Mitch Pileggi Fundraiser

I am a horrible, horrible slacker. I haven't written for weeks. Basically, I've been ranting to myself rather than ranting to the world at large. It's fairly comical actually. If you watch closely enough, you can see me arguing with myself. So, I anticipate being locked up any time now.

But before that happens, I feel the need to share some info with the Mitch Pileggi fans who might be in the greater Los Angeles area this weekend (specifically, October 3 at 2:00pm).

You're intrigued now, aren't you? If not, I promise to start publicly complaining again really soon. If so, keep reading.

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Join Actor Mitch Pileggi for Simi Valley Fundraiser

Join actor Mitch Pileggi (The X-Files, Supernatural, Sons of Anarchy) on Saturday, October 3, 2009 at PC’s Bar & Grill for a gathering of family, friends and supporters for a fundraiser to benefit Judi Ward in her battle against Leiomyosarcoma.


PC’s Bar & Grill in Simi Valley plays host to a gathering of family, friends and supporters to benefit Judi Ward in her battle against Leiomyosarcoma (“LMS”). Judi has been diagnosed with this very rare form of cancer – LMS affects 4 out of a million people. Last year, she was laid off from her job and no longer has health insurance. Event organizers hope the afternoon’s celebrations will help defray the costs of treating this aggressive disease.

While the cause is serious, the event will be a fun, relaxed affair complete with prizes, gifts and a raffle of memorabilia from Mitch Pileggi’s (The X-Files, Supernatural, Sons of Anarchy) television work. Come on down and meet Mitch, have some fun, raise awareness of this disease and help support this fabulous woman.

Can’t attend the event but still want to help? Judi’s family has set up a donation website just for this purpose: http://judiwardlmsfundraiser.yolasite.com/

Event Details:

Date: 10/3/2009
Time: 2:00pm
Where: PC’s Bar & Grill, 4250 Los Angeles Ave., Simi Valley, CA 93063

For additional details, please contact Jennifer Johnson at jenjohnson@onestopds.com

For more information on the disease, please visit: http://www.lmsdr.org/whatislms.php or http://www.leiomyosarcoma.info/

Medium at Paley

Pen and I went back to Paley tonight to see what was on tap for CBS. Truth be told, we went to see if Alex O'Loughlin would show up to sell his new show, "Three Rivers". Sadly, he did not, and the premiere wasn't ready, so they didn't screen it either. So, while we missed Alex in every possible way, we did happen upon the cast of Medium who seemed quite happy to be on CBS this year. Alas, I didn't get clear shots, but some "Friday night in LA" flavor follows.

Oh, and I should definitely get bonus points for going out two evenings this week. That's almost unheard of social activity for me. To show your appreciation of my newly adventurous ways, please send cash.

Glee at Paley

Pen and I wandered into the Paley Center's Fox panel tonight. And because I love you, and because I think many of you are secret Glee lovers, I bring you some shots from the reception.

Trick or Treat

When I was a little kid, I didn't know about the fight to stop child trafficking. I loved to read, so the idea that there were kids in my country who didn't have access to books or education generally, didn't occur to me as a possibility. When I was younger, I didn't know that there would be an appeal to save women and children from the fighting in Yemen—truth be told, I doubt I knew what Yemen was at 8. And I thank God that I didn't know what rape was, nor about an ongoing campaign to protect children from ever having to find out what it is.

I didn't know any of these things, but I did know that there was an organization out there that helped children all around the world—and that meant I wanted to help UNICEF, too. So, my painfully earnest self grabbed my little cardboard box and trick-or-treated for UNICEF. My collections never amounted to much; probably not more than $20 even in really industrious years. But $20 in change to a 7 year old, at least back then, looked like a fortune.

I'll admit, as I grew older, my focus changed, monies went elsewhere, and unless there was a natural disaster somewhere I wouldn't give UNICEF much of a thought. Imagine my surprise when I once again ran into UNICEF in the hands of my muse, David Duchovny. If that's not synergy, what is?

The IBG charity group has worked periodically with team Duchovny in support of their fundraising efforts. As is the custom, IBG asked if there was a particular charity David would like to be the focus of an awareness campaign as a thank you for his support. David chose UNICEF.

With that in mind, IBG is raising money for UNICEF during the month of September. You can donate via paypal here: http://www.ibginc.org/events

If you were once a supporter and fell off the bandwagon like I did, think about dropping in a donation for the campaign. If you've never donated a dime to the fund, but think that you'd like to help now, go for it! No amount is too small.

