i want pink

Q: why are witches frustrated? A: because warlocks have hallow-weenies.

2011-10-21T15:39:00.004-05:00

Halloween is around the corner and decorations are popping up around San Diego. Can we take a moment and discuss this one I saw while picking up lunch?

It says: Enter. U.R. Dead.

Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was TEXTING with this sign. Wouldn’t it make more sense to just write: “Enter. You Are Dead” ??

Actually, no. No, it wouldn’t make more sense to write out the words "You Are" at all. Maybe it’s my severely sleep deprived brain post baby, but I have no idea what this sign is trying to say.

Did it mean to say:

(Do Not) Enter. (Because) U.R. Dead
(U. Can’t) Enter. (Because) U.R. Dead
Enter. U.R. (a Dad)
(If You) Enter. U.R. Dead (like, you know, like the kind of signs i used to scotch tape on my "clubhouse" to keep my brother out)

I'm not saying that I'm against fun Halloween decor. I'm not dressing up as the Grinch this October 31st. Alls I'm saying is if you're going to have a sign, it should at least make sense.

now, that's not very nice!

2011-08-20T17:21:00.001-05:00

it's bad enough that they're slow, but do you have to call them out on it?

Bad Names

2011-06-28T14:21:00.002-05:00

Now that I am expecting a little baby, I’ve thought long and hard about names and what it could mean for the future of this little bean inside me. I loosely believe that your name shapes who you become…if you’re name is Jane, you’re likely to be plain. If you’re name is Bella, you’re likely to be pretty. If you’re name is Irene, you’re likely to be an 86 year old Caucasian grandmother or a 30 something Korean woman (http://iwantpink.blogspot.com/2008/10/whats-in-korean-american-name.html). Your personality is partially shaped by how people treat you, and that treatment begins when you tell them your name. (Incidentally, my husband has a really cool name, hence why I think he’s the coolest person I know).

Anyhoo - I always play the “what’s the worst name in the world” game with my friends. Try it! It’s a fun game. My friend Jen knows someone whose name is Dick Hurlbutt. Another friend knows someone whose name is Sukdik Pengosticles. No, seriously. Say that out loud. Whisper it if you are at work but just say it out loud. It’s impossible not to crack up, right?

But I was reminded of the worst name ever when I was watching a re-run of Paula Deen’s Home Cooking the other day. She had Deirdre and Albert Pujols (he’s, like, a really famous baseball player) on the show and she introduced them, in her over the top Southern accent, as “Dee Dee and Albert POO HOLES”.

Yuck! Totally ruined the show for me! POO HOLES!

For All Of You Who Think I'm A Bad Driver...

2011-06-02T11:05:00.002-05:00

...at least i don't do this:

pause

2011-05-27T13:01:00.002-05:00

We all know the dramatic impact a well-placed pause can play. It can add intrigue, suspense, humor, excitement to an otherwise...mundane...sentence (see what i mean?). This is particularly true over the radio, when the rhythm and cadence of someone voice becomes the only thing we can "see."

Last night, I was listening to NPR’s Robert Siegel interview Scott Rudin, the producer of the new Broadway smash satire, “The Book of Mormon.” Rudin is long hailed as one of the most prolific and successful producers in the industry and Siegel asked him a very topical question, albeit with a very misplaced pause. He asked, “How many (pause. good, dramatic pause) BALLS (emphasis. ok. certainly got my attention at this point) do you have (pause. BAD AWKWARD PAUSE!)…”

...and then he stopped!!! Well, he started talking again but not soon enough. I actually thought Rudin was going to answer that question. “Well, Robert, always the hard hitter with your questions, aren't ya? As you probably have assumed, I was born with the standard two, but it’s true what they say about playing basketball with a pencil in your pocket…yes, indeed, quite an unfortunate incident.”

I mean, really.

The pause was clearly unintentional and I’m assuming was placed there because the sentence was coming out rather clumsily so Siegel needed the extra time to re-think how he was going to ask the rest of the question (which, incidentally was, “how many balls do you have…juggling in the air…with all your different projects?).

Anyway. It was funny. but awkward. and i still make the 'eeeeeek!' face when i think about that interview.

That's all for now. I have to go and screw...

...in a lightbulb ...into a lamp ... i just got fixed.

sir, brush your teeth and ee-NUN-cee-ate.

