Category Archives: Katie

Things Katie wrote

IT’S ALL HAPPENING!

by John Walters | 5 Comments

by John Walters

Starting Five

Bat’s Entertainment: Pearce had four home runs in the series.

Lost Weekend

The Yankees are swept in a four-game series at Fenway Pahk, and the only thing worse is knowing that Ben Affleck and Jeremy Renner are likely robbing the till this morning.  The Yanks lost in almost every conceivable fashion: an 8-run 4th inning on Thursday night led to a 15-7 blowout; a one-hitter on Friday (4-1); a listless performance on Saturday, where they went from down 4-0 with two outs and no one in the ninth to having the bases loaded and the go-ahead run at the plate, only for Greg Bird to send a lazy fly ball to center.

Finally, Sunday night: a 4-1 lead when closer Aroldis Chapman enters and promptly walks the number 9 hitter, then another one. Thirty-nine pitches and three runs later, it’s extra innings; and in the 10th the Sawx launch the winning rally with two out and no one on: single, wild pitch, seeing-eye game-winning single.

Just brutal. Boston now leads the Yankees by 9 1/2 games, and while the A.L. East isn’t over, the gravedigger just picked up the spade. No other division has as wide a margin between its first- and second-place teams.

p.s. The Bombers have not gone long in the past three games.

p.p.s. We wish George Steinbrenner were still around to witness this. He’d be going nuts this morning (“Costanza!”) and probably would have fired the bullpen. The back pages of the Post and Daily News would have his rage-quotes all over them. Are you really the Yankee manager if you aren’t required to answer George’s tirades to the press?

2. Oh, THAT Meeting With the Russians?

His son and son-in-law attended, but how would you expect him to know anything about it?

In a stunning reversal—but not really—of posture, President Trump now admits that the June 2016 meeting with the Russians that took place in Trump Tower was about getting dirt on probable presidential election foe Hillary Clinton. This confession came via Sunday morning tweet.


Donald, who just by osmosis should have earned three law degrees by now, added that it was “totally legal” (it’s not, because the people offering the dirt were foreigners) and “done all the time in politics” and how would he even know that, being the political outsider he claims to be?

And all those poor Russian children waiting to be adopted. How will they feel knowing the meeting (which, for now at least, Trump still claims he knew nothing about at the time, but it only took place a floor below his office and involved his oldest son and some of his closest campaign officials) was not about them? Guess they can feel some solace in knowing they’re not in detention facilities with no idea where their parents are.

3. ESPN Strikes Out

We only joined ESPN’s Sunday Night Baseball telecast—Matt Vasgersian, Jessica Mendoza, A-Rod—in the seventh inning last night, but here are the errors we picked up. We’ll begin with the most egregious:

–Top of the 9th, the Yanks lead 4-1 and have two runners on base and Vasgersian says, “Don’t look now, but the tying run comes to the plate in the form of Miguel Andujar.” Whhhaaaaaat?

–A-Rod twice alluded to teams “loading the dice.” It’s rolling the dice.

–Vasgersian alluded to a scout’s mom as “being the woman behind all the men at the Padres for years.” A-Rod, to his credit, succinctly said, “Expand on that, please.” Yes, please do.

–In the top of the ninth inning, A-Rod discussed how the Red Sox were going to be very happy having won three out of four against the Yankees. He did not even place a conditional on that statement, even though he himself maintained more than once that “three runs at Fenway is like one run,” alluding to the Yankee lead. Of course, Boston would overcome its three-run deficit and win.

–Finally, on SportsCenter after the game, A-Rold told host Steve Levy that “the Yankees came to Boston trailing by 4 1/2 games and after being swept four games, leave trailing by 9 1/2.” If a first-ballot HOF’er can’t do simple Games Behind math, what hope do the rest of us have.

Let us say, though, that A-Rod’s an ex-ballplayer. His errors are somewhat more forgivable. Vasgersian’s gaffe is what happens when ESPN talking heads attempt to fill your living room with all the information they’ve digested in game prep to the neglect of discussing what’s taking place right in front of their eyes. It was the worst gaffe we’ve heard during a game in quite some time, not because it’s misidentifying a player or the score, but it’s presuming the team that leads by three runs is actually trailing by three. It’s like, Oh yeah, I wasn’t even paying attention.