Want to know what the bonus is? If you are a fan of David Duchovny, IBG is giving donors an opportunity to send David a note. It doesn't have to be about UNICEF. If you love Californication, and want him to know it, send a note along with your donation. Always a big X-Files fan? Drop in your donation, and let him know. Notes can be included with your donation in the "notes" section on your paypal donation. Or you can send your note to: admin@ibginc.org with "Donation to UNICEF/Note" in the subject and attach your donation receipt. Please keep in mind that all notes will be reviewed, and he will not be told what your donation is (unless you include it in your note). Also, you aren't required to send him a note if you just want to submit a donation. Donations for US taxpayers are tax deductible.

And yes, I am making a small donation. I haven't dressed for Halloween in a very long time, and I'm pretty sure I never did it in September. But this year, I'll be channeling my inner child and sending a treat to UNICEF. The only question is whether or not my note will start with "Dear Mr. Duchovny", "Dear David", or "Dear Late Night Inspiration". Ok, fine. I'd never be that bold even in print. But I'll be thinking it.

Age of Stupid

Normally, with a title like this, the blog would be some sort of semi-scathing yet ultimately eye-rolling account of my life. Today, it's to let people know about a chance to win tickets to a screening of the film "Age of Stupid". Now I know many of my friends roll their eyes at climate change movies, etc. But I think it's important to know the issues behind the debate, and the film's approach sounds interesting to me.

So, if you are curious to know more and win free tickets to check it out, go over here:

http://danielletbd.blogspot.com/2009/09/win-tickets-to-age-of-stupid-la.html

The Best Made Plans…

… on a full moon Friday are bound to be thwarted at every turn. This is a story of one such set of plans.

Ever since a friend and I attended the BBC America party (and by attended, I mean crashed like the ninja you always suspected I was) and chatted with David Tennant (who turned out to be so lovely, I've given Doctor Who a shot), I've been feeling frisky. Both of us have been looking around for the next adventure bolstered by the confidence that an action plan and positive outlook would lead the way—ok, mostly the action plan.

I thought we'd found it: the Toronto International Film Festival. Why TIFF? I love films. I also love George Clooney (said to be attending), David Duchovny (said to be attending), Clive Owen (said to be attending), and Colin Firth (said to be attending). Plus, my new best friend David Tennant has a film opening there, and while he hasn't mentioned attending, throwing him in artistically would be fine with me. And of course, because the last adventure was such a rousing success, my brain immediately began to formulate all sorts of intricate scenarios. If I was able to chat with David Tennant over wine, surely the next adventure would top that?

So, my brain went to work.

Naturally, upon seeing "The Joneses" at TIFF, I would find myself debating film and literary themes with Duchovny as we hung out by the fire at a chalet (shhhhhhh, let's not ruin it with the whole "there probably aren't chalets in downtown Toronto" talk) while sipping a fine red wine (because even in the fantasy, I'm not eating). Of course, we would be interrupted from time to time when Mr. Clooney dropped by to inquire if I had any additional insight on Darfur, and to see if I'd ever consider returning to Think Tank work (of course, I think about returning to Brookings, George, but my place is here now). Needless to say, Clive and Colin would also wander by, chat and leave thinking, "If only we were single." Essentially I began to fantasize that our intellect and charm would be nearly as lauded as the films on display.

My positive outlook was working. All those pesky problems that could be noted as being inherent with the New Adventure Plan (NAP) just seemed to melt away.

For instance, NAP would take place in Toronto. I am not in Toronto. Toronto is deceptively far away, and I hate to fly. No matter! New Ninja Kate was willing to white-knuckle it for six hours to put NAP in play. Plus, I just watched a terrifying, yet really very helpful show on surviving a hijacking called "Surviving Disaster", and now that I know how to deal with a sucking chest wound, I feel much better about the whole thing.

The hotels are a little pricey, and my partner in crime is broke, but these are the emergencies that credit cards were made for.

We would not be stopped. Toronto was the next frontier. We would be delightful, alluring and ready to take on the world.

Or…

The festival is scheduled to run from September 10 through September 19. Not knowing what the film schedule was, I set about giving work a heads up that I'd be gone a few days during that time. At which point, they gave me the heads up that I was likely to be needed for "team building" in New York during the main week of the festival… possibly…and suggested that I should be prepared to leave the festival so that I could bond (and most assuredly play games like, "if your practice area is a color, what color would it be"). I suggested that if someone thought I would be skipping lazing about with George Clooney to build a tower out of office furniture, they could think again. Plus, I've seen that episode of "The X-Files", and unless they can guarantee that I'd be rocking Mulder in the woods, I was out.

