"He'll sit there and go, Dipsy... Po... Dipsy... Po. I honestly don't think he knows colors. Just Teletubbies."


Adventures in Library-Going

I know I haven't blogged much, but I haven't had a lot to say, sadly. Betty Jean and Di called me from camp earlier today, which was very kind of them. I went to the library and checked out a plethoric abundance of books, which I'm posting here because I didn't have time to tell Di on the phone and she was wondering:

The fourth Princess Diaries book. I know, I know, but they're really very funny.
Knocked out by my Nunga-Nungas by Louise Rennison
P.S. by Helen Somebody (Shetterly, I think, or Schulman-- I'm almost positive it's Schulman) , because the new Laura Linney/Topher Grace movie is based on it
Stripping and Other Stories by Pagan Kennedy (okay, apparently non-literary parents name their children Pagan, too)
The Girl in the Flammable Skirt by Aimee Bender
Kick Me: Adventures in Adolescence by Paul Feig
The Adventures of Flash Jackson by William Kowalski, whose parents did not name him Stanley for obvious reasons. Hee. Anyway, it's completely different than what the title sounds like.
The Shape of Things to Come by Maud Casey
CDs: You Were Here by Sarah Harmer, Figure 8 by Elliott Smith, and She Hangs Brightly by Mazzy Star
And, of course, a videotape of Howards End because I felt like watching it and I sadly do not have a copy of my own.
Also, I placed holds on The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon, Why Girls are Weird by Pamela Ribon (aka pamie) and What to Keep by Rachel Cline (or Cusk, I can't remember) because it had a good review in EW.
But then I had forgotten my library card, and my whole wallet at home, so, even though I know my card number by heart, they couldn't verify that it was me since I had no ID with me. (Well, in all honesty, I cut my school IDs up thinking I would never use them again.) Thus, I had to wait for Madre to pick me up in order for me to check out on her card.
Just Roy is in Nashville right now, snaps for him.
I don't have much else to say.


"Pick it up."

I am in a Holly Hunter-on-Letterman (which is sadly my least favorite talk show that I've had the displeasure of watching, except for the Biff guy segments)-induced happiness. I think she and I would get along quite well, actually, we could just sit around and torment the garbage-dumpers and watch the "smorgasboard of passers-by" (hee!). Plus, she's actually taller than I am. (I know. I'm 5'1", and, according to the IMDb, she's 5'2". And, even sadder, I'm done growing.)  Okay. Blogger is not letting me use the "enter" key to make another damn paragraph, so that's all for tonight.

"I just got beat up by the Clowns Against Christ." --Betty Jean

Just so you don't worry, Betty wasn't actually beat up by them, she was pretending to be Reverend Camden from Seventh Heaven and I just randomly remembered that and it cracked my face up.
I went to the library today, but made the mistake of coming with Fake Sick, who looked around for two minutes and said, "I've looked everywhere. I can't find anything. Let's go." When I informed him that some people actually enjoy going to the library, he fell under a mild state of shock, which bought me another half-hour of time, but I just ended up checking out two CDs (Fountains of Wayne's Welcome Interstate Managers and fold your hands, you walk like a peasant by Belle and Sebastian) and two books (The Outcasts of 19 Schuyler Place by E.L. Konigsburg, a favorite writer of my childhood, and Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen), sadly, so my mom's going to drop me off there for a few hours (read: from 9-5) one day this week. I also just got my books today, and I've started The True and Outstanding Adventures of the Hunt Sisters, which is lovely and hilarious.
Fake Sick finally bought Mario Kart, figuring that we're already up to half of the cost of it in rental fees, so he insists that he has to copy Betty Jean's memory card so he, essentially, beat the game. I think I'm going to call Betty Jean's lovely sister, Annie, and inform her of this in advance.
Patricia Clarkson is now doing radio commercials for BMW, which is brilliant casting on their part. Who wouldn't want to buy a BMW if someone with as excellent a voice as Patricia Clarkson's does the commercials? It's very entrancing, and I wish I sounded like her, but I have a little-kid voice, much to my chagrin.  My voice sounds very nice in my head, sort of smoky, and then it comes out and I sound like a nine-year-old. It's painful.
I could use some coffee.