We watch a lot of local Yankee broadcasts: Michael Kay, accompanied by a rotating crew of Paul O’Neill, David Cone, John Flaherty, Al Leiter and Ken Singleton. They do a phenomenal, and to Kay’s credit, highly professional job. They’re so much better than any ESPN crew we hear. Not knowing Kay but feeling as if I do (we’re the same age from the same area), I can only imagine he wonders how mistakes like the ones ESPN aired last night happen.

4. Clark Kent Is Aquaman?

It’s a bird, it’s a plane…maybe it’s a fish

A 10 year-old boy from northern California broke one of Michael Phelps’ age-group swimming records (the 100-meter butterfly) by a whole second. His name: Clark Kent Apuada.

5. World War II Casualties Still Piling Up

In the Swiss Alps, a vintage World War II plane carrying 20 passengers crashes, killing everyone aboard. As an eerie note, TCM was airing Where Eagles Dare that same night. Seventeen of the passengers were Swiss and three were Austrian.

Music 101

If You Really Love Me

In the early Seventies, the dueling pianos of Elton John (ivory) and Stevie Wonder (ebony) ruled the pop music kingdom. This 1971 hit peaked at No. 8, so it is not one of Stevland Hardaway Morris’ (his birth name) ten No. 1 hits.

Remote Patrol

Better Call Saul

9 p.m. AMC

What to remember as we prepare for the Season 4 premiere: Chuck’s dead, Kim’s injured, Mike and Gus are a team, and Jimmy’s on the path to breaking bad himself.

And It’s Not Even Wednesday

by John Walters | 6 Comments

By Katie

Some idiot once said, “You only regret the things you didn’t do.”

This is almost as bad as “Everything happens for a reason”.

I regret everything that came out of my mouth between 6th and 12th grade. I regret every tank top I’ve ever owned. I regret the year I was a redhead.

I regret letting some ding-dong with visions of comedy dancing in his humorless head talk me into doing his stupid video web series.

If you stopped by here yesterday, and if you actually clicked on the video my dear friend John posted of me acting like a right jackass (I wrote that in a Scottish accent) you know what I’m talking about. If for some reason you didn’t watch it, (a reason like you have a job or you rightly suspected it was not a cat video and therefore not worth your time) praise Allah.

I feel defensive enough to offer an explanation to you kind people, who came here looking for sports and got that instead.

Many years ago, a young Midwestern girl had lots of older siblings who were good at everything; they were writers, actors, painters and jocks. She wanted to be just like all of them, so she did all the things they did, but poorly. The only thing she wanted as much as to be like her siblings was a sweaty coupling with Daryl Hall, and she still has the diary entries to prove it.

To quote my cousin Dennis, I, I mean she, was a moron in a family of geniuses. (He didn’t say it about her, he said it about himself, and she co-opted it—another example of her unoriginality. Also it isn’t true about him.)

An example:

Her older sister, an amazingly talented artist, painted the walls of her bedroom with enchanting scenes from Mother Goose. The effect was that of an alternate world, where no harm could ever come and life was a magical hug of tranquility. People came from blocks away to see it–their parents had dinner parties just so they could show it off.

So, our young girl painted her own bedroom walls with giant Don Martin heads from Mad Magazine, sloppily and with black house paint. The effect was an Easter Island nightmare. Her parents wall-papered over it, using the excuse that it “disturbed the baby’s sleep” (it was a shared room, natch).

Imagine an eight-year-old’s rendering of this, only 5 feet high and all in black.

 

That baby grew up to be another sister who was also better than her at everything, but by the time that became clear, our heroine was a full-tilt alcoholic and didn’t mind as much.

Her lack of talent didn’t stop her, however.

She liked painting, and writing silliness, and talking in funny voices on the radio, so she did all those things all the way into her adulthood, embracing the philosophy “Jack-of-all-trades, master of none.”

They were fun, and kept her occupied and out of the kitchen, an added bonus for her discerning children. They also put a few bucks in her pocket, which was really nice since the only thing she truly hated was real work.

Then one day, an incredibly horrible on-camera job she took showed up on the interweb, so she drank a large glass of Drano and took a nap that lasted forever.

Just kidding. About the Drano nap. All that other stuff is true, except the part about being an alcoholic. I can stop anytime I want to.