But I was saved. Work delayed our bonding session. Our adventure was back on! Of course, by the time I knew we were saved, the advanced package tickets were sold out, and we'd have to wait to buy individual tickets, but no matter. It would be fine. I began to assess my wardrobe, and contemplate how I would juggle having multiple careers as documentary filmmaker, writer and analyst.

Obviously, between finances and work, we never planned on being there the entire time. So, we prayed to the film gods to put all the films we really wanted to see into 3 days. Hurray! The bulk of our "must see" films, no doubt to be followed by "must do" evenings, were covered in three days when the schedule was released. But we forgot to be specific. One of us, not the one with the first name starting in "K", has meetings all weekend on the 12^th and 13^th and couldn't possibly leave (without perhaps heavy bribery) before the night of the 13^th on red eye. Not a problem! The fest is long! What are the odds of the premieres being…

Sigh.

And then there was one.

Seeing no way to escape work commitments, partner in crime was to become long-distance cheerleader. For a week, I pondered the sense of me attending alone, knowing that under the best of circumstances I avoid interaction and that left to me, I'd just be paying a lot of money to see movies I'll eventually see when they are released to theaters. Plus, it looked like the hotels in the area were largely sold out. And I probably wouldn't be able to get tickets when they went on sale the morning of the 4^th.

But there was still a whisper of hope that there was an adventure to be had, and I don't usually hesitate to do things solo. So, I did some checking. The online schedule didn't indicate that any of the films were sold out. I found a hotel quite close to the theater where most of my chosen screenings would be held. And fortune was smiling because I happened to find a completely affordable (as in, I have shoes more expensive than that) flight to Toronto. It appeared that fate was smiling on me. I was giddy for at least 20 minutes. While not entirely settled on going, there was that tiny spark of mischief igniting.

Tickets went on sale at 7am Toronto time this morning. I woke up at 4am, VISA in hand, ready to deal. I took the constant error message at the online box office as only a minor annoyance. I thought, with only mild dismay, that my work computer had an out of date browser. So, I switched computers. Twice. I couldn't get the system to work. With a determination usually reserved for getting out of going somewhere at night, I picked up that phone and got ready to make it happen. Imagine my consternation when I got an "all circuits are busy" error recording in my attempt to reach Canada. Repeatedly.

Fine.

I showered. I contemplated. I waged war internally. I drove to the office. Same thing happened. No access. I told myself that I would try one more time, and if I couldn't get in, it was a sign that I was not meant to go.

You can guess what happened—I got into the system.

Joy. Rapture. Funny stomach feeling people tell me is happiness.

Reality.

I got into the system to find out that 2 of the movies I wanted to see were sold out, one was moved to later in the week, and one other kept giving me a "not available" error when I clicked on "buy".

Perseverance is one thing. But rejecting all the signs along the way is quite another.

For those of you lucky enough to attend the festival, take many photos and think of me. I will be eagerly watching coverage on the TIFF website and wishing that Toronto wasn't quite so far away. You know… until my internet access goes down and my computer crashes. But, boy, those first 20 seconds are going to be gold.

The Bra

The wrong bra can equal death. Don't believe me? Of course you believe me, most of you reading this are girls. You know it's true.

There are few things on this planet that are likely to be annoy me faster than when I'm wearing the wrong bra. It can be a perfectly lovely bra when it's sitting in the drawer, but for whatever reason, when it's on, it's all wrong. It can be the wrong cut, the wrong color (as in, it's showing through your white shirt and while TV characters flaunt this look, most of us can't get away with it at work without being embarrassed), the wrong support level, the damn underwire could be carving the maker's initials on your left one—you name it.

Today I am wearing a ninja bra. It snuck up on me. Under normal circumstances, it doesn't show through my clothes, keeps the breasts relatively high and dry, and doesn't try too hard to shove the girls up and out of my shirt. Today—sneak attack. I kept pulling the back down, shoving the boobs over, pulling the shirt so it's looser… In your mind's eye, you can see the struggle as it escalated, can't you? I mean, an educated, professional woman should never be yelling, "Oh, yeah! I'll show you" because she swears the straps are conspiring to act as some sort of garrote resulting in her early demise. I was literally waging war and losing to the demi-cup I accidentally wore today.