I'm All Alooooone

Well, not completely alone, but alone enough for me to have license to complain about it. Basically, it's me, Angie, and Franny. BB, Betty Jean, and Diana are at Lake Owen, and Roy is in the process of moving.  So I'm rather bored. I might go see 13 Going on 30 in the Budget sometime this week, by myself unless Miss Franny would like to accompany me. Sadly, I've never gone to the theater alone, but I've always wanted to.


In case you haven't already heard, Diana's grandfather passed away this past week. If you pray, pray for her, and, if you don't, think nice thoughts for her and her well-being. She'll really appreciate it.


I'm in the part of The Lovely Bones where I begin to hate everyone but Abigail, because she's the only one doing something interesting. I mean, it's not a good thing or a smart thing she's doing, but it's more than the moping and thinking everyone else is doing, so snaps for her.


"Does anyone know where my Better Homes and Gardens went?" Ten words I never thought my mom would say, and, yet, she just did.


I just got back from seeing The Stepford Wives with Angie. It was absolutely hilarious. I'm not saying it was an epic opus of a film, but it made me laugh a lot. "I used to work for AOL." "Oh, is that why your women are so slow?" Snerk.
My mother arguably went insane today. She participated in a water fight against Michelle, using the bazooka squirt gun thingummy, and kicked butt, despite inevitably having "Crazy" tagged before her first name for all of time. (Important note: She'd had at least two margaritas-- "Fresh margs!"-- beforehand.)
Diana's dad is being an ass, not directly to me, and I hate him for it nonetheless. Ugh. I'd say "Family sucks," but that just sounds wrong.


Don't Screw with Susie
Ugh. Peter Jackson is making the Lovely Bones movie after he finishes King Kong. Well, that's just stupid. If they hadn't bought the rights about four years ago, I'd make it myself, just to do a better job. I didn't even like the book that much, but I've always thought it would make a good movie, so here's some guidelines for Mr. Jackson and his "people":
1. Do not cast Alexis Bledel as Susie. If you need to cast some 25-year-old-actress-who-looks-younger, cast Alison Lohman, who has actual talent and doesn't talk through her teeth.
2. Do not play Buckley for sympathy points. That might be a worse offense than #1.
3. You might have the most issues with this one, Petey: Do not try to make this some big, epic movie. It really, really shouldn't be turned into one of those.


Picture Time

Ceiling fans are cool.

You can't deny the Merylosity.



Bangs, Or Unsolicited Solicitations
I just realized that, when I don't straighten my bangs, they get all Meryl Streep-not-channeling-Hilary Clinton-in-The Manchurian Candidate like in these pictures.

When I say I'm not hungry, that is what I actually mean, believe it or not. (No one will get that. It's mainly for my own benefit, so don't ask about it.)
If unsolicited telemarketing is moderately illegal, why aren't pop-ups? I'm just wondering here. They're basically the World Wide Web's answer to telemarketing. I hate them both dearly.
I am deeply in love with quoting SpongeBob Squarepants lately and I'm not sure why. "Liar, liar, plants for hire" and "Well, I'm sorry THAT didn't kill me" are completely abused in my world. As are "weesnaw" and "Besides, I have those checks with the little poodles on them!" I mean, there's so many. I just made an enormous Fametracker post of all the ones I abuse. It's insanity. 


I bought "The Dogs of Babel" and "The True and Outstanding Adventures of the Hunt Sisters" used for uberinexpensive off Amazon.com today. Also, my mom is almost done wit h "Dress Your Family in Corduroy in Denim" (I couldn't help myself and have already read "Us and Them" and "Let it Snow". Whilst the book was sitting on the dining room table, of course. Both are excellent.)
I finished "Eats, Shoots, and Leaves" a while ago. As a Grammar Nazi, I loved it, but I can see how non-grammarists would feel exactly the opposite. It's quite funny, although my family fears that Lynne Truss is a bad influence on me, since I now have actual evidence that their grammar is shit.
Those are the only interesting things I have to say, sadly. Unless you want to hear about what went wrong with my new haircut,  Fake Sick being a spaz in the car, and why doesn't LiveJournal let you have 1,000 userpics like Greatest Journal does, but, good Christ, I'm sparing you from those.

