Mary-Louise Parker as… Miranda Knox


Cinematic Twist Soccer Mom With Secrets/Relationship Advice Columnist
Sex Female
Date of Birth January 22nd, 1970
Age 39
Zodiac Sign Aquarius
Aliases Randi
Place of Birth Glendale, California, USA
Occupation Writer/columnist, "So Randi", Gloss Magazine
Relatives Sister; Son (Mark Jr. — no, really); Daughters (Alison and Michelle)
Significant Other Mark (ex-husband)
Pros Hot, Liar Liar
Cons Snark, Addiction, Nobody, Fail
First On-Screen Appearance Welcome to L.A.


I really hate what other people think.

Don't get me wrong, I don't care what they think. It's when they voice their ignorant complaints and decide they have to do something about it to try to bring me up to their plane of enlightenment. People are stupid. I don't give a crap what they think.

Treat others like you want to be treated? You probably don't give a crap what I think either. The same freedom of speech that lets other people mouth off is the same rule that lets me rant right back. Hi, my name is Miranda Knox, and sometimes I'm a hypocrite.

'm not one of those women who marry successful jackasses because they like the verbal abuse that inevitably comes when the successful jackass happens to be a successful jackass agent. But I married Mark Long. He's a Hollywood agent. He's kind of a shark. We have an understanding. He's a better person than people think he is, if that's any consolation. Remind me later that I said that.

I've always been a cynic. Okay, okay, maybe not always. It would be depressing if people could start out cynical from the get-go. Something has to make them that way, right? Granted, I don't really have faith in humanity's inborn goodness or whatever. I have half a history degree and half a philosophy degree. Combine what I learned from those illustrious college years was that humanity … sucks. But at least it's consistent. People are destined to screw things up. There's some philosophy for you.

I didn't really have any plans to get married, because given that people suck, I couldn't honestly comprehend how two people could spend the rest of their lives together (happily) or why they'd even want to. I mean, seriously? You see old couples who've been together for sixty years. Sixty years, with the same person, day in and day out. How does that sound like anyone's definition of a fun time?

I bet you can tell by now that I'm not exactly a romantic girl. I like getting flowers. And jewellery. Just without the strings attached.


We never meant for it to last. It wasn't love at first sight. It wasn't even love at first desk. Or floor. Or that time in the closet of the law office. It was love at first fight. We'd get into some crazy difference of opinion where there's really no winning it, but the make-up aftermath kind of made everything okay until the next time. We weren't perfect, but we were a good fit. It was disturbing, really — or was to the outside world. We were sort of stable, once upon a time — good thing, because he was the one who made all the money and back in the day when we were doing that whole "falling in love" thing, he knocked me up with a son. Since he was "the firstborn," Mark insisted that we name him after himself, egomaniac that he is. I was high enough after labour to agree, so our son was stuck with the name Mark, Junior.

Prior to Mark, as I said, I didn't really have my eye set on marriage. It's not like weren't already like a married couple, but with a guy like him… there's always that annoying nagging hint of doubt. Marriage seals the deal. For those sixty long years. I found myself waiting. Patiently. Impatiently. It varied. He proposed after he got a job at a top entertainment representation firm, Midas. A month later, we were married.

Later, when we were at the "in love and still long-term" thing we had another kid, a girl, Alison. And then another one, Michelle. Who knew I was so freaking fertile? We did what we can to not screw them up. The verdict is still out. The thing about being married and having three kids with a man whose life is his work is that it puts you on the fast-track to a mental breakdown or … no, pretty much just a mental breakdown while trying to rope three kids into going to school, soccer practice, dance practice, five other kinds of practice because school these days apparently doesn't believe in sleep, making dinner, going to PTA meetings, playing house and organizing obnoxious high-end parties for Mark's industry friends ("friends" — I don't actually think anyone likes him). It was all very Desperate Housewives.

Fuck, I hate that show. Except for Teri Hatcher.

Sometimes I'm scared of turning into my sister, the ultimate suburban queen, but the urge to stab her with her three year old's plastic spork presents itself and makes me feel better.

Anyway, after a four strike run of missing important meetings and family get-togethers (I hated them too, but at least I'd pop a valium and put on a smiling face), Mark struck out with number five in during Thanksgiving dinner with my side of the family. He was two hours late, but at least he called to let us know why. Well, actually, it was his assistant (Sexretary #27) who put in the call, probably with her ass, as her boss banged her on his desk at the agency.

