The Grimmest Pumpkin Patch in Los Angeles

After misunderstanding a friend’s recommendation for a preschooler-friendly local pumpkin patch, we took Charlie to the grimmest, most Carnie fall experience I’ve yet encountered.

In pursuit of of autumn magic, we drove over to the Pasadena Pumpkin Patch. When my friend Heidi said she always took her kids to their local pumpkin patch and had a great time, I just Googled which pumpkin patches were close to her and made plans. Like an idiot.

As we drove into the CVS parking lot, I questioned Heidi’s taste for the first time in our 11-year friendship. When we walked through the chain-link fence, I knew she must be all the way out of her entire mind. But Charlie was enchanted. He immediately found the pumpkin of his dreams.

I foolishly only took pictures where it looked like we were at a perfectly acceptable pumpkin patch. 

He liked that it fit in one hand, and that it had the best stem. He also found some dried corn, which he started using as a broom immediately. Neither of these were near as exciting as the prospect of the ultra-grim petting zoo. Wanna touch a real, live, mangey chicken? This is the place for you! What about a piglet with intestinal discomfort? We have two! Do you like goats? This goat does not like you, and is currently escaping through the chain-link fence to explore the freedom of the rest of the CVS parking lot. Don’t worry, Methy Joe has acquired a rake with which to shoe the goat back into place. Please, Mom, please can we pay the $7 to get right in there, in the pin with them, and touch those animals? Kiss them with our faces? Rub the hay in our eyes? I’m especially interested in the parts of the animals that ought to have fur and/or feathers, and yet have neither.

Oh, sorry honey, dad is highly allergic to some manner of evil within this petting zoo, and we’ve got to GTFO before his sinuses explode. I, too, am experiencing itching in places on my face I didn’t know I had.

When can I go on the inflatable slide, Mom? I love the part about how we have to take our shoes off and walk around in what I can only assume are used hypodermic needles and a bit of hay.

Sadly, we had to go before we could experience the full splendor. Andy was legit allergic, so we couldn’t linger, as much as we obviously wanted to. Charlie started throwing a fit upon the news that it was time to pay for our pumpkins and go. Sobbing, as is his custom, “I’m never going to be happy again!” He cried all the way home.

As it turned out, this was not the recommended pumpkin patch in question. The one my friend endorsed was her non-gimmicky, strictly pumpkin-based neighborhood patch. In fairness to me, this questionable autumn experience had a lot of close-up pictures on its website, so all red flags had been carefully cropped out of my internet research. But because I wanted to create a magical memory and didn’t feel like driving all the way the fuck to Moorpark, we now have the magical memories of the saddest petting zoo in Los Angeles, and a son who promises to be unhappy forever.

But a memory’s a memory. I’m counting this one as a win.

Meditation, Demonic Possession, and You!

5 Ways to Get Yourself Possessed by a Demon

I went to an Evangelical, Fundamentalist junior high and high school. We trended more Pentecostal through elementary school, but since I changed elementary schools 11 times, it was tough task to pin a solid doctrine to me then. One consistent thing throughout, though, was that my institutions were serious about demons. If there’s one thing you don’t want, children, it’s to get possessed by a demon. My 4th grade Sunday School teacher, Miss Kathy, was the first to share the truth bomb that there were demons in the room with us right at that second. She felt we were old enough to know the truth. But don’t worry, they were outnumbered by angels, so we cool. She also broke the news to us about the Persian Gulf War when other grown-ups didn’t think we needed to worry ourselves, so she’d established her reputation as a reliable adult. She was really nice and pretty, so I was gonna listen to whatever she was on about.

