sounds like scaffolding fell, wet concrete and debris fell and hit nearby buildings, the 42nd floor collapsed into the 41st floor, and one construction fell to his death. It’s bad. That Trump Tower has been a huge controversy mostly because Trump is a total dick and really sleazed out on this project. It’s a huge tower that’s going up and he had to finagle the zoning in order to do it. Is it a hotel? Is it a condo? Who can be sure!

According to NY Times: Owners will be permitted to live in those apartments for 120 days out of the year, or 29 days out of any consecutive 36 days; when not living there, owners will be able to rent out their apartments.

Ha ha ha, he is not fooling anyone, except I guess for the city officials who let them do this garbage.

Trump had problems with the area being landmark so they are racing to finish the project before the courts decide on it. This means accidents happen. The whole thing is sketchy. But more importantly, IT IS UGLY. Like fine, if you’re gonna be a dick, at least make it cool. But you know, it’s Trump. I remember watching an MTV Cribs (best show ever) with Trump and it totally blew my mind how ugly the whole thing was. I’m like this is a joke, right? LIFE-SIZE CERAMIC TIGERS. That’s all I have to say.

The greatest thing about having no heat is that you can accidentally leave the milk out overnight and when you wake up it is perfectly fine and ready to go. It’s like my fridge just got a lot bigger. About 187 square feet bigger.

It was chilly last night so I decided to make cookies in order to use the oven and warm up the joint. So two things happen: I get warm and I get cookies. It is pretty much a win-win situation, right? NO. There are no such things as win-win situations. They are make-believe, like octopus.

So, I bake cookies. They are only OK because I do not have certain ingredients that would make my cookies even more excellent. Suddenly the carbon monoxide alarm goes off. My apartment is so small that I have to bake with windows open. But that prevents my apartment from actually warming up. So then I’d have cookies, but a cold apartment, which is not a win-win, but a win-lose. If I keep the windows closed, then I will have cookies, a warm apartment, but I will die from carbon monoxide. So that is a win-win-lose. Also not good. I do not like to lose. No one likes to lose. If people liked to lose then everyone would truly be a winner and we all know the world doesn’t work like that, no matter what your stupid teacher told you. Also no one uses trigonometry either. Another lie. Anyway here’s an unlie: There are winners. There are losers. We all want to be winners, but when you try to be a winner, you will at some point be a loser because we can’t win ‘em all, right? So basically, I lost big time. I opened the windows. I froze my ass off. But the good news is that the milk is totally fine, you guys. So you can breathe easy now. The milk was saved.

This is my first blog post of 2008. Let me tell you, this post may look and feel exactly like a post from 2007, but don’t be fooled. It is a 2008-era blogging. You ladies and gents got your finger on the pulse. Do you feel that? What does it feel like? Is it ELECTRIC? This is the most current 2008 post until I write another one. Consider yourself “caught up” and “updated.” You are starting the new year right and on time. I’m proud of you. I’m also proud of myself for reasons I don’t even know, mostly because people tell me to be proud of myself. So I am. You should be proud of yourself too. Actually let’s all take a break and pat ourselves on the back. (I actually did that yesterday at work. Sometimes I do that and I feel like a jerk and then I think, wait, I am actually good at my job. Pat, pat, pat, pat).

My family doesn’t celebrate Christmas, despite my parents being super-Catholic, so everyone did their own thing, just like any other night, and I had dinner with the Moyer family. Mike is an old friend from college and my parents happened to move two miles away from his parents, so it’s all convenient. What I learned is that the Moyer family will not eat anything unless it’s made out of pork, duck, or pork and duck. And butter. And alcohol. Yet everyone is pretty thin and healthy so it’s all very confusing. But pork and duck are close friends of the Moyer family. Mike has duck set to speed dial on his phone. It’s ranked higher than his sisters. Well actually duck is ranked higher than Maggie, but not as high as Kate. They are twins. Mike really likes his sisters but he also really likes duck. So he just sort of split the twins up to make it fair. Also it is interesting to note that Mike also took Virgin America and they also LOST HIS LUGGAGE. His came on the next flight though. Mine didn’t.

New Year’s was spent with my friends and not my family, which was the most amazing thing ever. I went to my friend’s party and there was a very good mix of architects and non-architects and also a very good mix of alcohol. I did not feel well the next day. I did feel guilty about not being with my family but then I fell back asleep so that was cool.