Yes, I am a commercial actor in a small market. Some of the jobs are good, some are not so great, but in the maybe-not-wise words of Ms. Lisa Rinna, “I don’t say no very often. I say yes.”

Let’s start saying no

 

How have you guys been?

I can’t do a starting five today. Coming up with a real list involves reading the news, and I don’t feel like doing that. I know– you’re used to a higher standard; John does it and more, every single day, but he’s what is known in the industry as  a “pro”. He is also, if his Christmas cards are to be believed, a wildly imaginative cross-dresser.

John’s Christmas card from last year. I know! I wasn’t expecting it either.

Five Reasons I Can’t Come Up With a Starting Five

1) I’m too busy pondering why Angelina Jolie and Amal Clooney hate each other.

It seems so wrong that they do, but it feels so right. 

2) I’m pulling the cat out of the Christmas Tree

Some day, when I have a personal assistant, this will be their job. Until that day, I have to do it.

3) I’m hungover

Fittingly, my agent’s annual Holiday soiree was last night, and I had two margaritas. Then I came home and ate 317 Christmas cookies, yet here I am, ten hours later, hungry. The human body is truly a miracle.

This is a selfie I just took

4) I’m binge-watching Nashville

Several family members have been encouraging me to watch this show, assuring me it’s right in my wheelhouse. How well they know me! I can’t get enough.

I’m a massive fan of this little spitfire

5) I’m writing erotica under the pen name Olivia Thundersaddle

This isn’t true, at least not yet. But it’s on my list for 2015, so in another month it will be true. I’ll have to change my pen name now, since the whole idea behind it is so no one will ever know it’s me and I just told you that it is.

I will spend the rest of today coming up with pen names. Suggestions most welcome.

Add this to the list of things I wish I’d thought of

Well, New Girl Sure Isn’t Happening. Again.

by John Walters | 7 Comments

images-1

By Katie

The homestretch.

This week I bid adieu to my favorite month. It’s a very sad time for me and I don’t know how I’m going to handle it…thanks, thanks you guys. You can send the checks directly to me.

It is a small comfort to me, the knowledge that the month after this one is also pretty awesome, and the month after that is gaaaaaaah I love the holidays so much I take it back this isn’t my favorite month they’re all my favorites sooooo much good stuff to look forward to!

it’s a pretty good time of year

 

Unless you have Ebola (there it is). Which I’m to understand is now in NYC, so for sure John has it.

If he doesn’t, why does it smell so bad in here? Anyway, I promised you Halloweeny stuff all month and the problem is, my mind has skipped forward to Christmas. Must. Focus.

I spent a lot of time at the library when I was a kid. It was right across the street from our little school, and it was the perfect place to kill an hour before whatever sports or vaudevillian type-show practice was happening back at the gym (there were always vaudevillian type shows being put on, and the adults of the parish always got all the good parts. I’m not bitter about it, though, it’s fine that now that I am an adult, they don’t do it anymore. I said it’s fine).

Work hard sweetheart, someday you’ll be the headliner…or not.

 

It was the most awesome library–right out of a movie. Looked like a mini-Hogwarts, had a children’s floor and a grown-up floor, both with fireplaces and deep leather furniture. It’s still there, and it’s still adorable–the problem is, it no longer has any books in it.

Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration–if you’re a fan of David Baldacci or Elizabeth Berg (no judgement! I admire and envy them both and someday hope to be the only offering at the local library) you’re in luck, but if you want anything other than those, you have to go elsewhere.

My ritual was, go over to the drugstore and charge a candy bar to my parent’s account, then go to the library and sneak After Darks (see: last week) into the bathroom while I ate it.*

*the candy-bar portion of this ritual was short-lived; it ended the day my dad got the bill. But at least I wasn’t shoplifting them, as my friend Tara and I had one packet of peanut m&m’s from the grocery store in first grade. We felt so terrible about it we buried them in the snow instead of eating them, and we had to wait an entire year to confess that sin at our first reconciliation. That’s some heavy baggage for two little girls to carry for that long, folks. We were seven, and by the time we knelt before that priest we could’ve easily passed for nine.  

