Friday, December 31, 2004

Happy Birthday to Me!

30



Also, thanks to coffeegirl for her pre-birthday wishes... Yay! A new year, a new decade, and a new job. What could be better?

Wednesday, December 29, 2004

Happpy:

Happy Birthday Jen!



Sad:

R.I.P, Jerry Orbach. You were the best bad cop around.

Tuesday, December 28, 2004

Sorry, James Urbaniak.

Okay. I'm either a huge sucker, or I hurt James Urbaniak's feelings.

"Urbaniak" left the following comment on this post.

Thanks for acknowledging that I'm not actually creepy or weird-looking in real life. And "little?" I'm 5'10"!

-Urbaniak, ego-surfing


But, James... I googled your name just now, and 50 - even 100 - pages into it, I was still getting respectable reviews for your large body of film, stage, and television work. I certainly couldn't find my humble little blog in that pile of accolade. You kept reading for 100 pages? That's a lot o' ego, if you ask me.

Anyway, James, if I hurt your feelings, just know that I like you. That's why I noticed you on the street, you silly boy! Listen, though - you've gotta admit that you're working the creepy angle like De Niro worked the gangster roles.

A guy who gives away shoes to sate a foot fetish? A garbageman in a dark comedy about a freakishly dysfunctional family which includes a scene whereof your best friend beds your catatonic mother? Robert Crumb? Dude, that's creepy. Sorry. Oh, and little? Yeah, in a thin tall gangly guy kind of way.

I admit, I didn't see Legally Blonde 2, so you may have been very pleasant. Nor did I see Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, though I do have it qued up on Netflix. But with a name like that - you MUST be playing a creepy guy. Sorry. Oh, and the freaky threesome loving doctor who infects his his ex-girlfriends with Ebola on Law & Order? Sorry, man. I call it like I see it.

I'll give you this, though - you're a lot better (not to mention more normal) looking in real life. Next time you're hanging out around 77th and Lex, I'll say hi, and you can let me know your thoughts on the matter in a non-anonymous manner.

Your Friend,

Katie

Monday, December 27, 2004

My Boys!

Yay, yay, MY BOYS just called from Connecticut -- they'll be here within an hour or two, yay! They also mentioned something about CHOWDER, which, as we all know, is best when it comes straight from Cape Cod. And PRESENTS, too. (Now really - what's Christmas without PRESENTS? 'Cause, I was all alone and had no presents. Or boys. I was sad.)

...

My first day with the NYC Fraud Busting Motherfuckers was today. It's secret. All I can tell you is that you'd better not ever, ever lie to me if you meet me, because I'll know. The Fraud Squad intends to teach me in the way of their superpowers.

And if I know you're lying to me, I'll probably karate chop you.

And then cut you with my special, free, city funded metrocard.

Hee-ya!

Sunday, December 26, 2004

G-Mail? Can I pay you to take a g-mail?

Yes, I am aware that gmail is in no way a hot commodity.

However, the Google people saw fit to grant me about 10 more invites. I suppose it's just their version of Christmas.

Here's MY version of Christmas: ask, and ye shall receive. Leave a comment, and the most oversaturated free email on the market is yours.

(Who loves ya, baby? Mommy does, that's who.)

ADAM!

My little brother has a blog.

He hasn't done so much with it, but he will if you lovely ladies out there ask him to (*wink, wink!*)

Here's some background:

He's 22. Currently unemployed, but you know how it is when you're 22 (hey, more time to BLOG!)

He's really kind of cute, in a non-incestuous way (go! look at his picture on his blog! RIGHT NOW! You decide..)

He lives in Binghamton, but he's just started some nonsense about moving to Florida. Wha? 95 degrees and 95% humidity? What are you thinking, child? No! You're not 72... 22!

Wry humor, politically aware (if a bit, um, shall we say, obscure? Strange, even?) open to a variety of nutritional lifestyles, including hippie-type vegan, exclusively carnivorous, and especially ramen noodle based. Prefers to wear black. Likes some weird ass industrial music (which I introduced him to when I was 18 and he was 11; maybe not my best call, but he DID have a fabulous role model... [er - that would be ME])

Young women, have at him! Open season on the Adam!

