It’s the 4th of July, the day of our nation’s birth. Happy birthday, nation! To celebrate I shall go kegging and watch people cook flesh over fire. This is what George Washington always wanted. People in America, cooking flesh and being free while drinking beer. Freedom tastes good. It tastes like steak. I don’t remember what steak tastes like, but I do know what freedom tastes like.

Speaking of which, I just accidentally ate a piece of ham. There were “samples” at this coffeeshop and I was like sweet! Samples! Then I popped one in my mouth and it turns out it was a bit o’ croissant with a bit o’ ham. Ham is very salty. And chewy. But I felt too weird spitting it out so I just swallowed it and dealt with it. So there you go. It’s been probably 16 years since I’ve had ham. I can’t say if I liked it or not. It was too foreign for me to make a decision on it. I think I liked ham when I was little. But I wasn’t really a picky eater either. I think when you grow up in a Korean family, you really can’t be that picky. I mean there’s like barely pickled/raw squid and roe still in the egg sac/membrane, it’s like if you can eat that at eight, you eat whatever. And even if you were picky, your parents would bitch and moan so much that you eat it just to shut them up. Seriously.

Anyway happy Independence Day. Everyone go exercise their independence! Celebrate! Be free! Destroy the beer with your bellies!

I just took down penne with spinach and ricotta from Pepe Rosso.

I completely, utterly destroyed it. With my belly.

I leveled it beyond recognition. In fact, there is nothing to even recognize because there is nothing left. It is no longer in existence. It is inside my gut. Deep. You cannot see it, but trust me, it’s obliterated. I totaled it. If you wanted some, too bad, because I annihilated it. I wrecked, razed, and ruined it. So I’m sorry. You will have to get your own. They deliver. But only a few blocks. So if you live in Hawaii or London or one of those fancy towns in Portugal with the fancy letters, I am sorry. You will have to find something else to demolish with your tummy because mine is gone. It has entered the face hole, been masticated into tiny bits, and sent down the maw, straight to the breadbasket that is my stomach.

So, I’m sorry. It’s dead. I killed it.

I almost forgot!

Today is Canada Day!

Happy Fourth of July, Canada.

Most of you will not care, unless you are Canadian.

I guess that means you, Doretta.

I like to make jokes. That is kind of what I do for a living, to varying degrees of success. Anyway once at band practice, I was playing the glockenspiel and we were messing around with a hot jam and I said, “I’ll put one hand on my glock.” I literally thought it was the funniest thing I have ever said even though it’s probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever said (maybe) and then I laughed and laughed because I am not afraid to laugh at my own stupid jokes and then realized, shit, no one else was laughing. Instead they were filled with hate. These are my friends, mind you. Filled with hate. ONE HAND ON MY GLOCK!!!!!!! Come on! When do you ever get to make a joke about a glockenspiel? NEVER. It is a ONCE IN A LIFETIME opportunity, except we practice every week and it is absolutely ridiculous to think that I hadn’t even thought of that joke before now. Anyway, damn them. It was funny to me. I don’t know how comedians not laugh at their own jokes. It’s like too calculated. Like they’ve been practicing in front of a mirror. I like it when comedians kind of smile, but then sometimes when they smile they get the rep of being a smarmy dick, kind of like Michael Ian Black, who I think is awesome. It’s all confusing. Chris Rock does that. He’ll make a joke and he’ll smile, but there’s something about his smile where he is not really smiling at his own joke, but something else about his joke. His eyes are kind of crazy and opened wide and detached from their retinas. I dunno, when you see Chris Rock, just watch for it.

Oh that reminds me of another time in yoga class where the teacher was like talking about the head and was saying it was an eight-pound weight on your neck. Then she stopped, “It weighs eight-pounds, right?” And I was like “well mine weighs a lot more because it’s FILLED WITH KNOWLEDGE.” Hahahaha. Yeah. No one laughed at that one either.

I went back to Governor’s Island with Erin to take down the typewriters and of course it started downpouring the minute after we rented our bikes. In other words, our asses got very, very, very wet. Erin came prepared and had an entire outfit in her purse. Literally her purse is the size of a wallet and she busts out with a whole wardrobe of clean, dry clothes. She probably had like a 20-piece Chicken McNugget meal in there too. That reminds me a of a dude on the ferry wearing a shirt with a hotdog inside of a heart and it said LIPS AND ASSHOLES. I couldn’t tell if it was a band name or if he was celebrating Gay Pride weekend, or if he was saying that he actually likes hotdogs in the real I-like-eating-lips-and-assholes way. Confusing statement. But awesome shirt nonetheless. Anyway they ended up closing the island a little early. Rosalyne (THANK YOU ROSALYNE) also came to help me carry the shit off the island. If you see Rosalyne give her a hug. She loves getting hugs from strangers.

