Tuesday, March 27, 2007

X-Files 2

X-Files 2 Negotiations Wrap This Week Says Duchovny!
Written by Robert Sanchez
Tuesday, 27 March 2007
The idea for a second X-Files film has been in the works for a long time. The IESB attended the TV Set press day today and spoke with David Duchovny about just that!
Back in 2005 Duchovny told IGN, "According to USA Today, Duchovny told reporters at the recent 10th Annual Critics' Choice Awards that he expected to shoot X-Files 2 some time this year or in early 2006. Elaborating on the project, the actor said it would not involve the alien conspiracy storyline that helped make the television series so popular. Instead, he stated, it would be a standalone supernatural horror film."
Well we know it obviously didn't happen, but things never happen quickly in Hollywood. Duchovny spoke about it briefly to the IESB today while promoting TV Set.
Duchovny says X-Files fans will have their second film after all! He revealed to the IESB that they were in final negotiations for the second X-Files film and should wrap this week. Plans are to start shooting in '08 or sooner!
If negotiations get nailed down this week as planned, it looks like he will once again fill the shoes of our favorite Special Agent, Fox Mulder.
IESB will keep you updated!

I saw this earlier, and I got a little giddy -- but in a controlled, totally non-geek, very cautiously optimistic, blase kind of giddy. Yep. That's me. Totally not even going to give this a second thought. Right now, for instance, totally not thinking about it. Not a bit. In fact, I haven't checked for any sort of official announcement from Fox in like... oh... minutes. Restraint, thy name is Kate.

I even know what the name of the movie will be: The X-Files 2: the Search for Kate's Love Life. Very scary stuff, indeed. In fact, I frequently refer to my love life as some sort of supernatural horror experience. Sure, not the stuff of Saw I, II, or III, but horror none-the-less.

So, in addition to getting me a date sometime this century, we have a new project. Get me onto this movie. Ok, two projects-- get the movie to the greenlight stage and then get me on it. I don't have to be the main love interest. I could be one of the lovely and appealing victims. Then Mulder will have to give me the kiss of life, and we can have a brief, but torrid affair. I'm completely fine with him then realizing that we can never be and moving back to Scully. That's fine. And if that doesn't work, an extra on the street as they run by is also fine. Really, one or the other-- love interest or random bystander. Both are good.

I need to get a life, you say? You forget-- this is LA. This is life out here. Unless they decide to film it in Canada. Then the movie will be called: "The X-Files 2, the Wrath of Kate".



Monday, March 26, 2007

My Willful Phone

This is going to sound like a joke, but I swear it is true. My phone tried to get me a date. Not in the usual sense of me picking up the phone and asking someone out. I literally mean, the PHONE tried to get me a date. Apparently, it decided that it was time to take my social life into its own SIM card.

Despite the fact that my phone was turned off (that’s right, it was off!), somehow the keypad was engaged when I tossed the phone into my purse. This morning, I found out that my phone sent a nonsensical text message to a very cute (albeit random) boy, as soon as I turned it back on.

I am not kidding.

I know this because I got a text back from said boy that was a very flirty “who are you?” Ok, not so much flirty as deeply confused by the large jumble of random letters that my phone sent him. Which is also crazy because you’d think if the phone had decided to get me a date, it could at least learn to type.

Hmmm. I know that you are cheering my phone on, and suggesting that this is a sign for me to go for it (whatever “it” actually is). Alas, this is a guy who happened to still be in my call log from a movie I helped out on quite a while ago. He is darling, but young and technically off limits (at least for the moment). So, nice thought on behalf of my phone, but not likely to lead anywhere.

Perhaps the phone thought that if it showed me how to call/text a boy, I would learn from the observation? This is how bad my social life is, people. My phone is trying to set me up.

I keep looking at it thinking that if it were really enterprising (and if it really cared, sniff), it would get Clooney’s number and start texting him. Now, that would impress me.

