Family time!

Here’s a fun game. Let’s guess my ethnicity! Here are some clues:

1. I have freckles.
2. I was raised Catholic
3. I don’t get hangovers
4. I have about 47 first cousins

Five of those cousins will be married by the year’s end. (Not to each other. Although maybe to each other. I live far away.)

We have a half day at work today (whee!) which is great, since I have a cousin’s wedding to go to this weekend (yay!) in Dubuque (wtf?) and I’ve yet to buy a gift. Nothing says “you were in my top three favorite cousins growing up” like waiting until the day before leaving to make a housewares purchase.

My problem stems from her not having a registry. I can see where a bride would want to maybe worry about not coming off looking greedy or something, but please future brides, always do a registry. Also, I'd buy something when I get there, but I literally have no idea if there's a mall in Dubuque. I don't mean that is a snotty way either. I just simply don't know.

I’m going to assume (I know, it makes an ass) that someone else will cover your coffeemaker/toaster needs this weekend, Michelle and Michelle’s fiancé whose name is slipping my mind. (We’re a close family, I swear, though you’d never know it by how often we see each other. At my sister’s wedding, someone who hadn’t seen my brother in years asked if he was the groom. I still vomit about that sometimes.)

I’d love to find Michelle something with a horse on it, to remind her that her drawing of horses was so good it made me give up doing any artwork for about a year, which I think is like the third grade equivalent of cutting your ear off. (Seriously though, she made the back legs bendy and everything! So talented.) What are weddings for if not to dig up childhood grudges?

Maybe I could get her a throw pillow with a horse on it and place it in their hotel bed Godfather style. I think that would get me out of the next few family weddings at least. (I kid because I love, any Healys who might get drunkenly told about my blog in the next 48 hours.)

Like Christmas in May

Every once in a while something comes along that truly brightens your life in a way you never expected. A great book, a free cookie, THE US WEEKLY PARIS HILTON COUNTDOWN TO JAIL CLOCK.



I never liked US Weekly much, but this could change everything. Y’all, they mean business, it counts the time down to the second. You only have 11 days left, so visit early and visit often. Gifts like this don't last long.

Meet my new husband.

Thanks Match!

JEALOUS?!?!?!?!?!

Our eyes met across a crowded room. He walked over to me, smiling and
leaned in and whispered:

wuauu you looks like a very funn woman,hard to find in this days believe me.I think you are a kind of person than I were looking for a
long time!!!!.
what`s your name? I`m (name). nice to meet you!!!!

Then he felt comfortable enough with me to share his deepest thoughts
on life and love:

Bored with the same thing over and over? So am I..No games. Just someone who's sincere.Not trying to impress.That's who I am! Who Are
you?

He's knows what he wants in life, a real go-getter, a renaissance man:

I am a bee specialist. But I earn my pay as a car tech. I am alsostudying to become a realtor. I want to learn how to buy houses right
away.

He's a man of complex tastes, and seems oddly prone to randomly
shouting (passionate? Methinks so!):

Has to be funny or have a good sense of hummor. Decisive. My perfect match , HAS TO BE A VERY ROMANTIC PERSON. I love rollercoasters and quiet times. I am flexible and able to blend into anything. I like
people but yet I'm shy. I don't talk a whole lot but, I'm an awesome
listener.

He's literate, but also busy. His reading list:

Newsday, and a menu. I have no time to read. I run and ride bike.

Postcards From Kate: Road to '08. Meet the voters.

Hi there, all you shiny presidential candidates! (And Kucinich)

So you’re a son of a goat hearder, a shrill lady senator, a wee little leprecaun, a Mormon who didn’t make the Olympics a disaster, a former occupant of a Vietnamese jail or a cousin-marrying ex-mayor.

And you’ve looked in the mirror and thought, “I have what it takes to be president.” First off, know that—despite what your second-grade teacher may have told you—you’re probably wrong. Second, it’s slowly dawning on you that you can’t cherry pick who you want to be president of. It won’t just be the people shelling out $1,000 for some chicken and a chance to meet you. It’ll be the everyday people. The ones who rush home to watch “Deal or No Deal” and the ones buying those terrifying KFC “all our menu items in a bowl topped with three kinds of cheese.”