Lucky for us, Christians can’t become possessed, except under special circumstances. With regular Bible classes, chapels, and Bible studies beginning in 7th grade, I was given a solid curriculum about how to keep from letting my spiritual guard down, lest a demon slip in. There are a few ways that the demons can get into a Believer:

1. Meditation. Best to stay away from yoga altogether. There are literal demons all around us, just waiting for us to do maximal breaths while we’re in Shavasana. Then, just when you’re like, “Is this what it feels like not to be freaked the fuck out?” — Bam! That’s when they get you.
2. Drugs. Did you know that the Greek word used in the Bible to mean “witchcraft” is pharmakeia, the same word for drugs and pharmaceuticals? Drugs and witchcraft are interchangeable as far as Paul is concerned. (We don’t call him “Saint Paul,” because all believers who have accepted Jesus are saints. That’s why Catholicism might be a cult, whereas this particular strain on non-denominational Christianity is the nonsense-free path to salvation.) Anyway, don’t smoke pot if you don’t want to get possessed. And stay away from antidepressants, too. And if you’d prayed harder, you wouldn’t have cancer right now either, so get your shit together.
3. Witchcraft. See above: It’s as bad as marijuana. So avoid hexes and spells and shit. Oh, and Dungeons and Dragons. You will legit get expelled if you’re caught playing Dungeons and Dragons. Lord help you if you get high and then play Dungeons and Dragons. It’s like you don’t even want to not be possessed.
4. Method acting. You just gonna let those characters waltz into your body like that? How you gonna get them out when the director calls “cut?” That’s right, you’re not. We’re not saying to totally avoid the arts, because otherwise it’s going to be difficult to witness to the homosexuals. We’re just saying be careful out there, and just do line reads where you try putting emphasis on different words and see how it sounds.
5. Hypnosis. What are you, dumb? This is the #1 way demons get into your body. You better believe that a hypnotist’s office is teeming with demons, waiting for some dumb Christian to come in to get help with smoking cessation. Demons also hang out at the Orange County Fair; they travel with the warm-up act. You know, the magician that makes audience members cluck like chickens before Steppenwolf comes on at 7. Those demons leap into you as soon as you close your eyes.

As a young person who took my faith very seriously, this was scary as shit. Goddamn demons trying to get into me? I’d better keep my guard all the way up. That hypervigilance, it turns out, is very difficult to unlearn. Now I’m an adult with fibromyalgia, the treatment for which can include a combination of drugs, meditation, yoga, hypnosis, and occasional witchcraft. Fuck method acting, though. Ain’t nobody got time for that much rehearsal.

The chronic pain I experience is the result of prolonged stress and trauma. If you look at brains of healthy people vs. brains of people with my diagnoses, the brains like mine are gonna have more gray matter… Almost as though I could never let my guard down, lest a fucking demon get me. Where there should be space for executive function and positive aspirations, there’s instead just a bunch of neural super-highways to the sensation of pain. My job now is to rewire it all through the curative powers of previously forbidden activities, and by avoiding things that cause undue stress. It’s hard.

I’ve got a new yoga studio I like. (One Down Dog in Eagle Rock and Silver Lake, if you wanna come try to get mellow with me. I’m in all the yin and restorative classes, and in nothing called anything like “Sweat,” “Sculpt,” or “Butt.”) I’m seeing a new, good rheumatologist at UCLA. I even embroider every once in a while. All of this is in an effort to unlearn the hypervigilance that makes me sick. But mostly I alternate between watching the news and watching my highly acrobatic and strong-willed four-year-old; I observe that my right eye hasn’t stopped twitching in at least three weeks; and I get stressed out that I’m not calm enough. And lately, I haven’t been sleeping well because of the prospect of nuclear war with North Korea, among other treats unique to our era.

But at least I’ve never yet been possessed by any demons, best I know. Unless they’re hiding in that excess gray matter.

Namaste, b-words.

The House that the Jungle Cruise Built

Oh my gawd, I haven’t blogged for fun in forever. Hello, everyone! I missed you. I’ve mostly been writing blogs for corporate entities of late, in exchange for money. It’s a great system! But I had a joyful little moment the other day that’s prompted me to get back on the Hipster Mother wagon.

Earlier this week, we took Charlie on his very first Jungle Cruise ride. Andy and I first met while we worked on Disneyland’s Jungle Cruise, approximately one million years ago. (Yesterday was our 16th first-date-aversary. We both forgot until mid-day, and then celebrated with Mexican food.)

This is the best picture I got. It will do!

