Where the wildcats are: Dallas

Guys--I'm off to the Big D for a few days.

My plan:

1. Take advantage of Dallas Restaurant Week
2. Make appointments at the Dry Bar
3. Visit the 6th Floor Museum
4. Enjoy the Heat wave
5. Figure out who shot JR
6. Lightly stalk the castmates of Most Eligible Dallas.

I'll report back!

"He that hath a beard is more than a youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a man" ~William Shakespear​e

Looky, looky what we have here...one of our pack members (and the original Wildcat) has grown some facial hair.

I cannot tell a lie--I love beards.
And I love young Zac Effron.
So it only stands to reason that I would love Zac, with a beard.

Sure, its a little creepy how the mustache and the beard don't connect.  But overall, I'm on board.

What are your thoughts?

Dfest: I've fallen and I can't get up.

I have dislocated my knee seven times. Yep. Seven.

The first time it happened I was a junior in high school. Hair straighteners had not yet reached Stoneham and I was suffering from chronic frizzy hair. This is relevant. I promise.

That fateful day of my dislocation I tried citre shine for the first time. I took a shower, spritzed my whole head, and carefully and slowly blew out my hair. The result was miraculous. My hair was shiny and bouncy and awesome. So bouncy in fact that I couldn't help but jump up and down repeatedly, demonstrating to my sister how amazing my new do was.


Up and down and up down on the recently cleaned hardware floors. And that is when it happened.

I went down. And the knee went out. And the pain shot through my body. And I started screaming.

I went to physical therapy after that, but the knee was never the same.

The last time I dislocated my knee was in September of 2005. It was the first week at my new job. I was getting on the orange line T at Oak Grove and the bell rang and someone came running in behind me and knocked me down. I spilled my coffee, ripped my sweater, and you guessed it, dislocated my knee.

I lay splayed out on the floor of the MBTA car. One leg hanging out by the door. The doors trying to close, but hitting my ankle instead.


Some kind soul hit the emergency button and a female T worker came to my aid.

First, she thoughtfully asked me if I tripped "in my little shoes".

I was wearing flip flops. So I immediately took issue with her tone and insinuation that I was a dumb girl commuting with inappropriate shoes. My flip flops were exceedingly comfortable and practical.

I managed to huff out, "No I did not trip, somebody pushed me."

Of course, all of the bystanders in car avoided eye contact. No one owed up to it. Bastards.

She then asked me if I wanted to get off and call an ambulance.

I said no, I just need your help popping the knee back into place. Because of some stupid, but probably smart, liability issues, the T woman told me she wasn't allowed to touch me. So I popped it back in myself. Took a seat. And hobbled off to work.

Lesson: beware citre shine and Oak Grove.

I Wish I Knew Natalie Portman

Since it's officially Oscar weekend, I think it's the right time to make a confession.

I love Natalie Portman.  

When you think in your head of the actress or actor that you would like to live your life as, for me that's Natalie Portman.  I really hope I'm not the only one who does this.  Otherwise, this is about to get really embarrassing.

There it is, folks, the magazine
that started it all. I would have killed
for those perfectly rolled bangs and
that purple jacket.  

It started in November 1995.  I was in sixth grade, and Natalie was on the cover of Seventeen magazine, which was my favorite publication at the time.  I even dealt with my dad asking me every month if you needed ID to buy one.  Oh, dads -- they're the best.  She was wearing what I thought was the awesomest outfit ever.  It was lavender.  It was iridescent. It was fantastic.  She also had the greatest haircut in the world.  I kept the magazine until I went to college, bringing it to the salon every time I got my haircut so that I could look just like Natalie.  (Unfortunately, this was a time in my life before I discovered the beauty of styling products and learned how to use a round brush.  Most of my efforts were for naught.)

Anyway, that was in for me and Natalie.  I've loved her ever since.  Some of the other things that I love about her are that she went to Harvard (Veritas, bitches.) and one time, I passed her in Harvard Yard and it. was. magical.  I mean, I'm pretty sure it was her.  It was night time in the winter, so there were lots of hats and down coats and stuff.  Plus, Harvard Yard isn't actually super well-lit at night.  But in my head it was her and it was awesome.  She's also classy and poised but doesn't seem to take herself too seriously, which I think is great.  For example, I think her SNL digital short is hilarious.

Ms. Portman is undeniably beautiful, fashionable and can even pull off pregnancy glam and a shaved head.  (Some of my other celebrity friends don't do this as well.  I'm looking at you, Britney.)  She's been in nearly every genre of film and done significant theatre work.  We ain't just talking rom coms here, folks.  She campaigned for Obama, and spoke publicly about how much Hillary Clinton inspires her as a woman. (Wellesley blue, through and through.) Also, she has some of my favorite movie lines ever in Garden State (and not the one about the retarded quarterback):

Who would you want to live your life as,
wildcats?  Leave your answers in the comments.

...What do you do? You laugh. I'm not saying I don't cry, but in between I laugh and I realize how silly it is to take anything too seriously. Plus, I look forward to a good cry. It feels pretty good. 