It is entirely possible that this bra will make me so insane that the next person who steps foot into my office will be killed instantly because they will have said something incendiary like, "Hello". Or I'll be institutionalized for having a fight with my (under normal circumstances) unmentionables.

Thus, the wrong bra can equal death.

Rejected by a Survey

Look, I don't ask for much.

Ok, that's not true. I ask for a lot, but I don't get it, and then I pretend that I'm fine with that. But still, I'm not asking George Clooney to stop dating models for me. I'm just maybe thinking that at some point, I'd like to meet a man with whom I can have semi-interesting conversation. It doesn't even have to be often. I'm an independent woman—I'm not looking for a caregiver, a father figure or a bank roll. But there is a romantic streak deeply hidden inside me (deeply, deeply, deeply hidden). So, when I got a pop-up from another friend on Facebook that had the magic words "soulmate" and "survey" during a long morning at work, I thought, "Why not?"

So, I took the survey called "When will you meet your soulmate?"

I thought it was a valid question since I feel like I've been alive a while now, and that soulmate should be popping up any day now. Also, a girl has to be ready, and I've been putting off getting my roots done, have some upcoming charity events and work keeps threatening to bring me back to New York. I thought for planning purposes alone, I should check to see what soulmate's schedule looks like.

Naturally, I opened the survey and began at the beginning.

Question 1.

Numero uno.

It was just staring me in the face: "When do you want to get married?" Simple enough question—clearly designed by children who still have hope that they have any control over that sort of thing, but a simple enough question. Unfortunately, it was also a question I couldn't answer. You see, the survey had a multiple choice option with a set of age spans. The problem? The oldest age span on the survey was 5 years YOUNGER than I already am. In essence, it was telling me that someone as aged as I am, should have either met the man, or I never actually had shot at meeting him. Either way, I am out of luck. Thanks for playing.

Awesome.

 

Hobbies

Apparently, I'm incapable of having hobbies. If I enjoy something, I tend to pursue it, put my protestant work ethic to the test (despite not being protestant), and suddenly it's a wildly consuming semi-profession.

Don't believe me?

In college, I decided to take a class in dance in order to fulfill my fine arts credit requirement because I always did it during my work in theater, but never really trained. When given the chance to pursue it for a single class my freshman year, it should have taken up exactly 3 periods plus lab. Instead, after the first semester, I was dancing 6 hours a day and became part of the company. And no, I wasn't a dance major. I just spent as much time in rehearsals as I did in my Econ classes.

I tried to pick up dancing again when I was working in New York to get back into shape. I changed my hours in the city, so that I could make classes that I had—nearly every night. Before I left, I was dancing through auditions for everything from commercials to Broadway (which didn't go well, but was still awesome!).

I started dancing in LA, again to stay in shape, and started performing here despite having rehearsals that meant me not getting home until after 11pm—not late for normal people, but I'm up at 5am, so it wasn't the brightest move.

A friend asked me to help out on his film project—I became a producer (while still maintaining my normal day job).

You might have noticed that I enjoy a little show known as "The X-Files". For most people when they enjoy a TV show, I think that means kicking back and watching it regularly. For me it meant doing extra work on the show. For me it meant when the new movie was pending release, I went out to interview fans, editing videos and blog posting. It means I won't go to an event without a camera now because I know I'll want to "report" on the event. It means wanting to work with the people involved—and increasingly finding ways to do that.

I'm into charity work. Now what time I have left on weekends and evenings is spent on upcoming events, auctions, fundraisers, etc. Oh, and we're in the midst of incorporating. So, add another company to my list of "hobbies".

I started writing a blog to quickly deal with an emotional experience so I could process and move on. Three years later, I'm still writing with the very real possibility of turning it into a series and a book.

Maybe it's the control freak in me—I can't just enjoy an experience without it becoming another profession.

All I can say is-- it's a good thing I'm not having sex.

In Just Over a Month

In just over a month (ok, a month and a week), Californication returns. Finally. So, naturally, when I'm faced with a blank blog, no inspiration and a delightful email from a new reader who was also at the panel (small world!), I thought to myself, "Self, you should post more stuff from that Californication panel that the Los Angeles Times hosted for The Envelope Series".

The first clip features Pamela Adlon hilariously recounting her take on her sex scenes in Showtime's Californication. Also, I'm pretty sure this is the first time I've heard a panel discussion involving the words, "Horse's penis". So, there's that.