We’ve avoided Jungle Cruising with Charlie up to this point because he thought it looked too scary. What happens to that boat when it goes around the corner? Death? Probably death. He’s not interested in death right now. He has a lot of magic tricks to look at on YouTube, and he’s not about to throw that all away for a chance to take a boat ride straight to the pit of hell. We had the same fear issue with the caterpillar train in Disney California Adventure. Where does it go after it gets through the giant box of animal crackers? To the pit of hell? Probably to the pit of hell. But now that damned train is his favorite and literally the only thing he wants to ride. Over and over and over again. With Jungle Cruise, we once got as far as taking him through most of the line before he started screaming and panic-crying.

But Tuesday, he asked if we could go on it. He asked if it was still daytime, because it would be too scary at night. He asked right at dusk, so we had to move fast.

Charlie fucking loved it. He’s all about cheesy jokes right now, and our skipper was polished and totally on-script. When our skipper did the line about most people taking these rocks for granite, Charlie laughed like a goddamn lunatic. He has no idea what granite is, but he knew this guy was using a joke-telling voice, and Charlie loves to be in on the joke. His favorite part was “when that elephant joked at me that it was going to splash me.”

To see the love and family that we’ve built off of this puntastic theme park attraction was a special experience that made me feel feelings, like joy and hope, that have become harder to come by since right around November 8th of last year. I thanked our skipper, conveyed the momentousness of the occasion, and told him what a bummer it would have been if this evening’s ride had sucked.

Charlie at Trader Sam’s House

We also took Charlie to “Trader Sam’s House” at the Disneyland Hotel, which has become part of our pre-game ritual when we go to Disneyland. We sit outside, because the inside of this themed restaurant is obviously completely horrifying. They’ve got moody lighting, so that probably means that terror and death await. Charlie’s smart. He knows that blue gels on your overhead lights mean you’re evil.

Oh, he also asked to go on The Haunted Mansion for the first time, so we took him. It went poorly.

“It was supposed to be spooky fun, but it was just REAL spooky. I’ll never be happy again! Ahhhhhhhhhh!” – Charlie

The Romantic Getaway of My 8th Grade Dreams

I’m about to embark on the romantic getaway that I’ve fantasized about since I was in 8th grade. I knew, without a doubt, that when I got married, I wanted my sweetheart and I to honeymoon at the Pink Flamingo in fabulous Laughlin, Nevada.

It’s as beautiful as I remember it. (Not my picture. I found it on the Internet, specifically here.)

I went on a family trip and was dazzled by the neon lights and white wine at the most adult place I’d ever beheld. One day, this would be for me, with no adult figures to run the show and no younger kids for me to keep an eye on. And no other 8th graders, because they’re terrible, too, and Christy thinks she’s such a big deal because she’s allowed to wear a bikini top. And at the casino, I wouldn’t have to stay on the red part of the carpet, approved for those underage, as I made my way from my hotel room to the seafood buffet.

I would drink all the Jack Daniels Lynchburg Lemonade I wanted. And I bet I’d want like three of them. Who’s to stop me? I could wear a swimsuit with no XL t-shirt over it. True, no one was stopping me from doing that as a 13-year-old, but I assumed that as a honeymooner, I would be more beautiful, confident, and generally radiant in my one-piece (but maybe French-cut!) swimsuit. It would be black, because I would be classy, and because I was less than thrilled about what I dubbed my Amazing Technicolor Dream Suit, a tie-dye looking number with a high, mock-turtleneck-style neckline that I had to special-order for swim team. (It was theorized that my big boobs were slowing me down and keeping the Greentree Gators from attaining their full glory. Alas, the special-ordered suit didn’t keep me out of the slow lane.)

Did I mention the high level of romance in this magical town? A lot of people take their Sea-Doos to the river, but frankly, with the amount of fancy dinner I’m going to be eating with my sweetheart, I doubt we’ll even get down to the river. I will of course bring my fancy black one-piece just in case. I will probably find some kind of a cover-up that isn’t a t-shirt, because of the sunburn potential and also I don’t want my handsome new husband to see my legs. By the way, he’ll definitely be taller than me, and I envision him having dark brown hair that’s kind of poofy, but it doesn’t really matter as long as we’re happy and all the other girls are jealous of how handsome he his.

