01 Jul 2008
Katy, Craft, and Cameras
I don't have anything to say this week. Not really anyway. I thought about doing a manifesto about the importance of respect, but I'm feeling too mellow to really work up a rant. And then I thought of detailing a few things going on in my world, but they'll unfold in the next few weeks anyway. And I already blogged about Charo...
Oh—by the way... I'm still not Katy Perry. Yeah, still getting email asking for song lists and info on where I buy my sunglasses. Sigh. I even added a "I'm not her, I'm me" blurb to my contact page. I'm not sure how much clearer I could get.
So, back to this blog topic issue. It might be time to do a craft-y post—something for you aspiring writers out there. Anything you'd like to hear about in particular? I'm going to do a bunch starting in a couple months about the process of having a book released—from the first draft to the final version on the shelves—so maybe something with a less business-ended focus. Characters? Dialogue? Motivating to write? Tell me about your needs.
You know what I need? A digital camera. Because then I could take pictures of random people I meet and then blog about them. Like the guy who joined us on our round of golf yesterday—he was certainly a freaky piece of cheese. I'm picturing short little character study interviews. Maybe. I think it'd be fun. We have a camera but I can't find the USB cord to download the pictures onto Rodrigo (my laptop).
So add that to the "What to Get Kate" list. Right next to the tutu.
24 Jun 2008
Cuchi-Cuchi
Sunday I got together with a few friends—Wendy Tokunaga, Gemma Halliday, Josie Brown, and Natasha Williams (an accomplished screenwriter). Picture it: four fabulous women and me, sitting in a posh French bistro, sipping drinks and chatting about everything from books to dating. It was like The View, only we're all thinner and less makeup'ed. It was totally a blog-worthy event.
But this morning I got to the café, ordered my milky coffee, and sat down next to a stack of event postcards. One of them—in a garish bright pink—caught my eye.
Kung Pao Kosher Theater Presents...
The Return of...
CHARO!
And her Las Vegas show... Sunday June 29 8pm
How could I write about Gemma's public quest to find Mr. Right or Natasha's fabulous shoes when Charo was shaking her ass-ets right in front of me?
I remember Charo from when I was a kid. She used to shake her thang weekly on TV on some sitcom. Then ten years ago I heard an interview with her on the radio. She was promoting a concert she was having, and the more I listened to her the more I really wanted to go. But I was a poor college student and couldn't afford the expensive ticket.
Now I'm tempted. I wonder if I can get anyone to go with me.
Charo in her pink sequined splendor. I got the picture off Google, and I'd credit the source but there wasn't any copyright info.
Sequins and Guitars: Five Reasons Charo is Fascinating
She's an amazingly accomplished flamenco guitarist. I listened to a recording of her playing and it blew me away. To put it into perspective, Andrés Segovia was one of her first instructors.
For all her hootchie mama act, she's rather brilliant. She's fluent in over half a dozen languages, and she's a savvy businesswoman.
Her date of birth is under debate. It's either 1941 or 1951. She actually went to court to uphold the 1951 date. Apparently she claims her parents agreed to add ten years to her age so she'd seem older when she married 66 year old band leader Xavier Cugat at the age of fifteen. I know! Crazy, huh?
She's in her late fifties (or sixties) and she's still wearing red sequined jumpsuits. How great is that? Not only that she'd still wear it but that she has the body—and moxie—to wear it.
She appeared on the Love Boat eight times.
Yeah, so I like her. In fact, I may want to be her when I grow up. If you see me go blond and bouffant in the next few weeks, you'll know what's going on.
17 Jun 2008
I Didn't Kiss a Girl
At least not lately. Although I do wear cherry lip balm.
I know, I know—you're thinking Kate, what the heck is going through your odd (but brilliant) mind now? You're speaking nonsense (once again). My answer: song lyrics, my friend. Song lyrics.
Specifically the song I Kissed a Girl by—can you believe it?—Kate Perry. Yeah, there's another Kate, although her name is really Katy. Rumor has it she's the daughter of Steve Perry, immortal frontman for Journey. I don't know if it's true or not, but I'm willing to believe it.
An aside: Journey rocks.
Anyway, I'm not writing about her or the song out of sheer delight. Don't get me wrong—the song is kicky. It makes you dance around your home like it's a nightclub. It has a way of sticking like gum in your head. No, I'm writing about the other Kate and her song because I've been getting fan mail for her.
In short, it's driving me batty.
Picture it: I log into my email, excited to hear from my fans, but instead I have all these i luv u messages to the other Kate. And if one more person asks me if I've kissed a girl...
But more than that, I don't understand how anyone can come to my site and think it belongs to a pop star instead of an author. And if you've read my bio, you'd know I write books, not songs. Duh.
So if you're looking for the Katy Perry who sings (quite nicely) about kissing a girl, you're in the wrong place. But if you want kick-ass, fun stories about sassy women, you're right at home.
10 Jun 2008
Final Exam
The other night, my sister Parisa called me on her way home from class. "Tonight I found out our teacher gave us a take home test last week on the day I left early. So I didn't have it done."
I wondered if she wanted me to commiserate with her as a friend or flog her as a parent. I settled for something in between. "Can you turn it in later?"
"She told me I could turn it in at the final next week. Except I freaked out, because I had no idea we had a final."
I grinned. She always sounded so cavalier about her schoolwork. Really, she's a great student. You don't get into grad school by fooling around, and she's in a special publishing program to boot. "Is that going to be a problem?"
"Nope," she replied blithely. "The final is watching this guy in my class get a tattoo."
"Wait a second." I frowned, sure I heard wrong. "I thought you said your final is watching a classmate get a tattoo."
"Yeah. Remember the book I told you we're publishing? The collection of nonfiction essays that this tattoo artist wrote about his parlor and clients?"
"Of course." One of the stories from the collection still haunted me—the one about a guy who went in asking to get a banner with a woman's name, social security number, and a date tattooed on his chest. It wasn't until the guy turned around to put his shirt back on that the tattoo artist noticed the guy's back, which was completely covered in banners. And all of them had dates and different women's names and social security numbers. Creepy.
"Well, one of the guys in the program decided to get a tattoo from that artist and we're all going to watch."
"That's your final?" My voice reeked with incredulity.
"Yeah." She laughed. "I love grad school."