Oh, wow. I guess my techno posting works now.
Sorry about the rampant template-changing. I don't know if I'll be able to get the tagboard and/or links back, sadly. The last template got old, so I changed it to the one you are very likely currently seeing, but that doesn't seem to want to work, so now we have a prettier one, which should show up eventually.
I think I have a bum knee.
Me: I'm going to order some books used off Amazon tomorrow, okay?
Mom: But... what if they're missing pages?
Me: What if they're dog-eared?
Mom: (in a very dramatic voice) What if... they were peed on?
(I spit water all over the kitchen floor.)
Mom: No, really. Is there, like, a not-peed-on guarantee? We should e-mail Amazon and ask.


Tijuana Donkey Parades: Quotes from H-Ville

First off, I have to say that we completely abused, "He nice, the Jesus. He die on two... morsels of wood for us" this weekend, and we have David Sedaris to thank for that. But, other than that:

Diana, on what her mother said when she broke a nail: (whispery voice) "Damn! I f*cked it up!"

Diana, on Hoggie, her dog: I just want to beat him to death!

(The next two are from our rabid Taboo session, which DI AND I KICKED ASS AT!)

Di's Mom: I used to be one of these.
Betty Jean: Um, a cheerleader?

Di: They have a lot of these, down in the place with the caliente food.
Me, thinking that "caliente" is the same thing as "Cajun": Um, bayous?
Di: No! Lower!
Me: Tijuana donkey parades?

And, can I just say that I completely didn't see Annia Hatch coming? Holy frick, that came out of nowhere. But I shouldn't talk. I wasn't at Camp Karolyi, and my gymnastics critiques go as far as "That was pretty" or "That was ugly as sin". And, BB is right: Chellsie Memmel's bars are awesome, so why is she only an alternate? Argh. Although I really enjoyed what I saw of Mohini Bhardwaj, also, and Carly Patterson. (I really have no right to talk about this, do I?)



I'm going to H-Ville with Di and Betty Jean. I'll see y'all again Saturday night. Except not. So think more like some time on Sunday, mmkay?



Since I couldn't fall asleep until almost six in the morning last night, I just woke up a few minutes before noon.

And I missed I Love the 90s last night, except for the very end of the replay of '91. Did I miss them talking about Goodfellas, my favorite mob movie ever? I probably did. Oh, no. This cannot be good.

BB and Kathleen (another girl who goes to our school) both kicked ass at Nationals, so snaps for them.

I've just been informed that the Writers' Union at my high school consists of writing, eating, and drinking coffee. And you've just been informed that I'm joining it as soon as I can.


Eventful Day.

Madre (at the grocery store; on her cell phone): Which popsicles should I buy?
Me: I don't care, as long as they don't have chunks in them.
Madre: Well, how about these Edy's fruit bar things?
Me: Those have chunks. I just said no chunks. Popsicles, by definition, should not have chunks!
Madre: How about the ones that look like crayons?
Me: Do they have chunks?
Madre: I don't know. They're crayons.

It just goes on and on.

And, Diana's mom's crazy dreams, as described by Diana in our chat room about five seconds ago.:

Diana: okay my mom had a dream that she made milo into a cassorole, and she went to check on it and his head was still sticking out so she picked it up and he was purring
Diana: and she stroked his head a bit and threw his head in the garbage
Diana: oh, and while she was making it and chopping him up he was purring too
Me: I am laughing uncontrollably right now. HAHAHAHAHA. I am putting that in my blog.

And a hilarious picture of Teresa Heinz-Kerry, or, as Paul Bunyan is fond of calling her, That Ketchup Heiress Character:


Pieces of Me. Snerkety snerk.

Since you've all been positively clamoring for them since my lovely description of my chin, hence the Ashlee Simpson reference, here are... gasp... pictures. Of me.

My hand. You all can feel free to debate over whether it is a poet's hand or a piano hand.

The exact file name of this picture is, "ooooh drama."

A ridiculous picture. I look like one of those horrible little girls from thirteen.

I'm getting old and cynical. I just called people my own age "horrible little girls." So, anyway, feel free to tell me I'm gorgeous (or ugly-ass), tell me who my celebrity look-alikes are, whatever. I don't give a damn anymore. I'm old and cynical.



I adopted a cute lil' pirate fetus
from Fetusmart! Hooray fetus!


For someone who is never going to procreate, I certainly get very worked up over tiny eyepatched cartoon fetuses.

"Bwimps are coow."

And here is my uberlong review of The Station Agent.