I’ve already envisioned what I’m going to wear in *the evening,* if you catch my meaning. The after-dinner part of the evening. On my honeymoon. In the hotel room. I will for sure have big curls, which now that I think about it causes a logistical challenge because here in the future I no longer have access to hot rollers. But still. Big curls. I will wear the sexiest thing I can think of: A full-length, black, satin slip, with lace trim on the bottom (to add a little extra length, so my sweetheart doesn’t have to see the tops of my knees or God forbid my upper legs), and lace on the top as well. Not see-through lace, but lace sewn over the satin on the top. It wouldn’t show any cleavage, but you could still see my collarbone. It would have spaghetti straps, because when you’re on your honeymoon, you can’t get sent to the Vice Principal’s office for wearing something sleeveless. It would not be too tight, because that would probably be unflattering. So basically I’m describing a loose-fitting sundress, the most romantic nightwear of all. We won’t do anything on the first night but kiss, because we’ll need some time to get comfortable with each other. Plus we probably won’t want to have a baby straight away, and I don’t know of any methods of birth control besides abstinence and sterilization. But I would look awesome in my satin sundress/nightgown, and I would drink a white wine spritzer. And there should be chocolate-covered strawberries in the hotel room, because this is a special occasion. And then when we went downstairs for mochas the next morning, maybe people would look at us like they knew we’d been kissing the night before, but we wouldn’t care. Our love would be stronger than their judgement.

Well, kids, the time has finally come. Sadly, we didn’t make it to Laughlin for our honeymoon, but twelve years into a marriage is as good a time as any to live the life of your dreams.

Andy and I have been absolutely terrible at planning date nights since Charlie was born, but we’ve done a fantastic job of planning quarterly, out-of-town fuckfests. It’s hard to make out when you live with a toddler, turns out.

So while I might not have the full-length romantic sundress/nightgown I envisioned, I may not have the hot rollers I require, and the goddamn Pink Flamingo may have betrayed me by closing down, by I’ll be damned if I’m not going to get the Romantic Adult Vacation I’ve been dreaming of for the last two decades.

Next up on Teenage Kate’s Romantic Getaway Roster, I aspire to go to San Diego with my sweetheart. But I will only go to Sea World for maybe a really fancy dinner. The rest of the time, we’re going to go to walk on the beach, where I’ll wear a giant floppy sunhat and linen pants. And a sleeveless top. Because I’m a sexy and confident grown-up out on a romantic getaway.

Free Melania

I asked Andy to make a t-shirt for the cause, so he did. Show your support for this poor woman with some festive gear. Tees! Mugs! iPhone cases! Buttons! Accessorize any ol’ way you want. https://shop.spreadshirt.com/freemelania

The Sleep of Champions

Last night I had a dream that I went to a yoga retreat on a tropical island. And you were there, and you were there, and you were there. We were checking in for the meditation competition and warming up, like you do. We were catching up and laughing, drinking pre-game cocktails, and waiting for our spouses and boyfriends and girlfriends and partners to get past TSA so we could all enhance our calm together. At the competitive level.

We couldn’t see what happened from our lanai, but we could see the water rising and the people running. We were all safe, those of us who had already checked into the meditation competition.

The recovery effort was grim. Four-hundred local children had been swept into the river, plus many of our friends we had hoped to meet after the meditation competition. The recovery effort focused on the children. We hoped that our missing friends had found shelter. Brenna was caught in the deluge. But rescuers were still able to resuscitate some of the children. They aren’t healthy after recovery. They can’t eat or drink. We can tell the babies are dehydrated because their diapers are dry. They seem like the only try thing in the city. There will be a second wave of tragedy when the starvation sets in, unless we can figure out a treatment for the bacteria they picked up in the river. I offered to take up praying again, but the baby’s dad said it wouldn’t help.

We’re walking the walls around the river, looking for friends in the alcoves and children floating in the water. We’re safe, but we the guilt was consuming us. We couldn’t stop writing 8,000-word think pieces about what we saw.

Anyway, Happy Inauguration!

Top Hipster Baby Names of 2016 Probably

The third annual list not based on any official data. It’s just what I think you should have named your baby this year.