I also forgot to mention that my toilet overflowed at home and it was so bad I don’t even want to talk about it. So I called my super but he wasn’t home so he sent his son who is a nice kid but is not a super. He tried to snake the pipe and then flushed and all of the sudden I was like NOOOOOOOO in slow-motion because of course the toilet overflowed again. And he started to panic and I’m like TURN IT OFF OH MY GOD TURN IT OFF TURN OFF THE WATER and he’s like WHERE? WHERE? WHERE? I’m like THE LITTLE KNOB RIGHT THERE COME ON. So then he called his mom to help him out. It was like watching my brother and my mom fight over fixing something. Totally awful. I started getting itchy and everything.

Then my landlord decided, hey, you like heat? TOO BAD. Then he mooned everyone in the building. But wait, he said, don’t you like the little wreaths I put up in the hallways? That was a nice and festive touch don’t you think? YOU KNOW WHAT WOULD BE NICE AND FESTIVE MR. LANDLORD? HEAT.

I am at the office today and I go into the women’s bathroom and the first thing I notice is that there is a URINAL CAKE hanging from the ceiling. This is very confusing because 1. What is a urinal cake doing in the bathroom? 2. What is a urinal cake doing on the bathroom ceiling? 3. Urinal cakes smell bad, I rather smell urine…or do I? Hard to say. 4. There is a urinal cake! On the ceiling! What?

Anyway it is taped on to the ceiling with electrical tape. Not with duct tape. Not packing tape. Not Scotch tape, or as I like to call it, MacTape. But with electrical tape. You know just in case you want to TOUCH the urinal cake and you fear getting electrocuted. Safety first, that is what I always say. So if any of you want to visit me and touch the urinal cake, you will be very safe. You will be safe from the dreaded foe called electricity and also safe from the smell of urine. What you will not be safe from is the smell of a urinal cake trying to cover up the smell of urine. Also I should add that no one can pee on this urinal cake on the ceiling. I know this because I tried and was unsuccessful. So now I am sitting here, covered in my own pee. Most unhappy circumstances. Anyway the important lesson I want all of you to take away from this sad story, is that a urinal cake is not an air freshener.

OK, maybe not “of all time” since there’s been a lot of time and a lot of annoying people filling up that time. But, I am talking about that certain kind of person that reads a certain type of book in a certain type of place. This started as a discussion at lunch and then it kind of started up again in the comments of my last post, which really had nothing to do with anything except for drunk people, pizza, and being a douchebag. Blogs are good for that. A lot of talking about nothing.

So there’s the person who reads Kant (or even worse Kerouac) in a bar, Hemingway in a cafe, and Doretta saw some dude reading David Foster Wallace in a bar, which is pretty bad. Reading in a bar seems kind of weird to me. At a cafe, yes. At a bar, not so much. In some ways it seems like a thinly veiled attempt to pick up people. Like hey, look how smart I am. I’m reading Aeschylus. LOOK HOW SMART I AM. I AM DOWN WITH THE GREEKS. It’s kind of like walking a puppy to meet girls. Just a low attempt to get attention or put out a certain image. People who write in a bar are bad too. I think public writing is pretty bad. Like somehow on a laptopit’s ok, but once you go analog and write in a notebook or diary while sitting in a bar or cafe you become a major douchebag. Oh man in L.A. it’s like everyone is writing a screenplay. That’s pretty bad. Because you know their screenplays do not have zombies in them so what’s the point of even living. Maybe I will write an open letter about this too.

Anyway, a year ago I was talking to someone at a party and I said I had never read Sebald and he sorta freaked out OH MY GOD YOU’VE NEVER READ SEBALD?!? BUT YOU LIKE HIM, RIGHT? I was like wow. You are annoying. Oh there’s chips and dip over there. I will go over there. Good-bye, annoying person, I am done with you. And then he proceeded to follow me to the chip-and-dip area. I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’VE NEVER READ SEBALD! HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE? It was a torture. So now I’m patently against Sebald, though I’m sure his books are good but it’s forever stained by douche. Which is a shame. I hear Sebald liked to rock a party. Anyway my co-worker had a similar situation because she hasn’t read Ulysses and some guy freaked out “That’s the problem with today’s youth. You haven’t read Ulysses.” OK I’m pretty sure that the “problem with today’s youth” isn’t the lack of Ulysses. I think it’s more like violent video games or something. I have no idea what “today’s youth” is into anymore other than the same thing today’s adults are into, which is drinking and doing it.

Anyway, my point is this: There is a lot I haven’t read, including Sebald. I did read Ulysses in high school but I think that anything anyone reads in high school doesn’t count unless it was, I dunno, Flowers in the Attic or something. But here’s what I can do: I can factor a polynomial, and I can find a regression line. Can you do that? OH MY GOD I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU CAN’T FACTOR A POLYNOMIAL. You must be a total loser.