  • At the top of my list, as always: Patricia Clarkson. She's just so fantastic at everything. And Olivia was such a well-written character. She made me cry.

  • Joe, alias The Very Handsome Bobby Cannavale. So sweet and funny. I loved the scene where he says grace: "... and for my dad, because he's driving me f*cking crazy."

  • Fin. I loved his conversations, or lack thereof with everyone.

  • Cleo and Emily. Michelle Williams is excellent, and Cleo is just such a sweet character.

  • All the little moments. The beef jerky scene and "walking the right of way." Fin and Olivia talking on the dock while Joe bitches about the lack of a garlic press. Everything.

  • The ending.

  • The hilarious, hilarious commentary, which nods to A Streetcar Named Desire on multiple instances by Bobby Cannavale. And vampires, and shirts, and lipstick or lack thereof. And all of them doing the little kid voices: "Be cawefuw." "Bwimps are coow." Heh.

  • All around, a new favorite movie of mine. I'd highly recommend it to anyone, even people I hate and wish they would keep their paws off my movies. (And my songs, for that matter. "Float On" has been stolen by the huddled masses and it's peeving me off.)

    Snaps for everyone who comments on this entry.

    The re-vamped fiction blog now has a small scene from my new screenplay posted on it, so check it out.

    I'm going to review The Terminal and The Station Agent, just because I have nothing more rewarding to do.

    The Terminal


  • The trailer for Anchorman. "I DON'T KNOW WHAT WE'RE YELLING ABOUT!!" Heh. Also, just for the fantabulous presence of Holly Hunter, the Little Black Book trailers.

  • Betty's opposition to the ending: "But he built her a Napoleon fountain!"

  • Stanley Tucci, one of my favorite actors for all of time. And Gupta was a very good character.

  • Liked

  • Catherine Zeta-Jones and Diego Luna both did a very nice job. Tom Hanks was his usual good self, but I still maintain that Tony Shalhoub would have been a kick-ass Viktor.

  • Just Okay

  • Most of the movie falls into this category.

  • Hated

  • The ending.

  • I'm going to publish this, and then write my review of TSA, because it's just going to be one big long column of love and it will make this entry far too long.


    Awesome Amounts of Alliteration by Anxious Anchors Placed in Powerful Posts.

    I keep forgetting to mention the craploads of icons up on the LJ. There's a lot of them, and they're pretty good. Go take a looky-look, all right?

    Yay for Charlotte Beene. I will conveniently ignore the fact that Jason Alexander has done nothing but unadulterated shit since Seinfeld (::cough::KFC commercials::cough::).

    "Please go to hell." --me, to my computer. As if being polite yet profinate is going to help. Then again, hitting my TV fixed the DVD sound fuzz issue, so you just don't know.

    Posting pictures is fun, and Krispy Kremes are even more fun. And even more fun than that are pictures from Pieces of April of a Krispy Kreme with Patricia Clarkson saying a fantastically true line written by the brilliant Peter Hedges. Confused yet?

    Jellyfishing is fun, too, though.


    I am so bored at the moment. Betty Jean is coming over later, so we shall hang out and watch movies and do very little of substance.

    This picture was the highlight of my day. I sent it to Diana. It cracks me up for no reason at all. Le sigh. Peach is the coolest fish in the tank, yo.

    I've been writing, probably not a good thing to do when I'm bored, but I came up with a very good bit of dialogue out of nowhere. Most of you probably won't understand it, but basically, Virginia's in hysterics and Jack's trying to calm her down. And it's just a randomly good one-line assessment that explains Virginia so well. Because she does make things more difficult for herself, really.

    Virginia: Go to hell! Don't even try to help, because you have no idea how stressful it is to be me!
    Jack: Well, it has to be! You just keep inventing your own stress.

    Another highlight of my day that just popped into my head: "Oh, for god's sack."



    Either Blogger or AOL is being insane, but whichever it was doesn't seem to be any longer. I felt so lonely without my blog.

    I saw The Terminal today. It wasn't bad, it was cute, I might review it later if I have nothing else to say.

    Angie has some excellent poems up on her poetry blog, so go read them. Episodes 1-4 is my favorite. It made me miss Angie. A lot.

    BB and Di are both gone. Betty Jean and I had fun today, making fun of Ashlee Simpson with Annie and Julia (a nickname coined by Annie herself) and taking bogus teen-magazine quizzes. We all ended up being the anorexic Olsen, as opposed to the Other Morbidly Skinny One.