It’s still a little early for the Social Security Administration to release its list of the top baby names of 2016, but you can read this instead.

11. Fisher

Hipsters and non-hipsters alike pay homage to Carrie Fisher’s legacy while acknowledging that “Carrie” is a real so-so name for a kid. Unless it’s a boy-kid. Then go nuts with that “Carrie” business. “Leia” is an excellent substitute if you don’t want your child to be known as “Fishy” or “Care-Bear” all through high school.

10. Lillet

It’s an aperitif I tried for the first time tonight. It’s pretty good. Like a fancy Muscatel. “Egg Nog” is an acceptable alternative, as is “Kirkland Signature.”

9. Vladimir

A bold choice that’s sure to pay off in coming years.

8. Dandelion

Beating “Kale” for the first time, enjoy this fresh take on classic hipster greens!

7. Rocket

Named for the kind of arugula, not for the engine. More kick-ass than “Dandelion” without being as on-the-nose as “Kale.” Just do me a favor and don’t name your kid “Chard,” okay? It’s a combination of “Chad” and “Shart,” neither of which are appropriate names for a human.

6. Old-Timey Typewriter

Pretty self-explanatory.

5. Zoloft

It’s been a rough year, but you’re still here.

4. Football

You want to love it, you really do. But can’t quite get the bat off your shoulder. You’d use an appropriate football metaphor instead of “get the bat off your shoulder,” but you don’t know any.

3. Pillow

Probably named after one of the Palin kids, but who can even remember the 2008 election cycle at this point? It’s a name that harkens back to a more innocent time, one way or the other.

2. Raytheon

Because “Monsanto” is played out. But you’re still kind of winking at it, you know?

1. Patriarchy

It goes great with any last name and ensures that your child can be the front-person for an indy band: Patriarchy Jones. Patriarchy Muñoz. Patriarchy Pence. Patriarchy Langsdorf. Say them aloud. Listen to their power. This is the name of a winner.

An Interview with Angela Gulner of “Binge”

A pleasantly surprising number of our readers here at Hipster Mother are childless. Thanks for being here! From those of you who’ve shared your reasons for reading, I’ve learned that you come for the existential dread and stay for the parenting mishaps. Some of you have shared things you struggle with — from postpartum depression, to eating disorders, to chronic pain, to self-harm, to too much awesomeness. (No one’s mentioned that last struggle yet, but I assume it’s only a matter of time.) 

Because of what I know of y’all, deciding to cover Angela Gulner’s new darkly comical pilot, Binge, was an easy “yes”—even though it’s nothing to do with parenting. Fortunately, she was kind enough to  grant an email interview, even though this is ostensibly a mommy-blog. (Side note: Anyone else find that phrase patronizing? Or just me, and just when dudes I used to date are like, “Oh, I see you’re a mommy-blogger now?” Anyway.)

The project premieres today, November 29, and it’s yours for the watching! See the full episode here. Angela stars in the pilot, which she co-wrote with Yury Baranovsky of HLG Studios.

Angela and Yuri on set in amazing, matching robes.

I’d recommend this show to anyone except my husband, who is a sympathetic vomiter. He also hates to vomit more than anything else maybe in the entire world. If you, however, are not Andy and you like solid comedic performances, excellent music, and shit that’s a little dark. This is for you.

My very lightly edited interview with Angela is below. She opens up about what it took to get this episode made. I’d hoped to get enough information for a few pull-quotes, but she gave me the gift of interview gold. Enjoy!

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KATE: When did you start working on this project? What made you decide that this was the right time for it?

ANGELA: I started working on BINGE about two and a half years ago, shortly after I was discharged from treatment at The Bella Vita, in Pasadena, for bulimia. I was coming off of 10 long, eating disorder-filled years, and was looking for a way to simultaneous drop back into the creative world and move forward with my life post-rehab. Yuri and I had been friends for a few years, and he knew all about my experiences with and recovering from bulimia. I’d often entertainment him with the darkly hilarious stories of my time suffering from the illness, and my time in treatment. We both share a love for irreverent, uncomfortable humor, and I asked him to write the pilot with me. He agreed — and about a month later, we had a draft complete.