Kate (and her possessed phone)

Thursday, March 22, 2007

If You Had the Chance…

As I get older (please note again that my profile age is ironic, not accurate), I find myself gravitating to the safe, secure and the solitary. Oh, hell, I’ve actually been that way since birth, but I’m fairly sure the impulse to not be impulsive is getting stronger. Why the other day, I almost turned down watching a new TV show because it was something just a bit too daring for me ;)

So, knowing that I’m one for avoiding, cowering, … Nay—barricading myself against drama, why is there occasional temptation to seek a situation that could possibly bring me pain? Why am I considering a situation that could potentially, possibly (remotely possible at least… Bora Bora remotely perhaps, but possible nonetheless) put me square in front of an ex? Ok, not just any ex. The ex. Why would I do that?

I have no idea why I am even considering it. He’s gone. He has moved on. Nothing would be gained by this. But the idea is there. It’s insidious. When I’m not looking, the idea creeps up on me and tries to completely distract me from things that are much more important.

(Can you believe that Izzie and George ended up in bed? And where the hell is the second X-Files movie? No woman should have to wait this long just to see Agent Mulder doing his spooky thing. But I digress).

Dr. Phil would say that I’m allowing this idea to creep into my days and nights because I’m getting something from it. I’m not sure exactly what that would be, unless, of course, he means the absolutely enormous headache I currently have.

I’ve made a ton of social progress since I made my declaration to date back in August. Ok, a ton might be an overstate. Loads of progress. Certainly a good deal of progress. A bit of progress on the social front. Fine, no progress whatsoever, but I talk a good game, and I am avidly watching the progress of others (where previously, I didn’t really care). I’ve also started leaving my apartment when forced to do so. I’ve even suggested at least two social outings so far this year.

What would be gained exactly from this possible, although highly unlikely encounter? Disappointment and heartbreak, followed by a long, flowing emotional setback? Maybe. Can I expect anything positive to come from it? No, not really. I tend to find closure a nice justification, but rarely a real event.

Would I want anything to happen? Trickier. Not really. I’m not a cheater and neither is he, so I wouldn’t want anything along those lines to occur. But I’ll admit that some sort of grand, passion-filled globally broadcast announcement of admiration might be a balm to my ego. Perhaps something along the lines of:

“I have been a selfish being all of my life. As a child I was given good principles but was left to follow them in pride and conceit. Such I might still have been if not for you, my dearest, loveliest [Kate].”

(double blogger brownie points if you can name that quote)

Realistically, I’ll concede that this type of declaration is unlikely. Realistically, I’d get nothing from even taking the chance of having this encounter. But it’s there. The potential is there. The world of possibility is distinctly apple shaped these days.

If you had the chance to see “the one who got away” again, would you take it, even though you knew nothing good would come of it? And if you didn’t take that chance, when the opportunity passes, would you regret it? Because really, exchanging “what if” for “what might have been” isn’t really an improvement.

Now if we could exchange “what if” for “George Clooney loves you”, that… that, my friends, would be an improvement.

Kate, bobbing and weaving away from temptation, in LA

Monday, March 19, 2007

Minor Infractions

I spent a significant portion of yesterday in the company of some extremely well put together women during a DVD shoot (the girls were bikini models). It was really motivating. As I shoved down another girl scout cookie from the catering table, I thought, “oh yeah, I’m so going to get my shit together and look like that some day”. Oooh, and then I also thought “I will also develop and perfect my time machine” because the oldest was around 24.

(Oh, wait, that’s only 3 years younger than my ex’s soon-to-be bride. Damn.)

Anyway, I thought that I might as well get started on the new crusade to become a bikini model by becoming very, very fit and um.. yeah, whatever else you would need to do. I celebrated this decision by digging into my curly fries and big beef and cheddar at lunch today. Well, in all fairness, I did read somewhere that curly fries are actually a little known weightloss method. Seriously. I swear I read it somewhere. The all curly fry diet will be the next big thing. Any day now.

As I’m driving home with contraband food, a Santa Monica police officer caught my eye. We were both stopped at stop signs. It was his turn to go, and when I got a good look at him, I thought at first we might be on camera. He was very, very, very good looking. Did I mention he was good looking? Yeah, totally good looking. Actor good looking. Good enough to put the curly fry down kind of good looking.