What’s on their minds (besides the theme song to “Three-and-a-Half Men”?) What issues matter to them? Could there be a better way to find out than by reading the local letters to the editor? I think not.

Let’s do this.

We’re going to start with this scathing look at a sheriff named Peanuts. This is a great example in how to not campaign, all under a prepositionally challenged header:

Our sheriff isn't fitting of his office

• (Losing sheriff candidate) would have been the honest sheriff, had it not been for bad voting machines and national Democrat voting. (First name) “Peanuts” (actual nickname) (last name) is as sorry as he can be. Peanuts said I was going to tear down his campaign signs. I told Peanuts I wouldn't touch his signs or tear them down. His signs were nasty looking, the yellow part of his signs showing Peanuts was and is a coward. Peanuts rehired a deputy after he was caught driving under the influence. Peanuts has some bad deputies.

Ok, ok, no nasty-ass yellow signs (I’m looking in your direction, McCain.) Got it. See, learning is fun!

But now, on to more pressing matters. When debate time comes, the questions will fly fast and furiously about immigration, jobs, abortion. Now imagine you’re at your little podium, listening to Hillary be all PMSy and start crying (girls can’t be president!) or admiring the gleam off John Edwards’ hair and then it’s your turn. Potato headed Chris Matthews, potato shaped Tim Russert or potato colored Brian Williams is saying this:

• What a sad excuse for a Christmas parade (town) has. What happened to the real parades (town) use to have, with lots of music and lots of marching bands and all the beautiful decorated floats; something to actually listen to and watch! We have several problems that I see with our parade here in (town).
The parade has become so tedious and boring. The floats are half-mile apart that it drags on and on. The categories are a joke. A Christmas theme should be a Christmas theme. How in the world does a reindeer represent a Blue (state) Christmas or (state) Christmas, either one? We should have a theme and win by that, not categories.

I am also annoyed by the patriotic displays. Can we leave all of that for Memorial Day, the Fourth of July, Veterans Day, Flag Day. Even the people that are the announcers every year seem to only point out their friends and the rest of the displays are talked about in a shallow way. (Next town over) makes (town) look like a first-grade parade.

Subtext: This is my suicide note, because I have nothing to live for. Oh, and I hate America.

Sometimes the issues can get rather personal, such as when you have your inevitable affair, or when the bathroom of a local museum doesn’t meet some old lady’s standards:

• I’ve never written before, but I am so angry about the letter from (crabby old lady) of (town) about the (local) Museum and the ladies bathroom. I have been going there for many years and have yet to find anything but clean restrooms. They have large groups of school children visit, and it must have been after one of those visits.

What do you do? WHAT DO YOU DO???

Things can get rather heated out there, such as when one voter challenges another, You Got Served style.:

• So, (other letter writer) if you think you know everything there is to know about our training before checking out all the details, get the license to drive that bus! Furthermore, we have two of the best school systems in the state.

• Why is the (Town-County) Bar Association trying to persuade children they live in a democracy?

• I may not be as concerned as many citizens about the cost of city services, but for goodness sake, can't we have blooming flowers instead of noxious thistles to welcome people into our city?

So yes, our nation is in terrible shape, what with unclean restrooms, slow parades and questionable bus drivers. And it’s up to you to clean it up. What’s your next move?

Next time, on a very special Postcards From Kate: Road to ’08, we’ll take on the very special topic of gang violence at the mall. Very special.

An open letter to VH1

Hey VH1!

What’s cracking wit da kids these days?

Remember how you use to like only show Behind the Music? What was up with that? But now you’re with the program (pun!) and have embraced my generation’s snark-and-C-list-celebrity-loving ways. Also, the graphics on Best Week Ever are really colorful, which keeps me enraptured like a parakeet with a mirror.