Saturday, December 25, 2004

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas, everybody! Merry Christmas, you old Savings and Loan!

(Whoa - this Jimmy Stewart moment brought to you by too much late night cable viewing...)

My sweet friend Jen emailed me this funny, funny website - may I present to you, the Dirty Snowman Kama Sutra.

Consider it my gift.

Merry Christmas - and lay off the eggnog, already! Do you have any idea how much fat that crap has?

Friday, December 24, 2004

Fa La La La La

I took one for the team this time. I don't feel so bad about it, but I DO miss my boys. A lot.

This is how it went:

Monday

T: Did you confirm with the dog sitter?

K: Naw, I'll get right on that.

Tuesday

T: Have you heard from her?

K: NOOOOOO!

Wednesday

...And lo, there was rabid combing through Craigslist to find another dog sitter, preferably under $35 a night. And there was gnashing of the teeth, and a terrible dirty small kennel in Queens to which we would never, ever subject our beloved Maximillian.

And thus, Mother decided she should stay home and save us money and save our big dumb mutt from some undetermined fate involving kennel cough. And wrapped many gifts for small niece and nephew types.

So now, of course, I'm mighty bummed, but not so badly, either. Because I had many, many Christmases with Kiernan that Tim never got to see. And because I love them both more than anything, and I'm really glad that they're both able to see family that we all love and haven't seen for awhile.

I'm also glad because of the message Tim left on the phone earlier today, the message in which his mother shouted into the receiver, "When's the damn wedding, already?". I get to dodge that particular bullet, and leave it to my darling boyfriend. Ha. Family. Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em. Especially when they're cute and ruddy and Irish and eight and thirty-four, respectively.

Merry Christmas Eve!

Rocking time-waster.

God knows, those are necessary. Time wasters, that is, not virtual lego people. But virtual lego people are pretty cool, too.

They just left, bound by car service for the Port Authority. Sniff. Bye, boys. I'll be thinking of you and our blissful family life while I'm running my short con on tourists in Times Square.

Thursday, December 23, 2004

Exploitation, Schmexploitation

Since the ole ball and chain will be away for a few days, I was thinking I should get my groove on. Who's up for a night at Scores? Lap dances on me, yo!

Hee hee.

No, really. I support strippers, porn, and all other unholy pursuits that supposedly objectify we wimmen folk. I'm one of those obnoxious pro-sex feminists.

I mean, when you hear some diatribe about women being exploited in the sex industries and blah blah blahbiddy blah, doesn't it occur to you that "Hey... she's makin' some CASH fo that ass!" Am I right? Seriously. In most cases (and sure, there are exceptions, but they're NOT the norm) the girl was ready and willing to break into the business. She was excited about it. And she's now got a much bigger paycheck than she could possibly hope to earn at the Waffle House down the road.

What about gay porn? Are all of the bottoms out there also being exploited? How about the bear scene? Is it unfairly objectifying big fat hairy gay men? Huh? WON'T SOMEBODY PLEASE THINK ABOUT THE BEARS!

Maybe it's just me, but I somehow didn't think feminine equality meant that from now on, we're gonna send Daddy to hold your hand and make sure no big boys make you do bad things. I thought it meant we actually had brains and could make decisions for ourselves. Heh, loony, I know.

Whatever. I'm off to get that lap dance now. (Heh heh heh.)

Wednesday, December 22, 2004

I'll Have a Blue Christmas

Due to a flaky dog sitter and our collective realization that if I stayed home with Super Max, we would save almost three hundred fucking dollars, I will not be attending the annual sort-of-inlaws Christmas soiree in Cape Cod.

I.E., I'll be home. Alone. On Christmas.

Aaaaaa!