2011-03-09T23:01:00.006-05:00

one thing i hate about business travel is the waiting period before you board a flight. the waiting area is way too cramped and you are always disappointed, either because someone sits down next to you, or you have to sit next to someone else. not only are you 2 inches from someone else, you are also facing someone. for me, that person is usually aimlessly staring into space; often times directly right at me in a very unnerving way.

so yday i was on my way to kentucky and i sat next the only person who had two empty seats next to him. as i started thumbing through my magazine, i noticed an odious smell. what IS that? turns out, it was the man to my right's BREATH! that is just FOUL. to have breath so stale that someone sitting next to you can smell it!

i put my nose down to my shirt collar and contemplated leaving but decided against it because i didn't want to be an airport loiterer. you know, the people who don't sit down and muddy up the line process with their constant creeping. the people to whom you want to say, "are you in rows 25 or higher? if not, get out of my way, WOMAN!"

i stuck around, though, because this man's phone conversation was gripping. who was he talking to? his best friend, the pimp? it went like this, "did you see how many BITCHES there were? how many BITCHES did he send YOU? i had at least 1000 BITCHES, it was unbelievable! i don't know how i'm going to organize all those BITCHES, it's going to take me a long time to put them in their right place. so many BITCHES, i don't know what to do with them all...Geez Louise...too many BITCHES."

the thing is, he was a totally normal looking GRANDFATHER. kind, gentle-looking, wearing high waisted pants, hearing aid, and orthopedic shoes. and he was throwing out the word BITCHES at a faster rate than a judge at the Westminster Dog Show.

i wasn't the only person who noticed. parents were stuffing their fingers into the ears of their little children, babies were crying, mouths were agape, people moved away (though it remains unclear whether it was his breath or his language that drove them to flee).

anyway. i was the only person who actually realized what the old man ways saying...he wasn't saying BITCHES, he was saying PICTURES but with an accent. you know, like "Pitchas".

he should really be more careful.

(in a scary voice) "i am the san diego chargeeeerrrrrrr"

2011-03-08T20:21:00.004-05:00

I’m kind of scared. There’s a running joke in our little household (and by joke I mean, not a joke because jokes aren’t supposed to make you feel scared…) that we have a ghost. I mean, I don’t reeeeally think we have a ghost and even if we DID have a ghost, I’d be, like, totally cool with that (psst - I’m just writing that just in case the ghost reads my blog and I don’t want it to know that I’m really scared of it). I think this because I hear noises around the house at night...The noises I hear are noises houses make…you know, creaking and cracking and sighing and farting. Oh wait, that’s not the house. I will blame the farting on our non existent dog. MY POINT IS, they are noises that New Yorkers just aren’t used to hearing because no one lives in a house. So maybe, I thought, that's why I'm such a big scaredy-cat sometimes.

But THEN: my charger disappeared. So, I have a ritual. Every night, I charge my phone with the charger that is next to my bed. If I travel, I take ANOTHER charger so as not to be caught chargerless when I’m going to bed because I took it with me traveling and didn't unpack it. Bc there’s nothing worse than getting OUT of bed to get a charger when you're all snugged up IN bed because there’s also nothing worse than having an uncharged phone the entire next day. One night, however, the charger was missing. Except it wasn’t missing. It was in ANOTHER PLUG on the OTHER SIDE OF THE BED.

My hubby swears he doesn’t remember moving it. Which is different than swearing he didn’t move it. But STILL. SCARY!! Who moved it? 10% my husband, 90% the creepy San Diego Charger?

THEN. And this is why I’m cowering behind my computer in fear.

I just went outside to run and errand. Mind you, I had been alone in my office, nay! alone in the HOUSE for the entire day. When I came back from the errand, I saw this:

A FREAKING USED BAND-AID. A USED BAND-AID I SAID!! Obviously, I did a quick bodily once over to see if I had forgotten that I had hurt myself and then forgotten that I put a band-aid on. Then I remembered that I only buy Hello Kitty band-aids and there was NO WAY THAT BAND-AID IS MINE.

I’m so scared!!!!!!

sonic-ewwwww

2011-01-27T23:12:00.005-05:00

so i needed to buy a new electric toothbrush yday so i naturally went to the largest e-tailer in the world - amazon.com - to do some price comparison:

look! YUCK! maaaybe i understand someone buying a used sonicare because you can just replace the head, but buying a used sonicare brush head???

that's just gross.