This left me wondering. If you encounter such a lovely specimen, you are single, and you are interested… would a minor infraction of traffic laws be justified in order to get his attention?

I don’t mean running over someone in the crosswalk. Even I would find that just a tad bit extreme. I think even crashing into a building or a hydrant would be pushing it. I was thinking more along the lines of the rolling stop. Of course, I know this will get me ticketed (a number of my friends seem to be getting tickets these days). But getting ticketed by the attractive police office is sort of the point. Well, not ticketed exactly, but more like pulled over and verbally frisked ;)

The tricky part is, I think he’d assume that I was hitting on him just to get out of the ticket. When, in fact, I was getting into the ticket in order to hit on him. Again, if I had the vehicle flirtation device already set up, I could just write him a very large note explaining the situation. But I still haven’t gotten the white board set up in the car. So, I’m left with my charming turn of phrase, wink and hair toss (toss, toss).

All of which will clearly get me nowhere fast.

I could look at it as step 1 in a multi-step plan. Of course, I would contest the ticket. He’d have to show up in court. We’d see each other again and laugh at the situation. (By the way, by the time I get to court, I’ve inexplicably grown taller, thinner, tanner and have a dazzling strong jawline). I’d tell my story to the judge. He’d chuckle in that avuncular way of his. He’d smile down on us and bless our union.

Then I’d write the check out for $360 because he wouldn’t believe me for a second. And the whole situation would leave me more jaded, resigned and a bit poorer than before.

Yep, no one can kill a fantasy like I can.

Kate, the fantasy killer

Monday, March 12, 2007

The Mysteries of Life

At this moment, I am sitting by a pool and pondering life’s little mysteries. There are the standard questions “How did I get here?”, “What is my purpose?”, “Why is the world fascinated by Paris Hilton, and where did she get those shoes?”. You know, the deep ponderings of our generation. But in addition to those time honored thoughts, I’m exploring new mysteries.

1. Why doesn’t my apartment magically clean itself when I’ve clearly put it into the universe that I would like this to be so? I mean, I’ve done the Bewitched nose wiggle and the I Dream of Jeannie arms-crossed-head-bob move. Surely, it should be done by now. Is there actually a button on my TV remote that I should be pushing instead?

2. How do all those celebrities get golden perfect tan skin all up and down, and front and back? On my best day, I get random red blotches with intermittent white patches where the suntan lotion has stubbornly clung to life.

Also, not one picture of Jessica Alba shows her sporting the white stripe in that crease section between her bum and the top of her thighs. Does she prop her ass up in the air so that it all tans? Or is it that my absolutely enormous buttocks actually block out the sun? Being of unsound mind and fragile ego, I will not dwell on gigantic bottom issues and attribute flawless buttock/thigh tanning to a special secret that only the rich and famous know. Perhaps it is issued along with the Amex black card.

3. Do hot cab drivers exist? And if so, what exactly do you do when you encounter this rare specimen? I know. I didn’t believe it was possible, either. Sure, a casting director could hire an actor to play a hot cabbie, but in real life, Paul Walker is not answering my friend Chloe’s 2am bar call. And if he did, we really wouldn’t know anything about her approach because we would never find out more than what she could fit on her postcard after they eloped to Fiji.

The premise sounds like a fallacy, but a friend of mine claims to have met a hot cab driver, and he flirted, leaving her frantically trying to figure how to respond. So, she did what every red-blooded American female over 35 would do. Nothing. Well, she may have tipped him over-generously, but otherwise, nada.

So, what do you do in this situation? There’s an easy answer—slip him your phone number with the tip and bat your eyelashes.

But, really?

This guy knows where she lives. What if FHC (flirty hot cabbie), turns out to actually be more like CHC (crazy hot cabbie), MHC (murderous hot cabbie), or IMoMWTotbSHC (international man of mystery who turns out to be sadistic hot cabbie). I mean, Ted Bundy was cute, too. Do you invite the attentions of someone who knows your name, address and very possibly your credit card number before you have had a chance to get a full name, or have his fingerprints run?