It's kind of good. I can go into the city, and have it all to myself, as New York will most assuredly be a ghost town over the weekend. I'll buy myself assorted superfabulous appetizers to make a little one woman Christmas dinner. I'll buy a bottle of champagne. Hell, I've even got Netflix all lined up with girly movies that Tim doesn't want to see. Huzzah!

But, um... waaaahhhhhhh. Lonely. Three days. Then, new job.

In lieu of Christmas (and honestly, who needs relatives and stress and travel the day before starting a new job? Not this sister) we'll be celebrating a new tradition:

BIRTHDAYMASS*

Yes, my 30th birthday will be this New Year's Eve, at which point we will dine in a luminous and normally not-in-our-price-range-bucko house o' grub, exchange gifts, and do all that X-mas hoo-ha. Who cares about the day, right?

Shit. I don't even believe in God, anyway - it's just a nice tradition. Jeez.

Waaahhhhhhhh.

(The kicker, though, is that I've had "Do They Know It's Christmas" in my head for two days. Damned Live Aid. My life blows)**

* Yes, I am aware that those of us with birthdays this close to the dreaded holiday season greatly resent any combination of "birthday" and "Chrismukwanzachanukafestivus". In this case, however, I am willing to make an exception. Just this once.

** Not really. I mean, my life is pretty great, overall. But the song part? Yeah, that's really, really irritating. Damned British pop stars.

Monday, December 20, 2004

Three Goddamn Things, Goddammit.

Jen asks, and she shall receive:


Three Names You Go By: Katie, Kathryn, Hey dumbass

Three Screennames You Have: rageokt, katie.courtney, serialblogonomy

Three Things You Like About Yourself: My badass analytical ability. That I have the wherewithal to adapt to just about anything. That I'm turning 30 this month, and just coming into my own, but still get carded everywhere. Also, when you get to know me I'm sexy as hell.

Three Things You Dislike About Yourself: My seeming inability to completely give up smoking. Passive aggression. A secret complete lack of confidence, paired with rampant nagging insecurity.

Three Parts of Your Heritage: Irish, Scottish, French

Three Things That Scare You: Terribly shortsighted foreign policy. Abandonment. The possibility that I could meander through life without significant professional success.

Three of Your Everyday Essentials: Coffee, carbs, cuddling

Three Things You Are Wearing Right Now: The best jeans EVER. Wool sweater (it's 11 degrees outside! GODDAMN!) Awesome organic cotton camisole.

Three of Your Favorite Bands/Artists (at the moment): Grateful Dead, Portishead, Lou Reed

Three New Things You Want to Try in the Next 12 Months: Organization (ha! fat chance!) Martial Arts (I haven't decided which one.) Shabu Shabu.

Three Things You Want in a Relationship (love is a given): Fire, equality, trust

Two Truths and a Lie: In the past decade, I've lived in four states, four major cities, and had over a dozen different addresses, but New York is my favorite. I have a huge conservative streak, but mostly of the libertarian rather than the family values sort. I have financial discipline up the wazoo.

Three Physical Things About the Opposite Sex (or same) That Appeal to You: Seriously masculine body type (i.e, big shoulders, big chest, etc.) Facial hair, particularly of the unintentional, stubbly sort. A HUGE sense of humor (it's usually necessary to have some brain power to achieve this goal).

Three Things You Just Can't Do: Watch/read chick-flicks/chick-lit without audibly gagging. Understand my female peers (unless they happen to be of the "one of the guys" sort, like me, in which case we get along just fine.) Tolerate early mornings without at least two rounds of snooze tag and some really strong coffee.

Three of Your Favorite Hobbies: Sloth, Lust, and Greed

Three Things You Want to do Really Badly Right Now: Waste my entire day in front of the computer (but I won't - I'll go Christmas shopping). When I actually GO shopping, buy myself lots of things (again - nada. Not gonna do it.) Cancel our Christmas plans and just stay home (not that our plans are so bad -- it's just that family together time doesn't always equate relaxation.)