Even my half-deaf uncle Bill heard the "OH, MARK! MARK!!" and the sounds of his indiscretions. I'm never using speakerphone again.

Some people would judge me for saying this, but it's not even the fact that he was fucking his assistant(s) that led to the divorce. I wasn't a perfect little housewife either. It's the fact that he was missing out on the important stuff that made us a family and made me look like an idiot for ever marrying him, which is probably true. I couldn't deal with it anymore. Let's just skip over the whole divorce drama. Mark made it a disaster. Well, we were both stubborn.

Six months later, I'm living on child support payments and crap money from my first real job in years. I used to be an editor at a newspaper, based on tenuous credentials and actual skill. I think. It might have been my boobs. Trivia: after I decided I hated that, I was a temp for awhile. That's how I met Mark. I was his assistant for the day. Sexretary #5. If there's a God, he's laughing at me when he should be spending his time better by striking Mark down with lightning. (I don't really mean that. Okay, maybe a bolt to a certain part of his anatomy.) Now I have a magazine column. "So, Randi". It's for relationship advice. The way I see it, people deserve a dose of reality of they'll wind up like me and it'll destroy them if they haven't built up my lifetime of cynicism.

You'd think the money from the settlement, child support, and the column would be enough, but my luck is less than stellar. And besides, I'm used to the kind of lifestyle I used to live. Judge me if you want, just talk about it behind my back so I don't have to hear you.


Miranda is what she says she is: cynical and a pessimist. That doesn't mean she's heartless. Far from it. She cares about her family to the point of doing just about anything to protect it, although her methods may be questionable, when the time comes. Her morals are what one would call flexible, borne of a long-time philosophy of saying 'to hell with it'.

She has a dry, sarcastic sense of humour, and tries to make jokes at every opportunity, even when she perhaps shouldn't. It's how she copes. She's not a bad person, deep down - she wants her family to have a good life that isn't dysfunctional to the point of you know, mental illness and psychiatrist's bills. Despite her cynicism and the sarcasm that comes with it, she's not always a downer. Just because a person is sarcastic most of the time, it doesn't mean they're depressed. Besides, Miranda puts on a bright face for her kids (…sometimes), which isn't entirely contrived (…sometimes).

Often, her personality seems at odds with itself; she can be quite tactless, blunt and insulting, and at other times, sunlight. She's a bit of a wildcard, on that count; and easily bored, she needs challenges and spice. Insomnia doesn't help.

She's a good liar and a good bluff, too. She expects things to turn out badly. That way, she's not surprised when they do. For all that, though, she wishes, deep down, that things were more idealistic. She just doesn't believe that to be how real life works. Curious at the core, she's a thinker, and tends to be in her own head for long periods of time and ask strange questions seemingly at random.

Miranda is fairly content with her lot in life, all in all… but who, in this day and ag, doesn't need a little help? In order to keep her in a state of seeming happiness, she's sought out a little of this… help. In the form of prescription meds she doesn't really need, an addiction that could easily go beyond the bottle, but shhh. It's a secret.

On-Screen Appearances

June 13th
Welcome to L.A. —> Miranda freaks out a little when she finds someone in her pool, but it winds up being an old acquaintance from college, Dave, who's fallen on some hard times. She agrees to let him stay at her place for a few days. Cue ominous music of foreshadowing.
June 16th
Thanks for the Tips —> When Miranda is stuck waiting around for her son only to find out he's in detention, she meets an off-colour high school student (Jaq) who gives her a tip or two about how to deal with the teachers of Beverly Hills High School.


"Sometimes I'm scared of turning into my sister, but the urge to stab her with her three year old's plastic spork presents itself and makes me feel better." — re: her life

"I write for a women's magazine, I don't use … math." — Welcome to L.A.


Nancy Botwin of Weeds


  • First on-screen words: "…What… the fuck?"
  • Is bad at math, which led to Dave helping her cheat in college, which is how they first knew each other.

Casting Call

Appable characters connected to Miranda: Mark Jr. (teenaged son), Michelle (teenaged daughter), PTA Members, Neighbours, Suburban Queen Sister, Gloss Magazine boss/employees, other family.

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