That's life. If nothing else, it's life. It's real, and sometimes it fuckin' hurts, but it's sort of all we have.

Besides all this other awesome stuff that she does, Natalie Portman is also in the title of one of my very favorite songs, I Wish I Knew Natalie Portman.   That gives me a great name of this blog post, and also an opportunity to introduce those of you who are unfamiliar to k-os, a Canadian rapper/producer that I love.  True story: I discovered k-os because I used to be really into songs that had my name in them, (hence my ongoing affection for Trisha Yearwood's She's in Love With the Boy) so every once in awhile I would search iTunes for different combinations of Kate, Katie, Katherine, etc.  I stumbled upon k-os's Joyful Rebellion album because k-o are my initials.  Turns out he's awesome, so I continued to follow him and in 2009 he put out his fourth album, Yes! featuring I Wish I Knew Natalie Portman, which doesn't actually have anything to do with Natalie Portman, but does sample the theme song from The OC.  If you like what you hear, I also recommend Burning Bridges, The Love Song and The Man I Used to Be.

At any rate, all these confessions and stories are really to say, Natalie, you're officially in my wolfpack.  And that means you're a winner no matter what happens at the Oscars. 

xo kate

“When I was a child I had a crush on Abraham Lincoln. Why I would choose to reveal this, I know not.” — Julia Roberts

I saw this Julia Roberts quote on one of my favorite blogs, Smart, Pretty, and Awkward.

The pretty woman's confession got me thinking about strange childhood crushes of my own, and whether I'd be willing to admit them to you, wildcats. I guess I'm feeling brave and adventurous today, because here goes nothin...

When I was a child, I had a crush on John Rambo. Why I would choose to reveal this, I know not.

Honestly, I don't remember ever having seen a whole Rambo film in my life. As such, there is so much about Rambo I didn't (and still don't) know, including the important fact that his first name was John (I thought he was a one-name wonder like Madonna or Tiffany), as well as irony that he was part Navajo, part Italian...in short, someone that could truly appreciate my own brownness.

Not the point. I digress...

I must have seen some part of First Blood at some point, because I remember being very young, surrounded by Rainbow Bright wall paper, dreaming that I was Mrs. Rambo.

Yes...even at the tender age of 6, I knew I was attracted to muscle, grit, good hair, and guerrilla tactics.

Needless, to say, John Rambo's knife skills, ability to sew his own wounds, and day-by-day life mantra make him invaluable to this wolfpack; I think we can all agree that he really brings something to the table.

Now you fill in the blank. I promise not to judge you...too much. Who'd you have a random childhood crush on? Why?

Never Say... Anything?

As pop culture aficionados (aficionadi?), D and I would really like to have something clever to contribute to the on-going debate about Justin Bieber's 3-D biopic, Never Say Never, which opens today.  Unfortunately, we inexplicably and uncharacteristically find ourselves at a loss for words.  Apparently so did Leona Lewis.  Her lips were sealed at Justin's premiere.

Just like momma taught you, when you don't have
anything nice to say, let your bra do the talking.

Where would Willie Mays have
been without Jackie Robinson?

I have mixed feelings about the Biebs.  He's Canadian and wears a Yankees hat, so you'd think that I'd hate him.  But, he also is reported to be unusually hardworking, centered and talented.  Plus, he's kinda likable and Usher is his mentor, both of which are checks in the "not-going-to-turn-out-to-be-a-male-LiLo" column.  And, I do own and listen to his duet with Sean Kingston, Eenie Meenie.

But my biggest problem with the teen sensation is the incessant assertion that it was he who made the side-swept bang look popular.  Although Justin's hair does seem to defy laws of physics and gravity with it's constant windblown flow, he was certainly not the Neil Armstrong of the look.  The original wildcat, Zac Efron, was rocking man-bangs way back in 2006, when Biebs was still in diapers.  Know your role, Mr. Bieber.  I may talk on the telephone, but I'm not Alexander Graham Bell.

xo kate

There will never be another Camelot...

Love that Kennedy hair...

I'm an Irish Democrat from New England.  As such, I harbor a deep and abiding love for the Kennedy family (I think it's in the water here or something).  The politics, the tragedy, the hair -- I get swept away by all of it. A poster of JFK and Jackie (see right) was on my dorm room wall throughout college, sandwiched between Eminem and the cast of The Breakfast Club.  All great American heroes.  Once, when I didn't have internet or TV at my house (which I did for an entire year -- you know you're impressed) I watched an entire episode of Biography: Jackie Kennedy in YouTube on my cell phone.  And it wasn't a fancy iPhone, it was an old Palm Treo. 

Today, on the 50th anniversary of President Kennedy's historic inauguration, it's important to take a minute to remember the hope he gave to a generation of Americans, and how resonant his half-century's old words are today.

We dare not forget today that we are the heirs of that first revolution. Let the word go forth from this time and place, to friend and foe alike, that the torch has been passed to a new generation of Americans -- born in this century, tempered by war, disciplined by a hard and bitter peace, proud of our ancient heritage, and unwilling to witness or permit the slow undoing of those human rights to which this nation has always been committed, and to which we are committed today at home and around the world.