Pamela Adlon Discusses Sex Scenes on Californication from Kate Dating on Vimeo.

In the second video, David Duchovny discusses his approach to playing Hank Moody, and his concerns about keeping Hank a sympathetic character.

David Duchovny Talks About Keeping Hank Moody Sympathetic from Kate Dating on Vimeo.

Enjoy! Also, as you've noticed, emails inspire me to write (or post videos). So, if you want to inspire a blog, feel free to write to me at katedating@yahoo.com.

Too Long

It is possible that I've been in LA for too long.

Sex Tape Cynicism

When I read on Starpulse (http://www.starpulse.com/news/index.php/2009/08/17/eric_dane_aamp_rebecca_gayheart_sex_tape_1) that a sex tape was leaked involving Eric Dane and his wife (and some random woman), my first thought was not, "How shocking!" or even, "He's hot!" Nope, my reaction was "which one of them has a movie coming out?" Seriously, I just don't think the new season of Gray's Anatomy is sex-tape-leak worthy, so one of them has got to a movie coming out. Because otherwise, this is just stupid—I mean how difficult is it to keep track of your sex tapes? They don't tend to wander off on their own. Are you bringing them to parties because someone said they were showing home movies of their vacation, and you wanted to share, too? Because otherwise, they shouldn't be leaving the house. Also, you probably shouldn't mark them "Sex Tape, Please Don't Steal This and Leak It To The Press". Not only does that take up way too much room on the DVD label (and you like to keep those things pithy and neat), but it sort of seems like taunting—particularly unwise if you gave your assistant a terrible Christmas bonus.

Update: I've heard now that it's just a "naked" tape and not a sex tape. Well, sure. Who hasn't done that? That's the first thing I do when friends come over-- the clothes come off, and I grab that camera. Or, no.

Update2: Now it appears that he's not even naked. It's just the, seemingly stoned, women in bathtub. The third party insists that her computer hard-drive was stolen by singer Mindy McCready during some celebrity rehab stint after a fight. Folks, I could not make this shit up.

Odds Making

Also on Starpulse today, I learned that Robin Wright Penn is once again just saying "no" to Sean (http://www.starpulse.com/news/index.php/2009/08/17/robin_wright_penn_rules_out_reconciliati). This is a sad thing, though not really surprising given the back and forth and back and forth and…. Still, yelling out, "Who had August in the divorce pool?" really isn't appropriate.

Non-Weather

The lack of actual weather in LA has solidified my love for weather porn. I should have gone into producing weather specials. I'm fascinated with weather. I see really only one problem: I don't really like to be in weather. So, I'd have to send other people out to do the filming because tornadoes terrify me. Also, hurricanes look like they are not quite so delightful to wander in, despite how engrossing they are on TV. Oooh, also, I hate snow unless I'm inside wrapped in a blankie with the heat flowing. Ok, so technically, I should be producing special weather programming from my couch featuring Rob Marciano. Or Reynolds Wolf. Or… well, any boy with a degree in meteorology who looks good wet while trying to hold onto his baseball cap, microphone and pants all at the same time. [Note: Chloe and I decided today that Reynolds Wolf sounds like a character's name on a soap opera or Harlequin romance. He is, in fact, a delightful and intelligent man with no signs of flowing, Fabio-like locks.] Or maybe I could just write weather related novels. @Toonses88 on twitter suggested, "The night was sultry" so I'm practically writing it already. No, I'm not desperately looking for ways to do something more interesting with my life. What makes you say that?

Radar Love

Maybe not so much radar love, but missives promising me astrologically sound love caught my attention. Clearly, my only problem has been that I've been gazing at men with the wrong astrological signs. It's not that I don't talk to them, they don't talk to me, or the hiding in the apartment thing. No, the universe has been trying to send me signs. Being appropriately beaten down by the Los Angeles "what-the-hell-is-dating-oh-you-mean-sex-after-more-than-the-first-hour-of-acquaintance-but-that's-so-1950" social scene, I took a gander. Yeah. This is also not about dating. This is about finding someone erotically compatible (a word I misspelled twice, by the way). Still, for all of you who are now curious:

http://www.aolhealth.com/healthy-living/relationships/sexually-compatible-astrology-signs?icid=mainmaindl2link3http%3A%2F%2Fwww.aolhealth.com%2Fhealthy-living%2Frelationships%2Fsexually-compatible-astrology-signs

According to this, I have an "enthusiasm for all things carnal".