In October, I always rounded up the absolute limit of Halloween books I was allowed to check out and hogged them for as long as possible. My favorite was called, simply, Halloween., with a period like that, and if I’m remembering correctly, the cover was plain except for that word, with a spooky owl behind it. I don’t know who wrote it, and over the years,  I have looked high and low for that book with no luck.

No, not because I want it–I have it. Still. I just don’t know where it is, and I never returned it. What do you suppose the fine is on a library book that is 36 years overdue?

That’s not even my record, kids. I checked this book:

out in kindergarten, and it is sitting on the ottoman in front of me, right now. For the first, I don’t know, five years or so that I had it, the sight of it would fill me with guilt and dread. It’s like when you don’t know a person’s name that you know you should know, and then so much time passes that you can’t possibly ask anymore, you know? This book is 40 years overdue.

You: Hang on…you waited a year to confess stealing some m&m’s you didn’t even eat,  but you not only never copped to the stolen book, you still have it??

What can I say? People are complicated.

But the best Halloween book of all time is this one:

and it wasn’t stolen from any library, we owned it, and I loved it. I think this book is what got me interested in pen-and-ink art. A few years ago, my sister found a copy of it on a vintage book site and sent it to me. I never give her anything. Well, I gave her quite a few robust scrubbings with a hairbrush while she was trying to sleep over the years, but I doubt she’d thank me for that.

Here’s another old favorite:

 Starting Five

1. Dear Mr. Watterson

Watched this on Netflix last weekend. Fantastic. If you were a fan of Calvin and Hobbes, and you were because how could you not have been, you must watch it. If you are a fan of cartoon art, which I am (and the movie addresses the misconception of cartooning and comic art as “low art”, an attitude that has chapped my hide since my black-turtleneck wearin’ art school days)  you are in for an extra treat–this movie made me want to go visit this place. 

2. Boyish Girl Interrupted

That is the name of Tig Notaro’s touring comedy show, which I had the great pleasure of seeing last Wednesday night. I came out an even bigger fan than I was going in, and I was a pretty big fan. I love her. Watching her live was honestly like hanging out with your super funny friend in your living room, and she doesn’t work blue–not that I mind that, I don’t–but I do kind of think it takes an extra dollop of talent and chutzpa not to, these days. Watch her videos and buy her cd’s, because she deserves your devotion.

The best part is, my gal pals and I got our picture taken with her after the show–and in it, Ms. Notaro has a look on her face that clearly says, “I can’t believe the crap I have to endure to make a buck”, which I love, understand and admire.

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You better buy a t-shirt for this

That sliver of face next to her is me. I cut myself out because not only does my hair look predictably terrible, I am wearing a sweater that looks like my grandmother’s tablecloth. Why did I not notice its horribleness until I was out in public in it? But at least I have an idiotic, super-fan smile plastered across my wine-soaked face.

You: I knew your grandmother to be a woman of taste and refinement. She would never have had a tablecloth that heinous. 

Never mind. Look at Tig!  She looks so thrilled. I hope she keeps in touch. Why, why won’t you be my friend, Tig Notaro??

 

3. Donuts On A String

Deserves to be elevated to the number one Halloween party game, ahead of  bobbing for apples. Bobbing for apples is the worst. Not really, I mean I love it because it’s good old-fashioned Halloween fun, but let’s be honest, it’s pretty gross. Once a couple of kids have had their turns, the water is nothing but washed-off clown makeup and snot.

If you’re going to do it with any type of conviction, you have to submerge your entire head in the other participants’ effluvium and trap an apple against the bottom.  Oh, sure, some priss always tries to gently nab a stem in their teeth, but that never works. Never. If you have a story of it working, you might as well save it because it is a lie.   

My daughter just read what I wrote and said, “You always go off on such tangents. Your tangents have tangents. How do you ever get anything done?”

She has known me 19 years. She knows I don’t ever get anything done. She doesn’t even have a name yet. 

Donuts on a string–in case you aren’t hip to it, you play it thusly: Many donuts, preferably powdered sugar because they best lend themselves to comedic shenanigans, are hung on strings, or in our case, one big string  which was then secured across the kitchen.  The participants get onto their knees, under a donut, with their hands behind their backs–you cannot use your hands.  A judge yells “GO” and the first person to completely eat and swallow their donut wins.

Choking hazard or rollicking good time? Why not both?