(If you want more Kennedy history, check out this awesome website HKS put together.)

Can Katie pull off Jackie?

Also, I think this is the right moment to mention how horribly disappointed I am by the casting of Katie Holmes as Jackie Kennedy in the now temporarily defunked (and rumored salacious) eight-part mini-series, The Kennedy's.  Lookwise, I totally get it, but this isn't a teen rom-com -- this is Jacqueline Kennedy! Seriously, we couldn't do better than Joey Potter?  Maybe Mrs. Tom Cruise will surprise me -- if we ever get to actually see it -- with her acting chops, but count me among the skeptical.

xo kate

I see you shiver with antici... pation.

There is nothing quite like the anticipation of a snow day. When I was little, and there was a storm in the forecast, I would get into bed, bury my head under the covers, and say a little a prayer that the superintendant would wake up with a heart.

It was just a quick little plea to the snow gods that I would wake up to the steady sound of my dad's shovel searching for the pavement. Just a little wish wispered to a higher power that I would love nothing more than to wake up, run down the steep staircase, and find not only the trees and roads covered in white, but also my favorite words running across the news screen: Stoneham Public: CLOSED.

When I was very little, snow days were spent watching movies with my mom, making cookies, and watiting for my dad to come home from work with the official "snow report." It is a fact universally known that dads are connoiseurs of snow--and mine was no exception. He always knew if the snow was the right kind of snow for snow men. And if it was in fact man making material, we'd bundle up and tear it up in the backyard.

Of course, things changed a little as I got older. I have a memory of one particurlar snow day in middle school spent with my best friend Kelly. We made mashed potatoes and stove top stuffing, and practiced our southern accents. Yea...I was a weird kid.

In high school, snow days were for sleeping in and watching TRL and painting my nails and experimenting with my hair. Sidenote: Carson Daly is a tool.

As adults we rarely get the free pass of a snow day. We are almost never handed a get-out-of-jail-free-card...where we can make snowmans, and take naps, and watch movies and bake cookies. Today is one of those rare treats. And I took complete advantage.

After I did a little bit of work, I kicked the actual start of the snow day off by having a drink with my parents--who were similiarly stranded in Stoneham.

We took Rufus out to play in the snow. And he hated it.

My mom and I made biscotti--an Italian cookie recipe and process that I will share in a post soon.

I watched Sydney Poulton's tutorial on the Daybook to create perfectly imperfect wavy hair:http://tandsdaybook.blogspot.com/2010/10/first-of-many-im-sure.html.Her step by step process is incredibly easy to follow--I can't wait to try it.

And then I took a nap with Rufus...who then turned around and napped with Dad.

I also gave myself a manicure with Essie's "wicked". Sidenote: I am obsessed with this black/red color.

And finally I just capped off the day by watching, "An Affair to Remember", and realized that it is like they say in the movie, "Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories."

Hope you had a similarly fantastic snow day, wildcats. And if you didn't have a snow day, and had to go to work, and are reading this and hating me...sorry?

Warning

This is a public service announcement.

Do not, under any circumstances, go to the movies and see the new Witherspoon/Rudd/Wilson flic vaguely entitled, "How do you know?" It is a long, horrific, plot-less nightmare. A nightmare so terrifying that it cannot even be sweetened by Paul Rudd's usual charm and humor.

This warning comes from a person who LOVES cheesy rom coms. I even love cheesy made-for-Lifetime rom coms (my favorite is Maneater starring Sarah Chalke). My friends share the same passion for the sticky sweet and completely unrealistic genre. For this reason, in addition to plans for a "girls day" that included a subpar brunch at a local diner and manicures at the best nail salon in middlesex county, we paid the matinee rate to see Jack Nicholson's most terrifying movie since, "The Shining."

What is so bad about the movie, you might ask? OMG. Effing everything.

For starters, Reese Witherspoon is bland. And weak. And unbalanced. Is she a tough softball player? Or a woman looking for hope and inspiration in all the wrong places (including silly quotes scribbled on post-its and taped to her bathroom mirror)? Or a whiney unemployed girl with no idea on how to make decisions of the heart. It remains unclear...up to the very end of the 1hour and 56 minute film.

Paul Rudd is oddly spineless. And not at all endearing. Remember that amazing goodness in "Knocked Up" when Rudd rambled on about the hotel chairs? Yea, well, there is none of that in "How do you know?"

Jack Nicholson is a superfluous snore. I think someone stole his charisma.

Owen Wilson is Owen Wilson. Which is never good.

The only good thing about the film is Reese Withersoon's hair. Seriously. She has great hair that looks effortless and natural and wavy (but not too wavy) and awesome all at the same time.

I wonder if she uses Bumble and Bumble Styling Lotion.

I have heard that this is the most amazing styling product EVER. And this notion was confirmed in a recent post on I'm the It Girl. I plan to test it out and report back to you all asap. Read more about the messiah of hair products here: http://www.imtheitgirl.com/2010/09/beauty-fridays-bumble-and-bumble.html

But I digress...

Just don't ever pay to see "How Do You Know?" And don't even see it for free. You've been warned.