Yeah. I haven't stopped laughing either.

Part 2

For those of you waiting on the 2nd part of the David Tennant story, here it is. :)

http://becauselifeisshort.blogspot.com/2009/08/how-i-met-david-tennant-pt-2-get-in.html

New Rules

I realize this means I'm old, but if you call me, and don't leave a message, in my world that means that you didn't call me. Seriously, for like 15 days I won't know you called, until I'm scrolling through the call log looking for another number because I'm too lazy to go into contacts. It is only then, by the random chance of where your once-upon-a-time call landed, that I will know that you called. At that point, I might wonder why you called. Then I will dismiss it along the lines of "if it was important, he/she/it would have left a message", and I will keep scrolling. I will not call you back. Even if you are David Tennant (my new best friend), I will not call you back. Because as my new best friend, you should know that you must leave a message even though you kid me that the truly "with it" peeps don't leave messages. Clooney, you have been warned.

[Plus, if I found out that I missed George's call 10 days earlier, it would probably take another month just to figure out what to wear when I called him back. No, seriously—these things are important. What if he wanted to pop over to make sure that my ignoring him for weeks was just happenstance and not because I'm annoyed that he seemingly skipped over me in the dating rotation in favor of new girlfriend #1452? A girl has to be prepared.]

Kate

P.S. If you want to hear the David Tennant story, part I is up here with part 2 to follow soon (so I'm told):

http://becauselifeisshort.blogspot.com/

 

Things to Do With Glue

I posted this link up on twitter the other day: http://www.lemondrop.com/2009/08/03/exes-3-way-smackdown-3-timing-man/

As I said on twitter, obviously this is wrong. This is not appropriate (:::chuckle::::) conflict resolution. So, before anyone tries to bring forth a lawsuit, I am in no way advocating this kind of perfectly executed retribution. It's just… ahem… wrong. No two ways about it. Krazy gluing a cheater's private bits together is not the answer. Well, actually it is an answer, just perhaps not the most mature one.

Regardless, as I was taking the article to be laminated, I re-read it. And then I stumbled on this little part: "The three women, who intricately planned the hotel beatdown, also physically attacked the three-timer and demanded to know which woman he loved most."

Ooooh. Ladies, you were so close. Here's a tip: if he's screwing all three of you, the answer is D) none of the above. The only person he loves in this equation is himself. But thanks for playing. And really, which one of you was still hoping that he'd pick you? Despite the overwhelming evidence of his ass-hattery, which one of you would still have believed him? Because you know he was weighing his odds. Maybe one of you is kind of bruiser, so if he picked you, he might have hoped that you would have turned on the other two?

Seriously, ladies, you can't embrace your inner Heather in one more-embarrassing-than-deadly-Drano moment and still somehow hope for a picket fence ending. So, pick up the damn red bow and walk out of the school… um… hotel room and face the reality (and perhaps some jail time because I'm pretty sure low-life is going to get you all locked up for assault—may you get an all female jury).

Moral of this story? It's just all bad.

Kate, who has a spinning moral compass these days

Killer Bikini Waxes From Outer Space

I thought that title might get your attention.

I've never been shy about expressing which side I'm on in the war of the pubic hairs. While I applaud some basic caretaking, I'm just not down with visually reducing me to a pre-pubescent girl. I'm a woman. If you can't get turned on by me unless I look like a 9 year old then I'm out (also, probably calling the police and leaving an anonymous tip, but that's another story).

I'm not going to lie—part of my reticence regarding the rip-it-all-out-by-the-root-and-smile approach is my naturally prudish demeanor… and the descriptions of what some of you have gone through in order to get that ready for XXX close-up. [By the way, congratulations for surviving the decision to have hot wax spackled all over the southern zone.] For instance, I've got to know you pretty darn well to be happy about a command to get on all fours and shove my ass in your face. I know. I know. I'm ridiculous. But that's just me.

On the upside, the person working the anal/pubic tweezers does possibly have a worse job than I have. In fact, when I'm at work complaining about how dissatisfied I am with my job, I think to myself, "Well, at least I'm not tweezing someone's ingrown pubic hair right now." The worst days, of course, are the days where this little mantra doesn't work.

However, regardless of my own natural reluctance in these matters, I never once seriously thought that a bikini wax could kill me—you know, unless the term "died of embarrassment" turned out to be literal. But this article is something for you all to keep in mind the next time you let someone drip hot wax south of the border.