Dinner for Two

2011-01-18T13:56:00.012-05:00

sorry sorry, i know it's been forever and a decade since i've last written on this blog. transitioning to a new place has taken over my new life.

this transition has not been without the normal hardships of missing friends, the energy of the city, etc. but i have to say little blessings do pop up on a daily basis.

1) blessing #1 - in san diego, people seem to take greater pride in their service jobs. i'm not kidding when i say that a recent trip to the verizon wireless store was one of the highlights of my life here.

2) blessing #2 - i've re-aquainted myself with the wondrousness of The Oprah Winfrey Show and am slowly coming to grips that this is her last season (i'm legitimately sad).

3) blessing #3 - we don't have to make reservations for any restaurant anymore.

ok, so maybe that last one is not always true. have you guys heard of P.F. Changs? it's kind of like an Olive Garden but for Chinese food. one look at the menu and you know that no Asian person of any sort was asked for input. this is not to say that the food is not delicious, because it is. delicious like Queso. delicious like Slim Jims. delicious like Cool Whip. fake. but delicious.

when i think about the board of directors at P.F. Changs, i envision a cadre of caucasion men, all rotund and rosy cheeked and loudly debating what they should name their dishes. "Moo Shoe Pork!" "Chinese Pig with Really Little Pan Cakes!" "Confucious say Moo Shoe Pork!" this is a restaurant where they actually have a loyalty program called the "Warrior's Club." (GONG!!!! (gong sound added for effect, that doesn't really happen when you sign up for the club tho i wouldn't put it past them)).

Anyway, i'm being totally unfair because the food is actually quite tasty at P.F. Changs. and we legitimately wanted to go there on Friday night. And as i said earlier, one doesn't need to make reservations in san diego, we rolled right up to the hostess counter and this is what happened...

irene: two for dinner, please

host: that will be 2 hour wait (handing me a abnormally large buzzer thing that will indicate when my table is ready)

irene: an hour wait???? here? (frantically waving arms around and pointing to the tacky chinese decor)

host: well. you know, this IS P.F. Changs...

it was as depressing a statement as saying a visit to the verizon store was one of my major highlights...

eat what you kill

2010-11-21T15:55:00.009-05:00

pasy and i just got back from a 3 day culinary course in santa barbara. it was so top chef and i highly recommend it if you're into that kind of thing. our cherubic looking teacher julia (named after ms. child) taught us how to chiffonade, julliene, and brunoise. she taught us how to organize our pantry, how to flip over a tarte tartin, and how to make foccacia from scratch. but perhaps the thing i was most proud of accomplishing was not barfing up my homemade croissant at the fish market when she revealed that this was going to be our last lesson/meal:

just look at the terror on that fish face...the one on top. look! it's like the funny face i make when i'm pretending to be really really scared except this fish ain't pretending.

here's another shot:

the blobs on the right of the head are his EYES. his EYES!!! and yes, we had to eat it, too.

a tip to santa...

2010-11-12T17:21:00.003-05:00

REALLY NOW? is this gigantic psychedelic headband really the PERFECT christmas gift? come on!!!

i'm the master of hyperbole, but this is ridiculous. if i gave anyone this gift for christmas, i'd expect a sock in the face in return. a well deserved one, at that.

2010-11-11T13:00:00.006-05:00

i miss nyc shopping. i really do. which is weird because i actually hate it. nyc shopping is wonderful in theory, but in actuality, it's too crowded, too expensive, too impulsive, and too time consuming. not to mention all that walking and carrying bags! theoretical shopping in san diego shopping is SO MUCH BETTER. you go to a single location, walk around in the sun without ambition, and buy stuff from pleasant sales people. when you're tired, you go to the food court and eat delicious mexican food. when you're done, you go get your car from valet, and with a flick of your wrist, your bags are in the back of your car and you are driving home recklessly (everyone in san diego is a bad driver except for my husband who is just an angry driver because everyone else is such a bad driver.)

there is one problem: there is nothing to buy in san diego malls. this got me thinking...maybe i'm been looking for love in all the wrong places. so, i did a quick yelp search for "san diego boutique" and these were the stores than came up.