Anyway I had put a little sign on the typewriter tables saying, hey buddy, write whatever you want, just leave the paper in the typewriter. So of course, everyone tore off the paper. Also they jammed the keys, messed up the ribbons, and worked the lever on the Sears Tutor so hard that the spring broke so now the lever doesn’t work. The worst though, was that someone was messing with the ribbon and then WIPED HIS OR HER HANDS ON THE WALLS. There were like black finger print smears on the wall. I wanted to die. Dude. Look at this house. It is old. It is historical. It is pretty. It is pretty because people do not use the walls as a napkin. Dude, use your CLOTHES. Don’t use the damn walls. Don’t be a dick.

Over the weekend there was the Olaf Eliasson opening, the arts crap, and also a SWIMMING RACE around the island. It’s like they really, really, really want people to visit Governor’s Island. And it worked. Everyone I know pretty much went there for the very first time, which is cool. Anyway swimming in any river that goes through NYC seems…toxic. Like you will get all kinds of diseases. However, if you survive it somehow, you will never, ever get sick again. Your immune system will be like hah, encephalitis? I SURVIVED NEW YORK HARBOR, NATCH. On the ferry Erin and I were chatting with this fella who was convinced that the Harbor water was cleaner than the tap water because “there are many drugs in the faucet water.” Like you know, people go into the john and shoot up or snort a rail and then pee or do a big-kid sitdown and then all that winds up in the water system and heroin and coke are apparently not filtered out. I was like shit, son, I should drink more water. It’s one of those situations where you just shrug. I like shrugging. It is a good way to end conversations I think. Hey, Annie, is that thing due today? Shrug. Hey Annie, is the 1 train running? Shrug. Hey there is a lot of drugs in NYC tap water. Shrug. It’s nice.

I just got back from Governor’s Island.

First of all, a shoutout:

Erin, if you are reading this OMG I LOVE YOU AND I MEAN THAT IN THE GAYEST WAY POSSIBLE. Without Erin and her appendages I would not have been able to lug two tons of shit to Governor’s Island. So Erin, thank you. You have lovely arms and they are especially lovelier when they are toting my shit.

Anyway, I ended up using three typewriters instead of four, because the fourth was stowed away in a car and the owner of said typewriter and car was very, very drunk last night and we were unable to meet up (WHAT? WHAT DID YOU SAY? OH? TYPEWRITER? OH IS THAT NOW? YOU NEED IT NOW? WAIT, HOLD ON ANNIE JUST A SECOND, YO DUDE, ORDER ME ANOTHER SHOT! WOOOOO YEAAAH CHIICKKSSS). At first I was panicky (which is not a word, but guess what, it is today) because that means I would only have THREE TYPEWRITERS. Originally this project had ten. And then five. And then four. And now three! Three! Three is for losers! Three is for people who cannot do four, five, or ten! But then I realized, hey, it would be OK. I just felt bad that JoMo had to build four tables, when in fact, all we needed was three. Three or four, no one will care unless they are a real asshole who likes even numbers.

So then Erin and I hauled three tables, three typewriters, three 25-foot long pieces of paper, a drill, screws. I should mention here that one of the typewriters is about 20 pounds. My arms are about to fall off as I type this. The table legs were separated, all I had to do was drill them into the tables at the site.

Right. Drill them in. So easy, right?

My drill bit was stripped. It looked like a piece of gum. No good. I have NO IDEA how one would strip a drill bit, but I did it and I am sad for it. I did not bring another drill bit. Because, like, who strips a bit? Annie strips a bit, that is who (whom). So then Erin ran all over the island looking for an organizer to come and save my ass.

Then came the hero with the Greatest Drill in the world and a drill bit that does not suck. I thanked him many times and would’ve you know, tickled his balls and whatnot had he asked. That is how grateful I was. He put the tables together. The guy was a rock star. Seriously. If any of you guys go, he was the one who designed the dollar mini-golf course.

Anyway, the event organizers gave me a sweet, sweet indoor space, and if any of you guys go, check it out. You’ll find the analog, mechanical internet in the Admiral’s House.

I want to live in this house. If I lived there I would make everyone call me Admiral because that is a sweet nickname. Much better than “chief” or “boss” or “asswipe.” The inside of the house is just as sick as the outside. I put the typewriters throughout the house and tried not to interrupt the (real and totally legitimate) art that was on the walls.