I fear you may soon paint yourself into a corner though with all the CelebReality going on. You’re making CelebJambalaya by not dangling just one has-been at a time. (The correct order should be: Gary Colman, either of the Coreys, Rob Van Winkle, any Hogan, Carney Wilson, Vern Troyer, any member of NKOTB.) Pace yourselves! Eventually every last ounce of CelebFat will have been sweat off, every CelebMarriage will have been broken up and every CelebSizemore/Bonaduce self-destructed.

That concern aside, I have the next great reality show for you. They’re tried and tested, they’re sexy, they could use the cash and they have a huge built-in fan base judging from the number of people who find my blog by searching for them. It’s seriously like half of my Googled traffic.

That’s right, I’m talking about the Dog Brothers from Sex in the ’90s.

Let’s fire up the ol’ Sin Bin! You’d start, of course, with just a straight reunion show. What’s the old gang up to? Are they still living in their parents’ attic? Are they still doing the “That one’s all me…that one’s all you. She’s beggin’. Beggin.” routine with their hand signals? Are they still sort of orange? America needs answers.

Even though it was an MTV show, you’re all one happy Viacom family, and if we’re keeping it real, most of the My Super Sweet 16 fans weren’t exactly around for the ’90s.

After we’re all reacquainted, think of the endless angles to go with this:

Average Dog Brother: Women must decide which overly tanned meathead is a D.B. and which is a fake. Guess right and she gets a million dollars and a date, guess wrong and she gets spared from STDs more numerous than the stars in the heavens.

Beauty and the Dog Brothers: Nerds compete with the D.B. for dates with simpleton women.

Newlyweds: Dog Brothers: The D.B. move to Massachusetts, where they settle down as man and man. (They aren’t really brothers, are they? Oh gross, they are. Nevertheless. Forging on.) Neither of them knows what Chicken of the Sea is because they live on protein powder and their Nona’s Greek food.

The Simple Dog Brother: The Sin Bin hits the road to disrupt small-town America.

Apprentice: Dog Brother: Trump takes on the D.B. Challenges include a bump ’n’ grind off, shirt-ironing competition, testing the constraints of spandex boxer-briefs and hair-gel application (for both speed and thoroughness). The winner oversees building a nightclub in Hohokus. Bonus points for whichever D.B. restrains from hitting on Melania longer.

America’s Next Top Dog Brother: Each week they work in a variety of locales and poses. Their fortitude is tested by overcoming their fear of heights, water and snakes. Miss J has a lot to work to do. One is contractually obligated to become bulimic.

Dog Brother Runway: Using only mesh, denim and leather, they must create new clubbing outfits each week.

Extreme Home Dog Brother: You only need to know one sentence. “Bus driver, move that Sin Bin!”

I'm am Queens Boulevard (With bonus Theory of Life!)

I’ve just passed the two-year mark in New York, and every time I think I’ve gotten immune to being surprised, I’ll suddenly realize I just paid $9 for movie snacks or that I can say I walked past a giraffe on my way to work (thanks Today show producers!) and I feel like New York and I are back to square one.

And then there are the inexplicable nights you find yourself in Queens at 2 a.m. helping actors run lines for an indie short film. Yeah.

Queens and I have a relationship second only to Staten Island in “boroughs I keep my distance from.” Still though, congrats Queens for coming in fourth! (For the record: Manhattan, Brooklyn, Bronx, Queens, Staten Island. In case you need to prioritize where to search when I inevitably go missing.)

Some guys in my screenwriting group were shooting their 30-page script in the back room of a diner under some heavily graffitied train tracks. Oh the glamour. I’m so there.

When instructed I moved props from one table to another, only to be told they should go to a third, then a fourth table. I bought a fish at a 99-cent store. I spelled things with clay. I was an extra reading Variety. (Bonus: Did you know the guy who did “Teeny Little Super Guy” from Sesame Street died? I’m sad, and working through my grief by singing the theme song. Everybody! “Teeny little super guy pops right up before your eyes. He’s no bigger than your thumb. “Watch out (something I can’t remember because I last heard the song in 1987). Here I come!”)

Yes, in short I was vital.