Temptress
Ooh La La
Girly Girly
Love Me
Dream Girls
Lusty Lady
Bubbles
Unicorn**
Kyss

i seriously had to scroll up to the "search for" box to see if i had accidentally typed in "san diego finest strip clubs" instead of "boutique" but no, i did indeed type "B-O-U-T-I-Q-U-E-S".

this is a huge problem. next time you see me, i'm going to be wearing eddie bauer jean pants with a tucked in Gap Tee. either that, or i will be wearing nipple pasties and 5 inch clear heels and nothing else. i don't know which is worse.

**i know i'm slagging off all of these names, but w/regards to "Unicorn", it's simply the BEST STORE NAME EVER. i'm SO mad someone else took it before i thought of it.

wax on, wax off

2010-10-21T13:52:00.012-05:00

i just got an email from a friend. men may not want to read this. it involves hair removal. come to think of it, women may not want to read it either. but what the heck! i'll post it anyway. i took out some of the words to make it less graphic and more mad libby.

here's the email:

"First of all, I haven't had a wax in awhile. Fair enough, & you know how [insert color here] people have a LOT of [insert body accoutrement here], not like our friends in the rest of [insert country here]. So the Eastern [insert country here] [insert noun here] comes in, & she's like, "oh no you've never been waxed? We have to [insert verb here]." I was like, I've been waxed, just not in awhile. She says, "Oh, you have to wait maximum [insert number here] weeks between each waxing. I will have to [insert verb here]. So she gets out [insert common household tool here] & literally [insert verb here] my hair down there. I've NEVER had any one do that! So I'm already thinking this is a little weird. But I'm like, ok fine.

Other things she said/did during the course of the waxing:

1. She kept saying "good [insert noun here]." I think she doesn't speak English so well. One time she said "ok baby".

2. After she pulled off the [insert noun here] she set it down in between my [insert body part here, plural]. So by the end of the waxing it was as though I had pooped out an entire pile of [insert noun here].

3. She made me get up off the [insert furniture piece here] immediately when the wax was done so she could remove the pile of [insert noun here] asap.

4. On her left hand she was wearing a plastic [insert noun here]. It would accummulate [insert noun here], but she would still hold my [insert body part here] taut with that hand. So after she removed a strip of wax there was an additional moment of pain when she had to remove her hand from my body. It hurt more than the regular strips because it had old [insert noun here] on it!

5. When she put the [insert noun here] on me she patted it down and said "do you feel like a baby when I do that hahaha?"

6. MOST SHOCKINGLY: when she was almost finished she was more deeply in my "area" than any one's been for a long time, & definitely more deeply than any waxer has been ... & she goes, "ok just a little [insert type of shrubbery here] now, almost finished"

At least it was clean but I would NEVER recommend this place!

(ed: i feel traumatized and violated)

this commercial hurts...

2010-10-13T19:38:00.004-05:00

have you guys seen the cymbalta commercial? an authoritative and melancholy voice asks you if you are depressed. and if you weren't depressed before you saw the commercial, you certainly will be after.

it's the most depressing thing i've seen in along time. excuse me as i cry my heart out into my pillow for 5 minutes....

*5 minute sad music interlude. the background music for cymbalta will do just fine*

ok, i'm back.

what is UP with that commercial? it's nothing if not predatory! catch me on a bad day and i'll be chomping on pills in no time. and i used to think this guy was bad:

(that sad, cute little dude is the zoloft mascot. heartbreaking, isn't he?)

it's time to leave NYC when...

2010-09-04T20:46:00.005-05:00

i had the most embarassing encounter at home depot the other day.

the home depot in san diego is not at all like the one on 23rd street. it's super hardcore and intimidating. the people who frequent the SD home depot are building skyscrapers using only their teeth and maybe their left arm if they're feeling weak that day. NY home depot is to SD home depot as bell pepper is to habanero pepper times infinity.

we needed lots of stuff...a propane tank for our new grill, some wooden slats to fix our bed, some work gloves so as not to contract splinters when handling aforementioned wooden slats, and some WD... wait. WD...

SHOOT! i'm doing it again! WD-40 or WD-50*? which is the metal lubricant and which is the uber high end molecular gastronomy watering hole for NYC epicureans?

i gambled and i this is what i said in a high pitched, nervous voice: "can you tell me where i can find some WD...um. some WD FIFTY?????". well, i lost that bet, my pride, and my home depot street cred, too.

remember kids. WD-40 is what you're looking for if you're in a hardware store.