    I'm going to review The Station Agent soon. It's a great movie, a new favorite of mine. Patricia Clarkson is amazing in it, as are all the other actors. But she made me cry, something I haven't done in a really long time, surprisingly. (Really long time- read: a few weeks. Which is quite a long time for someone as deeply emotional as I am. I really am emotional, I just fail to show it.)

    I miss everyone so, so much. I'm in such a mood, and our lack of summer weather is helping very, very little. I bought things today, though. A lip gloss, nail polish (it was a set), a CD (the knockoff best of Blondie), and notebooks. And I bought myself Story by Robert McKee as a treat for myself.

    I'm going to bed.

    The Los Banditos Cartdriver Special doesn't microwave well. Whoever reads this, it's your duty to remind me of this the next time I mention microwaving a Cartdriver. (It's a Mexican spicy pasta dish thing.)

    Good night.



    I'm leaving for Madison to spend the weekend with my mother and her CrazyFriends. I'm not exactly sure if I'll be able to post or not, so if I don't post until Monday, that was my explanation.

    I have determined that I don't photograph well and probably never will. The most recent picture I can think of liking is my school picture for last year, which didn't turn out half bad. Well, and I love the Jane Austen shot (which is a picture only Angie knows of), because, well, it's the Jane Austen shot. I've also determined I would photograph better if I was not always: moving, yapping, using my hands to show something, and if I didn't have braces (probably my first normal-teenager complaint on here: I hate my braces.) It's not that I'm horrendously ugly, because I'm really not. Odd-looking, maybe. I'm very, very fair-skinned, I have a large forehead, and my mouth is slightly crooked. Oh, my chin is pointy, too (I still hate my chin, Angie, I don't really give a toss if you like it anymore.) I mean, not Ashlee Simpson pointy, but pointy enough that I could use it as an ice pick if I truly wanted to do something of that nature.

    I should really just shut up. I mean, I just read that and said, "who frelling cares?". Maybe I should just sit still and smile like a sane human being next time, Jesus.


    Dress Your Kitties in Corduroy and Denim

    There is a shiny new copy of the shiny new David Sedaris book on the table next to me. I think it is Mummy's and, therefore, I'm trying very, very hard not to reach out and start reading it voraciously. It's causing me physical pain. Plus, I'm sure Vati will take it with him whilst he's gone for the next week, that bungler. Although I'm not sure if Vati really "gets" David Sedaris. It's not his sort of humor, really; so I'm going to guess it's Mummy's.

    (Talking about Fake Sick's Camelback, a backpack drinking contraption:)
    Vati: There was a kiddie (sounded exactly like "kitty") version inside of it, too.
    Me: Kiddie, as in, cats?
    (Mummy and I crack up.)

    BB! In the Newspaper!

    I'm going to copy this in. It's not my writing, it's from this newspaper-- you can visit the site, but consider yourself warned, it's not much. (I've been in that newspaper for Irish dancing, but they just showed a picture of my feet. That might not have been mine. And, yes, I Irish dance.) It's about BB being the kick-assiest gymnast ever.

    "[BB's real name], a 14-year-old and level 9 gymnast, will be making her fourth trip to nationals. A seven-year veteran of the gymnastics program, [BB] is looking forwared to this year's met more than past competitions because an injury caused her to miss last year's nationals.

    "'It's really nice (being able to perform this year)," she said. "Last year, I broke my hand, so I couldn't compete. I just want to do my best.'

    (Here, Cate feels urged to add that BB's best is the kick-assiest best she's ever seen, and she's just telling you this because BB's humble little self [tm Angie] won't. Anyway, continuing on:)

    "[BB's mom, who we shall call Julie Andrews], [BB]'s mother, helps with different aspects of the program, such as running publicity and working as a representative for the upper levels.

    "[Julie Andrews] says that the friendships on the team are one of the reasons the girls compete so well together.

    "'They are really supportive of each other,' she said. 'They've known each other for so long.'"

    Then, there is a very cool picture of BB kicking ass on bars. So, BB, on behalf of the Mr. Wilcox, I am Demented team (which is only me, but whatever), we would like to say: Good luck and kick all the ass you can.

    And, on a less uplifting note, BB, you can come pick up Return to Me whenever you want.