Three Careers You're Considering: Philosophy Professor, Fraud Investigator Extraordinaire, dog breeder

Three Places You Want to Go on Vacation: Guatemala, Cambodia, Morocco

Three Kids Names: Kiernan (well, duh), Isabella, Colin

Three Things You Want to Do Before You Die: Own a nice chunk of property (you may have your own ideas on what "a nice chunk" means). Hike the Appalachian Trail - the whole thing, not just a short strip. Visit several extremely out-of-the-way and un touristed foreign destinations.

Three People You Want to Take this Quiz: George W. Bush. John Stewart. Pedro Martinez.

Friday, December 17, 2004

Apprentice That

Yeah, I so totally called it for Kelly. I'm just that good.

Why ELSE is today a good day? Because it's my last day of walking some neurotic-ass people's dogs. (Well, I admit it, I'm gonna miss most of those little shitheads adorable little darlings...)

Oh, and the ode-to-dogs thing? I lied. Ha ha.

Thursday, December 16, 2004

Apprentice This

Tonight: The most important episode of the Apprentice...

EVER!

That blonde bitch needs to get smacked down.

Go Kelly! Go Kelly! Go, go, go Kelly!

I've considered the demographics, however, and feel that since Kwame succumbed to Bill last year, the Trump organization may be looking for something a bit more diverse. That is, white males should probably not win two years in a row, and thus that evil Harvard Jen bitch might win for the sake of political correctitude (Yes, it's a word, dammit - my word). Which would suck. Because, well... did I mention she's a bitch? And dumb, too? 'Sides, I just like that Kelly boy's style.

For the record, I was also digging Kevin. But how the hell did Sandie get into the final four? Anyone?

Jumpin' jiminy!

Tomorrow is my last day as a dog walker. This is a good thing, considering that mother nature recently decided to open her can of artic-style whup ass. I'm taking next week off, so that I can start finish up my Christmas shopping, clean house, sleep late, and so forth.

In honor of the poochies, I shall compose an ode to all the dogs I've loved before.

Tomorrow.

(Who said I'm not good at nuthin'? I'm good at procrastination, that's what!)

Monday, December 13, 2004

18 more days until I'm 30 and (ahem) a real adult.

Sunday, December 12, 2004

Family Cooking Time With Katie and Tim

"Don't I have an awesome ass? Seriously. And could you hand me the salt?"

"Sure, for the most part. Let me in to the cutting board."

"The most part?"

"Uh..."

"What, is it FLAT?"

"Oh, no. Definitley not flat. Especially right here."

"That's right, bitch. Now get to dicing."

Saturday, December 11, 2004

Mutual of Omaha Blog Special

Or, not.

Let me end my environmentalist bender by announcing the return of our little hawk friends, Pale Male & Lola.

They tried to rebuild, but the building had removed the pigeon spikes upon which the nest rested. They just kept pathetically circling the building, for days and days.

But now, hurray! The co-op board says they'll put a hawk-poop defense platform in place, and allow re-nesting. My faith in humanity - well, at least in the humanity of rich snooty bastard Upper East Siders - is restored. I guess a little bit of national negative press can do wonders. Rich asshats. Gah.

Now, back to your regularly scheduled blog:

I was the resignation letter fairy on Friday! With each badly printed (hey, my cartridge is going low - do these people deserve office quality? Noooo.) letter, chock full of referals to big pack-walking agencies who charge twice as much as me, that I distributed to each demanding, neurotic client, my heart felt a touch lighter and the wet rainy sogginess of the day mattered just a little bit less. It's great to resign, no matter how much you like your job. Isn't that always the way?

Wednesday, December 08, 2004

Save Pale Male!

My inner nature dork always rears its geeky head when I walk dogs in Central Park, mostly because we pass the model boat pond and the famous hawk at 74th Street and Fifth Avenue, Pale Male. Pale Male was the subject of a PBS Documentary a few years back, and he's still being stalked via telescope today.

Er, until yesterday.

Building management decided Pale Male left a few too many undesirable secretions in front of the building, so they sent the staff up to the twelfth floor, stuffed the copious, ten year old hawk nest into garbage bags, and tossed it away.