It is remotely possible that my innate sense of paranoia and suspicion of most things relating to other people could be clouding my judgment. Slightly. So, I’ll leave this life mystery in your capable hands. Email or leave a comment with your thoughts, and I’ll pass them along. Should she have gone for it? Should she spend a lot in cabs hoping she “accidentally” runs into him, again? And if she spends $40,000 on cabs, can she still claim that “fate brought them together” during her wedding toast?

In the meantime, I’m going to start collecting the numbers of some of LA’s finest taxi services. No reason.


Tuesday, March 06, 2007


Like most people with an email account, I get a ton of spam every day. Most of it, I don’t even look at. I just hit delete. But today, two emails caught my attention, and I just had to share.

The first email had a subject line featuring “Viagra Professional”. Forget for a moment that I’m not actually a guy, that I wouldn’t actually buy prescription (or any other) drugs based on an anon email, and half of it seems to be in another language in order to beat the spam filters. Let’s just focus for a minute on the subject line.

“Viagra Professional”

Hmmmmm. Was there a “Viagra Amateur” that I missed? Is that one reserved for sexual newcomers (uh… so to speak)? Is the “Professional” version reserved for the more experienced male like Colin Farrell, or Fred Durst? Do you start at the amateur level, but then get stripped of your amateur status once you accept money? And do gifts count, or are we thinking about only straight cash transactions? Maybe there is a set of judges. You send in a tape, and they judge if you’ve advanced to the all star team, and therefore, in need of professional assistance now and again?

The second email had a subject line of “Has your penis left you?” Why yes, yes it has. How perceptive of you, spam email. It has not only left me, but it, and presumably the guy attached to it, will be marrying his new special young, blond, perky friend in a few months. But thanks for bringing it up, again. Thanks for rubbing it in. Maybe the next one I get will be titled “Kate, those penises will always leave you. Can you blame them?” Freakin’ emails.

Yes, these are the things I think about.

Kate, the grumpy

Friday, March 02, 2007

Boyfriend Season

First, Maroon 5 appears to be stalking me. They were the lead entertainment at the Global Green party, and then they showed up again in my email today. Two occasions for interaction in a week—it’s clear they are now following me ;) The email was part of a casting call for their new music video. They were looking for someone hot (um… strike 1 for Kate), someone tall (ha!... strike 2 for Kate) and someone exotic (well, that’s me—if you find Laura Ingalls exotic). Needless to say, I won’t be lining up for their video any time soon. But they are still stalking me. That much is clear.

Second, according to the ads I keep seeing on myspace, Boyfriend Season is right around the corner. My immediate thought was, “Shit, as usual, I have nothing to wear”. Is Boyfriend Season like Oscar season? Do I need a dress for each event? Or is it more like the holidays, where there are parties involving copious amounts of food, drink and resolutions for the New Year? Who exactly gets the gifts during Boyfriend Season?

Or maybe it is more like hunting season. It makes sense now why I haven’t been able to pick up one of those boys in a great, long while. I didn’t know there was a season, and I must have been hunting out of season. Everyone knows you can’t hunt off season—boys are hibernating off-season. You can only get a license to date during those specific, pre-ordained, federally-mandated times.

My fear is that Boyfriend Season (from here on known as B.S.) is actually designed to be more like bathing suit season—which in Los Angeles is approximately 10 months out of the year of pure torture. I can see the similarities now: unappealing lighting, feeling fat, desperately trying to keep my top on…. I imagine trying to get a boy that fits is every bit as challenging as finding a suit that fits my ass, with all the attendant expectations that the magical “one” will make me deliriously happy (or at least make me look fitter, tanner and more engaging).

Much like bathing suit season, I fear I’ll have to work out in order to be ready for B.S. here in LA. Apparently, I’ll need to be plucked, waxed and buffed for B.S. My nails will be done. I will be lotioned. And though it could end well (or at least without incident), I will look upon B.S. with much trepidation.

So, get ready ladies, B.S. is coming ;)

Kate, prepping for B.S. in LA