*www.wd-50.com/
so yum. ken and yael took me there once.

this, not that

2010-08-30T18:09:00.006-05:00

one of the best things about moving back to san diego is that national public radio is back in my life. i love NPR, but for some reason, I enjoy it best when driving, and i'm happy to say that my NPR famine is officially over.

anyway, I just listened to a fascinating segment was on pat robinson - you know, that freaky televangelist. side note – back in the 80’s, when televangelists were all the rage, didn’t you JUST KNOW that something was not right withTammy Faye and Jim Bakker, Jimmy Swaggart, Jerry Falwell, and Pat Robinson? If it’s not obvious from this picture below, then I hope your job doesn’t require you to operate heavy machinery:

Even as children, we knew something was not right. They they gave you Sunday Morning heebie jeebies even if you got a glimpse of them when flipping through the channels. Then, we found out that not only are they weird, they are bad people, too.

Take a look at this Wikipedia list titled, “List of Christian Evangelist Scandals”. It’s crazy!!
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Christian_evangelist_scandals

So back to Pat Robinson. To be perfectly honest, I have now forgotten most of the details of the story because I was so distraught after hearing it, but this is the gist of it: pat robinson is allegedly involved in some situation involving blood diamonds. Supporting not just any blood diamond cartel, but the most violent one. meaning, the cartel that coined the phrase "blood diamonds" because they chopped off PEOPLE’S HANDS. I KNOW! ICK!!

FURTHERMORE, he was involved in the trafficking of ARMS!!! DOUBLE GRODY!!! ARMS?!?! who the heck buys ARMS? who WANTS ARMS?

it wasn't until i was parked in my driveway that I realized I was thinking about the wrong kind of arms.

Not this kind of arms:
That kind of arms:

land of dum dums

2010-02-06T19:47:00.008-05:00

I took a picture of this cheese at the place I always go to for lunch. For those of you who can’t see the image above, it says, “GOODA REDUCED FAT” on its label. As if sucking the fat out of her wasn’t bad enough, they then called her “GOODA?” Is that like “Krab Meat”? Are they trying to tell me that I'm not actually eating cheese, rather, processed FISH?

Wanting to give the manufacturers of “GOODA REDUCED FAT” cheese the benefit of the doubt, I did a quick Google search. Sure enough, I got a “DID YOU MEAN GOUDA (ya dumbnut)?” (the “ya dumbnut” is editorialized, but you know that’s what the Google is thinking).

Of COURSE I meant GOUDA!

This reminds me of an encounter I had with a travel agent in 2005. I was booking an annoyingly elaborate trip that had me stopping over in all sorts of places. For reasons still unknown to me, flying out of San Diego and into Palma, Mallorca proved too difficult for the itty bitty red-hatted gnomes working behind the scenes at Travelocity so they asked me to call a booking agent and speak to a real live person.

Real Live Person: “This is Bernice. I see that you’re trying to get from San Diego (also known as whale’s vagina (quote from Anchorman (she didn’t really say that))) to Mall Orca.”

Me: “ummmm. Right. It’s actually pronounced “Ma YORKA”, unless you’re South American, then you’re more likely to pronounce it with a slight “J” sound. Like this: “Ma chorka.” But I digress. Yes, Bernice. I’m trying to get to Mallorca.”*

Bernice: “well, it looks like you can get there if you don’t mind a stopover in Pragway.”

Me: “Pragway?"

Bernice: “or maybe it’s pronounced, “Pra-goo.”

Sigh.

PRAGUE is the capital and largest city of the Czech Republic. Nicknames for Prague have included Praga mater urbium/Praha matka měst ("Prague – Mother of Cities") in Latin/Czech, Stověžatá Praha ("City of a Hundred Spires") in Czech or Zlaté město/Goldene Stadt ("Golden City") in Czech/German, and PraGOO, if you’re a Travelocity travel agent.