Please consider this my PSA of the month. Stay safe out there.

http://health.msn.com/health-topics/articlepage.aspx?cp-documentid=100240299&gt1=31036

I Know There Was Something

Apparently, in planning for a new life (new career, new love, new shoes) you are supposed to figure out what you are good at. Determine your passion and make a career of it. Determine the kind of man/relationship you want and pursue it. Figure out why you need yet another pair of black heels and buy them. On the surface, this all sounds like an excellent plan. Plus, Jimmy Choo is having another sale. So, I got out my trusty pencil (yes, it must be a pencil) and a piece of paper. I'm excellent at creating lists, and I thought this would come naturally.

What am I good at? What am I good at? Well, there was that…. Um… Oh, and that one time…oh, no, that didn't work….

Yeah, that session pretty much ended with me doodling a pair of shoes. Well, at least I'm focused.

So, I tried again. So far, this is my list:

1. Good at observing how delectable David Duchovny looks in swimwear (past and present)
   Can I make a career out of being a perv? Hugh Hefner jokes aside, probably not. Although, perhaps I have an as yet undiscovered talent as a swimsuit designer? Of course, I also find him delightful in Hank Moody black t-shirt and Mulder suit, so men's fashion designer generally might also be a possibility. Or, maybe I am destined to become a sculptor, and could actually bill this time to research of the male form?
   
2. Good at always looking on the downside of life
   I don't give myself props for much, but I have mad skills with this one. Plus, any time I can bastardize a song from "The Life of Brian" (or really any Monty Python), I'm doing to do it. This might mean I have to cross off elementary school teacher from my list of possible new careers. Well, that and the fact that children and I tend to look upon each other with mutual suspicion. But I think news anchor, stock analyst, real estate advisor and loan officer, given the overall economic and social climate, are all areas where my gift for bleak could be rewarded.
   
3. Good at watching the same films or TV episodes repeatedly without tiring of them
   Maybe I can become an editor? You watch, re-watch, re-re-watch a lot with that job. Or some sort of CIA or FBI analyst where watching footage over and over again looking for clues is a key component. Or TV analyst? Or obsessed network executive?
   
4. Good at getting irrationally angry at Emmy voters for epic failure despite not being involved in the shows
   Yeah, this has producer all over it. Or crazy person. Whichever. I've been called both.
   
5. Good at shaking my fist at the universe
   Um… politician? Tele-Evangelist?
   

That's as far as I've gotten. So far, the only possible job I see that includes all of this is "unpaid blogger". Oh, wait… I've already got that job.

Success!! They were right. Put it down on paper, and your dreams really will come true.

This seems slightly less impressive than originally hoped.

Much like my love life.

Emmy Fail

Oh, Emmy voters how you continue to disappoint. Still, I will take my cue from the infinitely more mature David Duchovny and Natascha McElhone seen here in a clip from back in June (obviously, before they knew the outcome) at the Los Angeles Times Envelope Screening Series for Showtime's Californication.

David Duchovny and Natascha McElhone on Showtime and Californication from Kate Dating on Vimeo.

FML

A Friday should be a beautiful thing. A Friday afternoon, in particular, holds such promise. On a Friday afternoon, you should be able to look over the horizon and feel like you have days and days to do with what you will. You can stay up late and not fear that upon waking, you'll have to go to work. In short, Friday should just be joy.

You know what things don't indicate a joyful Friday?

1. You should not find out that your pilot project got rejected thus trapping you forever in a job that no longer rings your bell (Hell, I can't find the bell. Was there a bell?)
   
2. You should not then get an assignment at bell-less job that you should never have and only got because everyone else had the good sense to be on vacation and entirely unreachable.
   
3. You should not then finally find a couple of minutes to check in with Facebook looking for solace only to be cruelly taunted by "People You Might Know" suggestions. Oh, and that suggestion shouldn't be The EX, but what it really shouldn't be is your Ex's new wife using a profile photo where she is holding their new baby.
   

 

FML

While We're Waiting

It's true that my portable, 2-dimensional visualization device (or vision board) is still blank. Although I do appreciate the many comments and emails with suggestions.

But I hate a blank page.

So, instead of staring at a blank page, I bring you another short clip from the Los Angeles Times Envelope Screening Series Panel for Californication which was held in June. Please enjoy watching Natascha McElhone and David Duchovny bantering about love on Californication.

Can't wait for Season 3 to start.

(as usual, you can pop it out to full size with the vimeo controls).