I also spent a fair bit o’ time helping run lines with two actors who were doing a hilarious scene about, uh…racial relations? Let’s just say that renting black people out sounds completely different coming from the mouth of a black guy v. a white girl. Happily I was not shot and didn’t even lose my edgy morning radio show with Wally & Slim Jim (plus Kip Springer with weather and traffic updates on the half hour!) (When did this blog turn into Family Guy?)

Where was I? Oh yeah, me not getting shot. Success all around. Plus, the two authors of the script are English, which makes them sound like they know what they’re doing. Even if one of them was leaving to go back to London about five hours after shooting wrapped and hadn’t finished packing.

Also, consider this my second installment of Theories on Life: I’m not going to like you if you're an American who says “cheers” when it’s not followed by clinking glasses and chugging. I’ve seen this in action enough times to know when an American uses cheers for “Thanks” or “Take care” nine times out of ten they are self-loathing posers who are unpleasant to be around.

Sure, we’d all like to run around saying chuff and snog and spelling realize all crazy-like with an “s”, but we shouldn’t.

I spent a whopping three months in London about five years ago, and while I was charmed by saying “gormless” for a stupid person, etc., I left it at the duty-free shop.

“Cheers” doesn’t make you sound charmingly, exotically jet-setting, it makes you sound like you’re imagining yourself as a mysterious guy with a black turtleneck and B.O. or you’ve read one too many Harry Potters.

Brooke Shields is definitely not a half midget

Is it possible to be a half midget?

I went out with this guy Tuesday night who was about 5’6”-5’7”, and he would have just been considered what I like to call “short” except that somehow his head was proportional to a guy in the 5’11” range. The whole effect was less hydrosephalic and more like he’d just been poorly Photoshopped together. Also his arms were somehow abbreviated. Which didn’t slow him down trying to hug me. Whatevs. Glad your disability isn’t slowing you down.

So I thought surely I’d win the informal weirdest night contest with my roommate.

Not so much. I walk in and she’s blasting music. She comes out of the bathroom and says, “I was just at a Tupperware party for charity and Brooke Shields kept giving me Champagne and I am druuuuuuunk.”

Fiiiiiiiiiiiiine. You win this time.

Screw the little people

Oh my God, I’m going to be insufferable.

I can feel it happening, but I can’t stop it. I was going to write about how I think I might have landed Dream Magazine Job today. While I was trying to remember if I'd read The Secret and thought my job into existence (with the power of my mind! And positive thought! Yeah!), I logged on to check my email and lo and behold my friend had emailed me asking if it was ok to give my screenplay (see New Year’s resolution for February) to his agent friend looking for new writers.

So I think I might accidentally get an agent, which—let’s face facts—is really the only way it’ll ever happen for me.

I’ve forgotten your name already. I need a latte.

Stay tuned tomorrow for when my little house of cards all comes crashing down.

Kateie Awards: Conga mode edition

You’re with us for a momentus, uh, moment. It’s the first installment of the Kateie Awards. It’s not the Katies, because I leave that name to the peppier girls, but since it’s the law that all awards have to end in –y or –ie, this what you’re getting. Here are my winners for the following categories, which all fall under the larger category of Things That Happened Yesterday.

Most adorably worrysome grandmotherly discovery: The woman on the phone next to me who said to her friend: “Well I was going to send him a telegram, but apparently they don’t exist anymore….they said since like last year…I sent him an email written like a telegram.”

Most interesting second half of a sentence: From a man in the cafeteria saying to a friend “…sometimes it’s just hard to switch from conga mode to work mode, ya know?”

Most regrettable moment: Realizing I don’t have a personal “conga mode.”

(Pause for montage to items I’ve lost recently.) Cue Boyz II Men “How Do I Say Goodbye to Yesterday?”: My aqua pen, the pad of Post-Its someone walked away with, my dime that rolled under a vending machine.

And we’re back!

Rudest punctuation: ?!?!?! (Narrowly beating out the simpler ?????? or !!!!!!!!) Nothing says “you’re a jackass” like an impressive row of ?!?!?!?. Also, be sure to send this email marked “High priority.”

Most awkward way to change the channel when your remote stops working: My umbrella.

Best sign your room is too small: See above.


Send me your nominees and we’ll do it again some time. Everyone drive home safely.