*i didn't really say this, but i definitely thought it.

picture pages

2009-12-27T12:56:00.013-05:00

i have undertaken the herculean task of organizing my family's box of photos. most families have a collection of photo albums that act as a timeline of their lives. we have a photo box. which basically means 30-odd years worth of photos dumped into a box. pretty simple.

so for christmas vacation 2009, i spent $300 on photo archival paper, $50 on 8 hot pink binders (mom's choice) and 10 hours and counting so far on coercing each picture into its glossy place with my mom's korean soap operas playing in the background.

some of you may regard this project as the punishment given to medieval thieves and other social miscreants before thumb screws were invented, but i actually enjoyed my solo walk down memory 6 lane highway.

though i now have a ravaging "alexa ray joel/christy brinkley" syndrome (you know, realizing that your mom is way hotter than you are), don't worry, my friends, i won't curse out my dad for his dominant genes and then chomp on 8 natural sleeping pills. maybe my mom's genes skips a generation and my kid will inherit her perfectly perfect nose. (picture: my mom desperately trying to sculpt my nose into place while the cartilage is still young and malleable).

i also came to realize that between the ages of zero to 12, i only had two faces that i like to call, "you are the funniest person in the world!" and "i really need to take a dump." see exhibits below (funny, followed by dump, in case there is any confusion...i understand that there might be).

the hardest part of this project is not the attention to detail required (particularly since i have none), but the decision of when it's OK to throw away pictures. some decisions are easy. i guiltlessly threw away all of the pictures that had my dad's finger in front of the lens. and all the pictures that came back from Vons with a removable sticker that said, "best quality. no charge. take photography lessons" but then came the harder choices. do i throw away the double pictures? the quadruple pictures? do we really need 4 pictures of me playing piano, especially when we have 20 others just like it? do i throw away the pictures of the unidentified animal from the San Diego zoo? a picture taken just when the tiger went back into its cave?

it's kind of like playing God. or deleting history. or stealing memories. i find myself contemplating throwing away people in my life that have broken my heart or people that i just don't like anymore. i do. because they are my memories and i choose to hit the delete button on them. i consider throwing away pictures of people who have broken my mom's heart. pictures i know will cause her pain. people she has actively tried to forget. do i? is that my decision? i keep them but put them in an envelope with a big heart with an X through it. she knew exactly what those pictures were and said i could toss them.

do i throw away the pictures of my dad's home perm (lady ogilvie, tight curlers, administered in the kitchen by my mom, the amateur esthetician) because i KNOW he'd rather forget that experience? i kept them and made them the front cover of one of the albums.

what about all the ones from college where i don't even look like myself (amazing what 30 pounds can do to you)? i burn them because, truthfully, i'm tired of filing.

just kidding. i kept those blasted pictures. just so i'll have something to tape on the fridge when i need to lose some weight.

now, if you'll excuse me, i have 2,000 more pictures to file.

i'm a crier

2009-11-27T19:50:00.003-05:00

i'm not sure when the transition happened. it must be hormonal. there is no explanation for it. i'm a crier. and what's more..i kinda like it.

when i was kid, i wasn't a crier. maybe because my best friend erin was a big ol' crier for both of us. remember her from my previous posts? erin and i got our way because all i had to do was nudge her and say, "psst. erin. cry. ahora*." and erin would cry on cue. this frequently resulted in our moms handing over mint chocolate ice cream.

or how about: "erin. cry".

BAM. sleepover thursdays were reinstated.

sometimes it was more like: "one more time, erin. cry."

new jelly shoes to match our jelly bracelets that we got bc erin cried would magically appeared at our feet.

crying was great.

anyway, i was a stomper. a yeller. a runner. hardly ever a crier. when i was frustrated, i stamped and yelled and ran away. but around year 30, i noticed that things just made me cry.

things like:
(happy things)
* when my co worker told me that her niece may be able to play viola once again after a dog attacked her arm.
* when they "MOVE THAT BUS!" in extreme home makeover
"CHRISTINA AGUILERA: BEHIND THE MUSIC", on VH1
* a picture of suri cruise delighting in the park in US Weekly

(sad things)
* when fabio the italian got kicked off of top chef season 5
* the "hero" music video by enrique iglesias
* lost kids looking for their moms in malls
* lost moms looking for their kids (arguably sadder)

(just things)
* the cotton commercials ("the fabric of our liiiives")
* the mcdonalds commercial where the kid is dropped off at college and he's emotional but prefers to appear stoic.
* when i see a baby picture. of myself.
* dead plants i've killed with my own two hands.

all of the above have brought tears to my eyes within the last 30 days. so if you see me blinking rapidly and swallowing hard, you can be sure something happy, sad, or just plain thingy, made me cry. and it feels great!