It’s a good idea to know the Heimlich maneuver if you are going to play this game. You’re going to need it. It is hilarious. 

4. I Hope You People Are Happy

I know you all love sports, and I love sports insofar as sports keep the Imperial Poobah employed and keep you coming back to Medium Happy day after day,  but I have not been able to watch New Girl or The Mindy Project for two weeks because of the World Series.  I am not whining, I’m simply pointing out the unfairness of the universe and the fact that everyone is against me.

And finally, my very last number five of October (drumroll)….

5. This Ad I Found On Craigslist

Looking for a Midget or two 

compensation: Negotiable

Looking for a “little person” midget or dwarf to pose with our family for a family photo. All you need to do is show up in nice clothes, and pose with our family in various shots. We will be more than happy to offer fair transportation cost and pay for your time. This will be fun!

 Dear Sir or Madam,

It is so heartwarming to know that out there is a family committed to teaching their children about (and delighting their friends with) “midget humor”. I would be honored to be a part of your family photo, and I will sleep well at night knowing that I was part of such a noble cause. Name the time and the date, and I will show up in nice clothes and a fairly priced invoice.

Oh—I’m 5’5”. Will that be OK? I have problematic hair, so that could be funny.

Kindly,

Katie

The actual library where you cannot find Muffel and Plums. Or much else.

 

IT’S HAPPENING, AND A LITTLE TOO QUICKLY FOR MY TASTE

by John Walters | 13 Comments

In keeping with our “October is Ebola Awareness Month” theme, I will now share with you the story of my first make-out party, which rightly and scarily coincides with our  “Halloween Stories, Every Wednesday This Month” theme.

ebola

Zeichenpress.com wants you to turn that frown upside down!

It was 1978. I was in fourth grade and had made friends with a girl in the fifth grade, which was pretty much like winning the lottery.

She was a new student to my tiny Catholic school–she came over from the public school down the street.

Public school kids terrified me.

I had to walk past their playground every day to get to mine. The taunting! My God, the taunting.

Those kids knew words I didn’t know.

OK, that’s not  true, I knew the words and used them liberally, thanks to a little something in our kitchen called the ‘Stupid/Shut-up Jar.’

My mom converted an empty peanut-butter jar into a depository in which we had to pay a quarter every time we called each other stupid or told each other to shut-up, her absolute pet-peeve. We took that thing and ran with it, scrounging everywhere we could for loose change to buy ourselves some swears.

So, fine, we were potty-mouths, but still. Those public school kids wore Toughskins, for God’s sake.

What you don’t see is who they’re chasing

I know what you’re probably thinking: “What does this have to do with Ebola or Halloween? And don’t you have like 900 older siblings? Didn’t they protect you at all? Are you ever going to write about sports??”

It has to do with Ebola in a roundabout way because it’s momentarily keeping your mind off your looming, hideous demise (but can we agree, blessedly quick? If I were the Ebola PR person, that’s the tack I’d take–It’s horrible, but quick).  The Halloween aspect will become apparent, and no, no sports. I thought I’d made myself clear about that.

As for my siblings…

In theory me, two of my brothers and their neighborhood friend/basically adopted brother were supposed to walk to school together, but more often than not I got distracted by something (the irresistible urge to hop upon the stone balustrade of the neighbor’s patio and belt out a few show-tunes comes to mind–how I longed to be a Von Trapp–as does the need to see how many hand-lengths it was across the weird gravestone-looking hitching post planted in the boulevard, every single day) and they needed to move on without me, lest they be marked tardy. I had sooooo many tardies…so very many.

My point is, my slight-to-moderate OCD tendencies made me a “difficult” walking-to-school companion, not to mention a deliciously meaty, black-watch plaid-wrapped chew toy for the junkyard dogs on that public-school playground. Thank God they were penned in by a tall chain-link fence.

No wait, that isn’t my point. Back to my fifth grade friend– she was the coolest, and she invited me to her Halloween party.

She met me at her door dressed in pigtails (the ‘high-atop the head’ kind, the kind that say “I am an anime prostitute”), short-shorts and a bib, holding a blanket and sucking a pacifier.

“I’m a little girl,” she said.

You’re confused, right? Tell me about it. 

Isn’t my costume scawwee?