What the fuck?

I passed the building today, and it was thronged by cameras and garden variety gawkers. Doubtless this was the kind of attention the building management desired. Again, (say it with me now!) what the fuck?

You just threw a New York institution in the trash. Didn't it occur to you that someone might notice?

(I guess Mary Tyler Moore lives in the building - they had her on the news last night, decrying the travesty and saying the management was full of shit when they claimed the tenants requested it. Go, MTM.)

What the fuck?

No, really...

I totally left the house the other night!

Not that I'm agoraphobic. I mean, I totally left the house by myself (i.e.: no small children or animals in tow), after dark, TO A BAR. Specifically, Sala, a tapas bar on the Bowery, for the 4th annual inspirational celebrational Sag Party. Which was fun, despite the fact that I knew about two people there, including one of the co-hosts. And despite the drunken pilgrimage I undertook searching for the subway at one in the morning (hey, did I ever CLAIM to have a sense of direction? No? Then shut up, TIM).

I came away with this strange, smug sense that I had escaped a terrible fate in the world of professional theater technicians. Not that they're bad people; everyone I met at the party was witty and creative and fun, and my invitation in the first place came from a great old friend who I met as a (gasp!) technical theater major. It was just that, of those partygoers who confessed that they'd like to find another line of work, very few had anything but gigs on their resumes. It seems that your specialized little niche has the potential to become a specialized little cage, and I'm glad that I was able to branch out from that despite the fact that I am reduced to professional undertakings that an entrepreneurial twelve year old might consider a decent summer gig (ahem - need your dog walked? Cause I'm still in business for a week or so...)

ANYWAY.

It rained yesterday. Terrible, cold, soaking rain that has pummeled me for two days now. Oh, and I was hungover (see above). It got me to thinking (blearily) about New York rituals that may or may not occur in similarly congested urban landscapes.

1. Umbrella Etiquette
Think about it. Hundreds of people are streaming past one another on any given sidewalk in NYC at any given moment. On a rainy day, that means they're maneuvering their umbrellas and shopping bags and various other crap past each other. In umbrella terms, this means one of the people passing has to raise their umbrella high enough to a) not bash the opposing umbrella, and b) not to poke out the eyes of innocent bystanders. My question: is there an unspoken protocol regarding this? Is it, say, the holder of the larger umbrella who holds the responsibility to raise it? Is it sort of like walk-on-the-right, pass-on-the-left? And what's the deal with the white point-protectors you see around town? Huh? What? Help me, please.


2. Subway Etiquette
Hey, GUY ON THE TRAIN, you're supposed to let everyone off first before you move your fat ass and your cart full of junk onto the train. That means ME, jackass.

3. The Bar Party
Nobody in New York has an apartment large enough to contain a party. Nobody you or I know, anyway. So people have parties in bars. And more often than not, it's not even private - it's just a bar, with a bunch of people you know. And you're paying New York bar prices for the food, drinks, whatever (did I mention I had a $10 Bloody Mary the other night? Cause I had a $10 Bloody Mary the other night. Stupid bar prices.) The parties are still fun - and probably a lot more atmospheric than most people's apartments - but, it's weird. Just weird.

4. The Elongated Real Estate Relationship
You know the couple. They've been together for a couple of years, they moved in together, and now they HATE each other. But they can't move out, because neither is prepared to give up the spacious one bedroom they found and either move to a cheaper neighborhood or a smaller apartment. These people will stay together for years, and never break up - at least, not until one of them finds a new significant other with a n equally spacious / appealingly located apartment.

5. Dog Walkers
Last I heard, Peoria didn't have a big dog walking business boom. I leave my own dog home all day while I go out and walk other people's dogs, and he's just fine. What do people do in the suburbs? Do their dogs just pee all over their house? No. They're fine. Hmmmmm. Closely related to:

6. The Delivery Economy
Food, of course, is a given. But everybody else - from grocery stores to the Home Depot to Petco to wash & fold laundry services - will deliver to your door, at least if you live in Manhattan. It's cool, but it's also like, "Can't you do anything for yourself?"