*ahora: means NOW! in spanish. i used it liberally and with emphasis with an astonishingly impressive spanish accent for a 9 year old.

No Wonder

2009-11-11T11:24:00.004-05:00

The past couple of days I have been sleepier than usual in the morning. I'm talking eyes glazing over, chin hitting chest sleepy. The kind of sleepy where you actually catch yourself fantasizing about cutting off your arm in exchange for a pillow top bed with crisp sheets and cool pillows.

THIS is why:

SHOOT - i can't get a clear shot - but, THEY SWITCHED MY MORNING COFFEE TO DECAF!

There You Are!

2009-10-15T13:53:00.004-05:00

I hadn't seen his subway ad for over a year. Maybe I was riding the wrong subway cars? Maybe he left the business. Maybe it was because of fraud! Who could really believe his unequivocally confident technocolor "Beautiful Clear Skin" ads, after all? But two days ago, as I (ironically) was poking the carbuncle growing on my forehead, I looked up and there he was!!! His weird eyeless eyes staring at me. My goodness, I almost genuflected right then and there.

THANK YOU DR. ZIZMOR! I MISSED YOU!

words that people can't say

2009-10-05T13:27:00.002-05:00

when i was a kid, i couldn't say the word "specific." i could only say "suh-pacific." ever determined, i trained myself to say "specific" by reasoning, "irene, if you can say SPAGHETTI, then you can say SUH-PACIFIC." makes sense, right?? this kind of self coaching paid off and soon enough, I was able to say "specific" with no trouble at all. (incidentally, the other word that gave me problems was the word "intrigued." I pronounced it "introoged" in my head for over 8 years before i found out how it was really pronounced. and then i actually said, "that's very introoging, mr. pilch!" in 6th grade and it was really embarassing.)

Anyway, the other day i took a an abs class at my gym. my instructor, marcus, couldn't say the word "two". he would count, "ONE STEW THREE FOUR! ONE STEW THREE FOUR!" and it was highly distracting. Especially since he started the class by saying "Class: Today, we are working on perfecting our plank position." If he can say "today", why can't he say "two?".

I guess it's a bigger problem than people realize 'cause I once knew a person who couldn't say the word "shrimp." I noticed it because he would say "prawns" instead of shrimp. When I asked him why he said "prawns", he said it was because he couldn't say "shrimp" because he sometimes had issues with the "sh" sound. obviously, I forced him to say "shrimp" 10 times over really fast. And this is what it sounded like "srimp srimp srimp srimp srimp srimp srimp srimp srimp srimp" can you believe it?

I told him about how I used have issues with the word "specific" and that we all can get over minor speech impediments with tenacity and practice and told him to say, "Shirley's Surely Shrimpy!" 5 times every day. He thought I was making fun of him and he walked away in a huff. What a same.

her ana is like, dead

2009-09-18T10:31:00.003-05:00

irenejkim77: look at this picture of suri. i'm dying of cuteness overload. http://www.people.com/people/article/0,,20273213,00.html?xid=rss-topheadlines

bff@work: what a cutie patootie! i hear katie wants to leave tom
bff@work: do u think that's tru?
irenejkim77: omg. i don't now.
irenejkim77: know.
irenejkim77: i hope not. for suri's sake
bff@work: do u think tori is ana?
irenejkim77: of COURSE she is. spelling?
irenejkim77: tori spelling? bobble head?
bff@work: i kind of think she isn't
irenejkim77: WHAT?!??!??!????!????
bff@work: shes just like, at a skinny point in her life
irenejkim77: are you blind, woman?
irenejkim77: she's def ana !!!!!
bff@work: no, i get that she's too skinny
bff@work: but is she literally starving herself or is it unintentional?
irenejkim77: uh, literally starvinv herself.
irenejkim77: (like i can't blf you can't tell )
bff@work: no i can tell she is not eating enough food
bff@work: i'm wondering about her mental state behind it. like "i can't eat, i'm not thin enough blah blah"
bff@work: or what she says "i'm running around crazy and haven't really been eating properly, i get that i'm too thin"
irenejkim77: tori has SAID that she feels pressure to be thin.
irenejkim77: post pregnancy.
irenejkim77: i think everyone is ana in h-wood who looks too thin.
bff@work: we see a lot of these hollywood types get bobble headed after baby
irenejkim77: except that their standards are all reset...
bff@work: i would prolly be ana too
irenejkim77: so they think they're not.
irenejkim77: right.
irenejkim77: i would be, too.
irenejkim77: totally paranoid about what i eat.
bff@work: bcuz it's so much pressure! and so much upside if u are thin
bff@work: and we're regular sized
irenejkim77: bc everyone is a midget. In h-wood. a midget.
bff@work: like no paparazzi
irenejkim77: right. that's what i'm sayin.g
bff@work: agreed
irenejkim77: tori may not THINK she's ana. but she is.
bff@work: aha! understood
irenejkim77: total paradigm shift.
bff@work: like our ana is her normal
bff@work: her ana is like, dead
irenejkim77: HAHA made me laugh.