I was a ghost; white sheet, white face paint, black ghoulish eyes. You know, because it was a children’s Halloween party.  We walked into her living room, lit only by glow-sticks and a mirror ball. No parents were in sight; her teenaged sister was leading the festivities. I saw shadowy figures. Are those…boys? Oh dear God, there are boys in here. 

But that, m’friends, was just the tip of the iceberg. Another girl,  dolled up as a comely Pocahontas and who I recognized as one of the snarling jackals from the playground, threw me a glow-stick and informed me I was to dance with the boy who held it’s match, behind me.

I turned to face a red-faced kid dressed in his baseball uniform with a look on his face that said very clearly that he was not interested in dancing with me. I think he might’ve even groused “I have to dance with that?” but I’m not sure, since the flood of shame and mortification rushing in my ears may have drowned it out.

“Kiss, you guys!” The nurse hollered, and with that she turned to her dance partner and they embarked on some grade-A muckling. Baseball boy turned on his heel and walked away. I turned to my friend and said I didn’t feel good.

You want me to do what, with who??

My mom came and got me about ten minutes later, and I do believe that if she is reading this right now, it is the first time she has ever heard the true story of that night.

I never did subscribe to the “sexy Halloween costume” thing,  not even later when it was slightly less disturbing. When I was about twenty, my girlfriend and I dressed as a scantily-clad Peter Pan and Yul Brynner, respectively. Guess which one I was?

It was a mash-up Yul, too–I had the bald wig/braid combo from The Ten Commandments and the silk pajamas and pointy shoes from The King and I. Surprisingly, it got me zero action.

I bet you’d like to buy me a drink.

Starting Five

1. My Favorite Halloween Candy

Kit Kats. Hands down. Anyone who disagrees with me is dead wrong. I love most of the mini-chocolate bar offerings, but Kit Kats are the perfect combination of crispy, creamy and just unsatisfying enough to ensure you eat 10,000 of them. 

Worst is by far, candy corn. Candy corn is awful. It’s even worse than the homemade peanut-butter-and-coffee-grounds granola balls wrapped in cellophane the local hippie gives out. It tastes like if ear wax and sugar had a baby.  The only thing more offensive than the way it tastes is the way it looks. Off-puttingly bright, cartoon candy.

The good news is, you won’t poop for a week!

2. Belgium’s New Minister of Health

Is Maggie De Block:

Some of us like candy corn

There’s been some blow-back at her appointment;  some folks say she’s not a good choice for the job because, um…well, it seems that…mmm…she’s not quite… credible.

She’s hit back by saying “‘I know I’m not a model but you have to see what’s inside, not the packaging,” which, in my opinion, would also make her a poor choice for minister of snappy comebacks.

Here’s the thing though, Mags, it is about the packaging, if we’re talking about health. The packaging we all carry our beautiful, flawed, fried-chicken craving  souls around in, and how we take care of it.

Now, if she’d been appointed “Minister of Beauty” or “Minister of Being a Smart Doctor”(she’s an M.D.) and people were remarking on her size, I’d say lay off.

Maybe the plan is, she does a health-kick type thing and asks the country (which has a 47% obesity rate) to join her in her efforts.  That would be cool, like “If I can do it, you can too!”

3. This Halloween-centric Ad I Found On Craigslist

Shopping Help Needed

I got a invited to a weird halloween party and need some help. The party has some rules:

1) Men have to wear women’s costumes and vice versa

2) You have to have someone of the opposite sex who isn’t attending pick out the costume. Very little input from me is allowed.

This isn’t normally my thing but I have heard the party is a ton of fun so I am looking for a woman to help pick out a costume.

It would work like this:

We’d meet at one of those costume superstores. You’d pick out some costumes for me to try on.  We’d see how they look and you’d pick one.

If you are interested in weird, fun jobs, let me know.

Tell me how to contact you and what times you might be available as well as what you would charge for 1-2 hours.

Dear Serial Killer,

Kudos to you for resisting the urge to come right out and write “If you’re interested in being murdered and found in a dirty public bathroom wearing a Winnie-the-Pooh costume, please respond.”

Good Luck with your project!

Your friend,

Katie

4. Amal Alamudin Changes Her Name

To Amal Clooney

You guys, this is so weird…I just changed my name to Amal Clooney, too. 