Here is a Royal from the 30s given to me by Pony.

I put that in the green room.

Here is a Royal Portable, from the late 30s/early 40s, donated graciously by Cosmo Apale, a gentleman who responded to my Freecycle post. His generosity made this project possible.

I put that in the purple room.

I also had a blue 60s Sears Tutor.

I put that in the yellow room.

Note that the AC unit was part of the original house. Ha ha ha. Admirals need air conditioning too you know. Anyway people already started typing on them as I was leaving, which is cool.

Speaking of houses, Erin and I rented bikes and rolled around the island and then came across a large mechanical dinosaur eating a house.

Very curious. If you want to visit the Island of Governors, I highly recommend watching out for house-eating monsters. The Parks Service is letting them roam free there. Beware.

Tomorrow I an putting up typewriters on Governor’s Island. However, it is going to rain, so I’m not sure how that’s going to work out. They are looking into inside spaces for me, but aren’t sure about it. I can’t leave these things in the rain, they would be so sad and cold. Pony gave me a typewriter that is from the 30’s I think. It’s made of iron, so I guess it might rust if mother nature has her way with it. It also weighs the same as a Hyundai. Which might seem light, but it’s kind of heavy for just a typewriter. JoMo made the tables and they are much nicer and much better than anything I could do (which actually isn’t much at all). I was thinking hey, just take a piece of wood and slap on some legs, call it a day. Then you know, accessorize it with a scarf to hide the fact that it is butt ugly. But I was WRONG. JoMo is an architect. Nothing would ever just be a piece of wood with four legs. So thanks to JoMo and thanks to Erin who is graciously coming along and helping me set up.

Also, someone stole Erin’s TREE. Can you believe that shit? Who does that? She apparently left for like a minute from her shop, and when she came back her tree had been snagged. Why would someone do that? That is how starved people are for trees in this concrete jungle. I mean come on! Take cash monies, take jewelry, take cookies, take five, Take That (oh shit remember them?). But leave the tree alone. It was so happy in front of her shop. It was so cute. And now you have taken it away. The tree is sad. Erin is sad. Shame on you, tree stealer!

Ravi!!! You are too busy making clarified butter. Come back here and help me. What happened to my sidebar? —–>

And why is it over here? <——–

And what’s with the “See It” “Hear It” stuff at the bottom? That was in the links section. That is the strangest shit ever. Looks buggy. And not like the kind you put a baby in. But the other kind that fills me with unearthly rage so much that I can lift a minivan, but not to save a trapped orphan underneath, but rather to move it on top of you.

Shit man, if I paid you, I would totally demand my money back. Damn you, Ravi!

As for everyone else who is not Ravi, hello and you are still my friend.

I don’t know what’s going on down there in the bottom lefthand corner, but it appears that there’s some kind of…database error. I don’t know how to fix it. I didn’t do anything, I swear. I think my categories are broken. Wordpress is angry. Probably because they like Aerosmith.

Q: Who was the rapper featured in Paula Abdul’s “Opposites Attract”?

A: People will say, EASY PEASY IT WAS MC SKAT KAT! And I would say, OMG you are a total dork, holy crap, but guess what? You are SO wrong. It’s the Wild Pair!!!

Q: Who directed that video? (This one will BLOW YOUR MIND.)

A: David Fincher.

(Fight Club,Seven, Panic Room, The Game, etc.)

He also directed “Vogue,” “Express Yourself,” and “Janie’s Got a Gun,” among others.

This is the second time “Janie’s Got a Gun” has come up. Yesterday I was eating at Once Upon a Tart with JoMo and they were blaring Aerosmith like it was 1991. He asked me “Do you think Aerosmith knows all their songs sound the same?” The answer was obviously no, which is why they sound the same. Like I can just see their creative process: ok how about I start with this this soft guitar riff…how about in 4/4. Something easy…like maybe I play these two notes back and forth over and over again. OK! Great idea, Joe! Then I’ll come in a little louder! OK! Rock on, Joe! And then Steven, you scream and yowl like this yoooowwwwllllleeeeeeeee. OMG that is the best song we’ve ever come up with! High fives all around!

But seriously, Aerosmith, wtf. They’ve been around forever too that is the sad part. For the last twenty years they have literally been singing and selling the same EXACT SONG. They are loaded from ONE SONG. And all the videos where Alicia Silverstone traipses around wearing one or more of the following:

-bikini
-mini skirt
-Catholic school uniform

Man, I wish I were Aerosmith. It’d be so awesome.