That's all I've got. Like I said, it was raining all over my hungover ass, and to be perfectly honest, I'm not sure my poor little brain has dried out yet. Anyone else have some urban weirdness observations to share? Send 'em in. It'll save me the trouble of creating a new and original post.

Saturday, December 04, 2004

Who da man? I da man.

I'm leaving my life of dog walking leisure.

I'm leaving to become THE MAN.

No, you perverts, I'm not pre-op. Not the literal kind of man, but the figurative, "hey, man, stop keeping me down already!" kind of man.

I'm going to be issued a badge and a shield and a free metro card - did you hear me say free metrocard??!! - and going to have a fabulous health plan, not to mention able to retire with full pay in 20 years. (That's what, 50? Okay. I can stop working at 50. That would be fine.) And overtime, which means lots of overtime pay, because of Union backing that says, hey, buddy, it's past eight hours? Yer getting time and a half. Have a nice day.

And no, no, I'm not going to be a cop (though, can't you just picture me in the funny little hat and the giant utility belt and the kung fu moves, taking out bad guys? That would be fun.)

New York City wants me to come and investigate fraud. I'm on the Fraud Squad.

New York City also made me sign a bunch of confidentiality agreements, so if I want to avoid being dooced, I probably shouldn't say too much about the whole thing. Anyway, this is the deal: Back before I started this blog, I was unemployed for a long time, and I took a few civil service tests just for shits and giggles. This week, they mailed a few notices out of the blue, saying "Come over here! We want you!" and "No, no, we're totally cooler than they are! Come over HERE!" and, ultimately, "No, NO! We're cooler but we're also going to wave a lot more money at you! You know you want us!" and there I went, to a big conference room in the financial district where 150 other people were also vying for NYC's affections, and they picked 50 of us, and hey, guess what? I was one of the 50.

I go to school for six months (paid, with benefits). Then I start visiting and surveilling unsavory characters who do things like cheat welfare and jump child support payments. And that's kind of cool, especially since it appeals to both my liberal (people need welfare! feed small children!) and conservative (cheaters suck! you're ruining it for everyone, jackass!) mentalities. Oh, and my unhealthy Law & Order Obsession. The Fraud Squad definitley appeals to that, too.

More later. I start December 27th. Meanwhile, I'll be right here, polishing my badge and shield and practicing my kung fu moves.

OH - speaking of cops, read Laid Off Dad's thing about Bernard Kerik. It's funny.

And did I mention (Six Degrees of Blogination fans, take note) that Tim once sold Bernard Kerik and his son high end running shoes when he worked at Super Runners? (For non-New York residents, Super Runners is a local chain started by the guy who won the first Boston marathon. Tim worked there. He also sold shoes to Flavah Flav (sp?).) There were lots of suited bodyguards involved. They had to scope out the store before the sales guys could start their spiels on pronation and supination. I guess it just goes to show that there's something to be said for being lost in the wilderness of specialized retail in New York - you get to meet a lot of interesting people.

Friday, December 03, 2004

Baseball, John Stewart, and True Love

John Stewart interviewed Steven King about his Red Sox book on the Daily Show last night.

Guess what?

Johnny is a Mets fan.

I just knew we were made for each other. Now, if only the Mets would stop picking up aging, downhill players (37 million for Pedro Martinez? WHAT? For a 33 year old pitcher who's lost 5 mph on his fastball in the last 2 seasons? Wilpon family, LAY OFF THE CRACK) then maybe they could win and John and I could be happy together forever.

In other news, I hope this Balco thing decimates the Yankees lineup and that they are forced to endure several mediocre "building" years. Ha. Stupid Yankees.

Wednesday, December 01, 2004

I promise I'll do a real post soon. I'm just really busy. I'm changing careers; try it, you'll like it!

Until then...

Othello
Not big on trust, eh?


What is Your Shakespearian Tragic Flaw?
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From Jen.