Natascha McElhone and David Duchovny Banter About Love on Californication from Kate Dating on Vimeo.

The Board

Two of my friends are creating vision boards. Scratch that. One of my friends is creating a vision board, the other one, Pen, is creating a portable, 2-dimensional visualization tool. Pen rejects The Secret even though she recognizes the possible superficial overlap of her current theories—thus, the terminology becomes important.

For those of you who are now scratching your heads in confusion—you are not alone. From what I understand, the board includes pictures, notes, articles, etc that represent things you need and want for each aspect of your life. Apparently, for The Secret followers, this helps you articulate what you want, gives you an idea of the path to achieve it, and puts it out into the universe. I'm not exactly sure what the universe does with it. For me, the universe would crumple it up into a little ball, spit on it and then stomp on it. I sincerely hope my friend has better luck.

For the non-Secret devotees, the visualization board serves as not only a way to articulate what you want and need, but, recognizing that the universe is at best an indifferent bastard, it also acts as a reminder—it's a goal board… a motivational tool…some sort of slightly non-aggressive accountability tool.

In other words, I think they are supposed to do the same thing.

I have to tell you: I'm completely fascinated by the idea. Sure, I have a slight concern that my visualization tool will end up looking like some sort of deranged George Clooney altar, but if it looks like it might be working for either one of them in any way, I'm in. Beyond the success or failure rate of these boards, I think part of my fascination is focused on these practitioners of the dark arts of hopefulness and planning. These women couldn't be more different, and yet they are both whole-heartedly embracing this technique.

Oh, and one other thing they are embracing: the idea that I too should join their ranks and start cutting up some magazines.

Hmmmm.

I did read that article about a woman who visualized a particular number (I don't remember what it was. Let's say it was 127 million). She put it on paper and put the paper under her pillow. She meditated on it. She thought about it all the time. And then she won $127 million in the lottery. It's a good story. I like this story. But let's face it, if obsessing over something made it a reality, we all know my life would look a hell of a lot different right now.

My natural proclivity to disparage all signs of positivity is not my only issue… it's not even the biggest issue. No, my primary issue remains my inability to answer the simple question, "What do you want?"

There's a certain amusement factor inherent in my inability to answer this question. Why? I used to ask this question of The Ex all the time when we were faced with complicated relationship conundrums. Invariably, he'd respond with "Why does it rest with me?" To which I always replied, "Because I know what I want." How perverse is it that I can no longer even begin to answer this question? I'm now so divorced from myself that I have no idea.

My vision board is empty.

Pen, being a Life Coach, took a pragmatic approach and present me with some completely reasonable questions. It went something like this:

Pen: "Do you want a house? Everyone in LA wants a house."

Kate: "Eh"

Pen: "Eh, is not an answer. Eh, is more of an 'I'm secretly reading Twitter and not pay attention to you because I'm in avoidance mode."

Kate: "Completely untrue" [closing out of Twitter] "Fine. The theory of a house is fine. But I have neither the inclination nor the skill to actually care for one. I also do not appear to have unlimited funds to hire staff to do it for me. Also, I'd like to point out that, technically, the bank would own the house."

Pen: "What about travel? You used to travel."

Kate: "Has teleportation been invented yet?"

Pen: "Not to my knowledge."

Kate: "Probably going to nix travel then."

Pen (admittedly laughing at this point): "Fame?"

Kate: "Ha! Yes. But Fame costs. And right here is where you start paying. In sweat."

Pen: "A shocking no!"

Kate: "Yes, it's what every hermit secretly craves—to be followed around by people with cameras and access to the internet."

Pen: "Scratch that one off. How about a new job?"

Kate: "Now we're talking!"

Pen: "What would you like to do if you could have any job in the world?"

Kate: "No idea."

Pen: "Well, your portable 2-dimensional visualization tool can't just be full of photos of George Clooney."

Kate: "Why not?"

Pen: "Because dating him is a completely unrealistic goal."

Kate: "So is owning a house in LA, but that made the list."

And then she gave me what looked suspiciously like the stink eye last seen on my high school gym teacher.

Kate: "What?"

For nearly 30 minutes I thought about what I would really want (that was also something I could work towards and achieve) and the board is still empty. I do the job I do because I'm good at it, and it pays well. I have obligations. I have responsibilities and no desire to take on more. I have commitments. These things I understand. But "want"? "Want" I'm not good at. "Want" is a specimen I circle cautiously and with great suspicion.