5. Happy 20th Anniversary, Pulp Fiction

It was twenty years ago yesterday that Pulp Fiction hit the big screen. I must be the only person on the planet who does not like this movie.

I don’t get it. I tried to sit through it again to see if I could see what everyone else sees, and I didn’t get it again.

Cool people get it, Katie

Until next week, compadres..

Katie

Stop thinking about Ebola!

Stop thinking about Ebola!

It’s Coming…

by John Walters | 5 Comments

No, not Ebola, you sillies! That’s here already. I mean Halloween. And the decorations are up here in fly-over country, where we have a major Halloween jones–and we like to keep the flavor vintage.

Seriously, how beautiful is this?

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That’s what Halloween should look like.

Almost as good as the covers of these early 20th-century festivity manuals are the suggestions inside: sailing walnut boats! Apple paring charms! How to make lanterns and the ever-creepy cellar stairs test! 

Love it. 

Back in the seventies, rumor had it that crazy Charles Manson-types took the opportunity that was Halloween to put razor blades in apples and straight pins in the mini-candy bars with the express purpose of murdering children (even if it was true, jokes on you, Charles Manson–every apple handed out was immediately lobbed back through your front window). Because of this, one year my parents forbade me to trick-or-treat, but  allowed me to have a party instead.

I invited the seven other girls in my class over to my house, which as luck would have it, was a big old victorian that spooked up nicely after sundown, and we bobbed for apples, ate donuts off a string and had ourselves a good old time. Everything was going swimmingly until my mother called us  into the dining room for the fake “trick or treat” -ing portion of the evening.

My mom had instructed each of my guests to bring a bag of mini-candy, and each bag was laid open on the dining room table. We girls then walked around the table, picking from the bags until they were empty. But apparently 50 candy bars (but in only seven varieties!) each wasn’t enough.

“So when are we going trick-or-treating?” The girl dressed as a laundry basket asked.

“Yeah, we should go soon, my mom is going to be here at nine,” said the dalmation.

“No, you guys, we, um. That was the trick-or-treating. We did it here,” I said nervously.

You don’t know terror until you’re an eleven -year old girl being stared down by your contemporaries, who believe you have screwed them out of trick-or-treats.

I know what you’re thinking; “Hey, this is just like on the Charlie Brown Halloween special when Sally stays all night with Linus in the pumpkin patch!”

Yes–just like that, only there were seven Sallys, and none of them had a crush on me.

My mother saw the blood in the water and had mercy–she let us go around one block, saving the night and saving me from a winter of pariah-dom and probably an eating disorder.

I digress. It’s getting late and your boss is probably wondering where your TPS report is, so without further ado, here is your

Starting Five

1. The Greatest Event in Television History

Yes, please

Back in 2012, Adam Scott and his wife Naomi created this ridiculously funny series of specials for Adult Swim.  I just got hip to it on Amazon a couple of nights ago–so if you’ve already watched all four of them and discussed them at length,  I was going to say  “my apologies” for boring you with something you know all about, but then I realized I’m not really sorry and if there’s one thing I like to do, it’s keep it real. Unless it’s my hair, and you can all be thankful for that.

So this show–hysterical. Adam Scott basically got a bunch of his famous, funny friends like Paul Rudd, Jon Hamm, Kathryn Hahn and Amy Poehler together and shot four documentaries about the makings of several Hollywood specials, like a shot-for-shot remake of the opening sequence of the hit eighties TV show Simon and Simon.

Wouldn’t it be so great to have a creative outlet with your friends, where you could just jack around for your own amusement and maybe the amusement of others? I mean that would be so fun, wouldn’t it…um…ahem. 

It’s $1.99 per 15 minute episode on Amazon, which is kind of spendy until you consider a ticket to a first-run movie is roughly $11,000 dollars (depending where you live–I understand in NYC it’s more like $12,000? Here in the heartland it’s holding steady at 11)  and you have to drive to the theater and let’s be honest, you always say you’re going to stop off at Walgreen’s and buy m&m’s, but you always end up buying them at the concessions counter for another 4,000.

Short story long, it’s an entertainment bargain–of course, you could also watch all the episodes on Youtube for free.

I’ve never been great with money.