We spent the following two years trying to get the script into the right hands — and while we were successful in getting some great meetings and securing representation, the Hollywood machine is a super-slow moving one, and we stopped being willing to sit around and wait.

2016 has been a pretty shit year across the board for basically everyone I know, so this summer, we decided we’d give ourselves the gift of making this thing we both loved so much. We had a super short time frame to work with, between the team’s busy schedules, and basically no budget. But Justin Morrison, Dashiell Reinhardt, and the support team at HLG were incredible. They shared Yuri’s and my passion for the material and put in crazy long hours to give us the pilot we are so proud of today.

Thanksgiving — and the Holidays as a whole — are incredibly difficult for those struggling with eating disorders. We couldn’t resist the irony of releasing it now, when these communities need laughter, understanding, and connection the most. Especially after such a horrifying election, we need art more than ever. Now is the time to lift each other up, and to make room for messy, diverse, and female voices.

KATE: Do you have a “day job?” What do you do when you’re not filming fabulous pilots?

ANGELA: I wait tables! It’s as glamorous as it sounds. I also work with Much Ado About Shakespeare, a program that teaches Shakespeare to home-schooled kids. It’s freaking awesome, and I’m a huge Shakespeare nerd, so it really soothes the burn of the food service industry.

I also write basically constantly — when not with Yuri, I write with my amazing feminist writing partner Lindsay Stidham (of Sundance and Slamdance fame). We are currently developing our feminist satire feature film with a digital production company, and aim to start production on it mid-2017.

And I play the slots — I mean, audition, when I’m lucky enough to get the chance to. Maybe some amazing casting directors will see BINGE and hit me up…????? 😉 Here’s my IMDB  and personal website for funsies.

KATE: What audience would you most like to reach with this?

ANGELA: We made this pilot for young women, young woke men, and those struggling with or recovering from eating disorders. I think they’ll be really jazzed on it, give us support, and want to see more. We need those likes, clicks, views, and shares in order to get the attention of the gatekeepers of the industry. Folks who like GIRLS, BROAD CITY, CALIFORNICATION, ORANGE IS THE NEW BLACK, INSECURE, LOVE, or LADY DYNAMITE — they’re our target for BINGE. 

But I think it would be a huge bummer to miss out on those audiences we didn’t specifically target. There is such little real, honest, open talk about eating disorders done in mainstream media, and I’d love to reach those demographics that may not know much about these illnesses. I think much of what we depicted will shock those groups (hell, maybe even shock everyone), and I think that’s a good thing. An important thing. This pilot really isn’t an exaggeration. I didn’t have an affair with my own therapist, but everything else you see happened, and then some. And mine is only one experience. These behaviors and patterns and cycles might be happening under their own roofs, to their daughters and sons, and they may not have any idea about it. We specifically did not want this show to be an after-school special, or feel preachy — but we do think most people will learn something by watching. 

And then, of course, we hope to reach those ever-sought-after Queens of Hollywood. Hey, Netflix! Hi, FX! Well hello, Showtime! Nice to meet you, HBO! Didn’t see you there, Amazon! You’re looking fabulous, Cinemax! Yo yo, Hulu!

A girl’s gotta dream….

KATE: Who helped you make this? What was the process? 

ANGELA: Yuri is part of HLG Studios, a digital production company that has had some very cool success. They own a lot of great equipment, and have access to amazing, generous friends who sometimes lend them equipment for free (THANK YOU!!). That’s a huge win. 

We had no budget, so we worked strictly from favors. Little Fish Theatre in San Pedro and Vanishing Angle Studios in Atwater Village were amazing to us, and let us shoot in their spaces for free. Our production designer Marie Jach  and her roommates were trusting enough to let us shoot in their living room until 5am. We shot outside my apartment until we got yelled off the street. Stuff like that. We scrapped things together.

I can’t brag enough about our DP, the FABULOUS, GENIUS Justin Morrison, who often worked alone, set up his own lights, never tired, constantly cracked jokes and stayed positive. He worked like a mad man and did a BEAUTIFUL job. One night, he and I shot all night, just the two of us. He spent hours rigging a camera to hang up and over the top his car with duct tape and C-Stands, and we just drove around my neighborhood shooting beautiful shit, hoping we wouldn’t get pulled over or hit a mailbox. 