A dramatic re-enactment of me, realizing I could’ve watched it on Youtube for free

2. Blood Moon

Happened this morning, apparently one in a series of four in a row, which hasn’t happened since 1967. This has some people worrying it’s the end of days and others saying “Hey, that hasn’t happened since 1967. Huh.”

I personally think it just means a lunar eclipse occurred, though I do think it’s fun to read everyone’s theories. But if I’m wrong and the rapture is coming, I’ll totally admit I was wrong, right here, next Wednesday. Oh wait, this blog won’t be here!  Either way, everyone wins. 

This guy says the end is near. Apparently so are the donuts.

 

3. American Horror Story: Freak Show

Hooray! It’s back!

Starts tonight, and I am jazzed, kids.

Last year’s season Coven was my favorite–not only was it a rollicking good time watching Jessica Lange and Angela Basset see who could chew the most scenery,  it was aesthetically the most beautiful. The costumes, the sets–everything was a visual treat.

If you’ve never watched and you think it’ll be too scary for you, it’s not.

I hate scary movies. Hate them. Being scared is a very unpleasant sensation to me and I don’t understand why anyone would want to feel that way.

Last summer a girlfriend and I tried to watch The Conjuring, even though we’d both been told it was terrifying.

So why did we do it? I have no idea. Well no, that’s not true, I mean we’d also heard it was really good, a high-quality horror movie the likes of which haven’t been seen in a while, and I guess I personally forgot how much I hate being scared. I don’t know. Anyway, we got about 45 minutes in before we turned it off, and I still barely slept a wink that night.

You know what it is? It’s devil stuff. Anything to do with the devil and I’m out. I alluded to my Exorcist experience a few weeks ago, and I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you about that…

I was six. That movie had just come out and Gene Shalit was reviewing it on The Today Show, and I walked into the kitchen just as he showed the clip of Linda Blair jackknifing on her bed. I felt all the blood drain out of my body and I literally froze in my tracks.

You didn’t really think I was going to put up a picture from The Exorcist, did you?

My class went to the library on a field trip to watch a movie (which is really the best part of this story–we had to leave the school and go to a library to watch a movie about lions) and as soon as the librarian turned off the lights, I wet my pants. My mom had to come pick me up.  She thought I was sick, so she…put me to bed, alone, in the middle of the day.

WTF??

I didn’t sleep for the next six years. I am not making that up. I would lie in my bed at night, testing my voice to see if it was growly and making sure I was still in contact with the mattress and not levitating. To make things worse, my bedroom looked out onto a bookcase where The Exorcist sat on the top shelf in all it’s evil glory! Daring me to shut my eyes.

It got to be a family joke–every night the ten of us (my younger sister wasn’t born yet) would kneel down in front of a picture of Jesus to say our prayers, and after our “God Bless”-es my siblings tagged on a “and please let Katie not get Possessed.”

Short story long, American Horror Story is about as scary as Scooby Doo.

4. Beer Goggles Are Real

This is so ground-breaking, I really should’ve lead with it. A study conducted in Great Britain, according to Women’s Health, says that women who are boozing rate faces as more attractive than their sober counterparts.

I would like funding for some of my studies–I’m curious about whether its true if I make a face it will stay that way, or if I eat nothing but cookies for a week will I get fatter, or how many episodes of Parenthood will I have to watch before I actually go insane.

I figure I’ll need about a million dollars.

5. Mulaney

Oh, hon. No.

The adorable John Mulaney’s new show, Mulaney, debuted on Fox this week, and it was rough. 

He’s like if your little brother were a stuffed animal. He’s that cute.

I really didn’t want it to be. I am rooting for this kid! Why our own beloved Grand Poobah wrote an awesome piece about this awesome kid here. We want you to come out on top, Mulaney! We know you can do it.

You can do it, John Mulaney! This ethnically diverse group of office workers believes in you and so do I!

Well. Maybe it’ll get better. Check out his standup, amigos, because it is fantastic.

Louis C.K. had a terrible first show on HBO a few years back, remember Lucky Louie? It was seriously awful. And now he’s got Louie. All is not lost. I’ll keep watching, and hoping….

For “while there’s life, there is hope”… 

Word up, trailer for that new Seven Hawking movie. 

Hey, isn’t that the kid from that other movie? The one about the singing French peasants?

On that inspirational note, until next time–

Your friend,

Katie