We also had the support of some amazing HLG besties — Arturo Ochoa, Matt Wozniak, Spencer Sacks, and many more I’m sure I’m forgetting right now.

We shot about six days, completely bare bones, with whatever help was available to us at the time. It was a crazy, intense, whirlwind of a process! But an absolute joy. I am so grateful for all of the time, energy, talent, and passion that this amazing group of people put into this project. It really makes my heart swell. This was the most fulfilling creative project I’ve ever worked on.

And I would be absolutely remiss if I didn’t talk about the music provided to us.

Up until a few days before we locked a cut, we had no music. None. It was really important to me that the majority of the music be created by a female musician, but we didn’t have time or money (and I, personally, know nothing about music), and so we weren’t sure what we were going to do. And then, the magical place that is Facebook put me in touch with B. Squid — a stunningly talented and unique female hip-hop artist. She was so kind to donate her new album to us. As you can hear in the pilot, she absolutely makes the world of BINGE what it is. The show wouldn’t be the same without her. She has such a distinct sound and style — and it melds perfectly with the tone we sought to create. She gave us so much texture and life. I truly don’t know how we got so lucky. I can’t thank her enough. Buy her album immediately — she’s a badass genius, and really gave us such a huge gift. 

Our other two musical providers are close friends of HLG, and just as talented. Emma Fitzpatrick of The Mots Nouveaux provided beautifully upbeat music to bring out the irony and humor of the piece, and Vlad Baranovsky — Yuri’s brother — gave us an indie love song to help bring forth the protagonist’s isolation. 

These three musicians, man …. I’m grateful for them beyond words. 

KATE: What other projects are you working on right now?

ANGELA: I’m developing the feminist satire I mentioned above, #SUPER$LUT, (you can view our teaser online!) with Lindsay Stidham and a digital production company (their name is in transition right now, or I’d tell you which one!) We hope to start shooting mid-2017. And I’m always writing. Lindsay and I have a pilot about a ghost-seeing former child star we’re hoping to get off the ground, along with a feminist bio-pic we’re stoked about.

HLG Studios, and Yuri, are always up to trouble — they’ve got a plethora of hilarious scripts at the ready (hit them up, producers!), and do all sorts of branded content when they aren’t doing narrative. You can check out their company reel here.

Most recently, they made the show DAN IS DEAD with Maker Studios — the eight fully shot episodes are currently looking for their home. The series stars Drake Bell, and me! 

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Keep up-to-date on with Binge on its Facebook page or at www.bingetheseries.com. Many thanks to Angela Gulner for making neat content and then talking to me about it.

As Crafty As I Get

Happy Thanksgiving, friends. 

I Voted! And My Toddler Helped! Kind of!

We walked as a family to our polling place today. My East Coast friends (who live three hours in the future) had a lot of posts about how they cried at the polls. Making history! Feelings!

I didn’t cry, but Charlie almost did. As we left, it became apparent that he wasn’t going to get to meet Hillary Clinton OR Donald Trump today. This voting experience was not what he signed up for.

“Where’s Her-Larry Cinton and Donald Trump?”

“They’re voting in New York. Everyone votes close to their house.”

“Okay, let’s go to New York now.”

“No, buddy, we’re going to go home after this.”

“BUT I WANT TO SEE DONALD TRUMP!”

Last night I asked Andy if he knew what the J stood for in “Donald J. Trump.” He said, “I don’t know. John? Jerk?”

Charlie was within earshot and thought this was the greatest comic masterpiece since Tartuffe. So obviously, he marched out of the polling station chanting, “Donald Jerk Trump! Donald Jerk Trump!”

We told him that we weren’t allowed to say what we think of the the candidates inside the building. So he went back to his previous talking point: “But where IS Donald Trump? Let’s go see him.”

“We’re not going to see him today, honey.”

“Okay, let’s go see Her-larry Clinton.”

So far, it’s been an awesome day and I’m glad I got to share it with my guys. But now that he mentions it, it is pretty disappointing that we don’t get to meet Hillary Clinton today.

Maybe tomorrow.