2009-08-27T15:32:00.002-05:00

This summer has been a very wet one in New York City. I think I read somewhere that June 2009 was the 4th wettest June in NYC history. Which doesn’t sound all that impressive because nobody remembers 4th place (this strikes a personal chord with me because my business school seems to be perpetually stuck in #4 purgatory. With a logo like THAT, we're NEVER gonna be #1!)

Anyway, I've started to notice a pattern. A sudden summer rainstorm is almost ALWAYS followed by distant fire engine sounds. Have you noticed this and if so, do you have a theory as to why? I realize that there are dangers related to driving in the rain. I'm familiar with the concept of Hydroplaning. Not only because I have done it before (WHHEEEE!! I'm driving down the 805! WHHEEEEE! I'm SLIDING down the 805!) but because Californians are notoriously bad drivers in rain and I have witnessed more cars spinning down the freeway than I have heart-shaped items in my apartment. But…if a car hydroplanes and ultimately ends up in a car crash (God Forbid)…doesn't that usually involve the Fuzz, not the Fire Department?

So I googled "Fire and Rain". The only thing that came up was : ""Fire and Rain" is a folk/rock song written and performed by James Taylor. Taylor publicly said that he composed "Fire and Rain" in 1968 during a stay in the Spanish island of Formentera, a place that he jokingly defined as a place (then) "full of goats and drug smugglers".

(Cool! I went to Formentera! I didn't see any goats! See blog: http://iwantpink.blogspot.com/2007/07/vacation-planning.html)

I don’t know this song "Fire and Rain". Mind you, I'm the person who thought Jim Croce was African American. Tom Jones, too, come to think of it. So I'm not exactly your "Phone A Friend" when it comes to these matters. I looked up the lyrics and nope, the song doesn't ring a bell. And it didn't shed any light on why sudden rain storms are frequently followed by the fire engine siren sound. I know it's a random post. But I was just wondering why, that's all.

Toe Jam

2009-07-31T10:45:00.005-05:00

I was in Boston yesterday. Until recently, my list of Why I Love Boston were negated by a list of equal length of Why I Don't Always Love Boston, netting me neutral on the city. After what happened to me yesterday, why IDALB is winning by a nose.

It was 1:51 pm and I was frantically looking around for a cab to take me to Logan Airport to catch a 2:30 flight. There was none to be found. And I wasn't alone; there was a pack of us roaming around Congress Street trying to flag a cab. As the minutes sped by and my competition increased, I knew I had to take action. I exchanged my high heels for my black flats and broke out in a wind sprint down the cobblestone streets around Faneuil Hall. In less than 3 seconds, I somehow simultaneously kicked off BOTH shoes in OPPOSITE directions, rendering me barefoot and sprinting for a good 5 lopes before I put my Flintstone breaks on and screeched to a grinding halt. The ring toe* on my left foot took the brunt of the trauma but I paid no attention because I was too aware of the people pointing and laughing at the stressed out Asian girl running barefoot. I'm sure the veterans who had been warily eyeing me earlier were immediately brought back to Hiroshima, circa August 6, 1945.

Anyhoo. I picked up my shoes (they were at least 15 feet apart from each other, with me as the Epicenter of Trouble) and lo and behold! A CAB! I hopped in the cab and made it on my flight. I, unfortunately, sat behind two Finance guys who talked the entire time of why "Hamachi" was better than "Yellowtail". I was thiiiiiiiise close to tapping them on their shoulders and saying, "Listen Turdface, Hamachi and Yellowtail are THE SAME THING". But I didn't. Because I was reading SkyMall. CHECK THIS OUT!

It's a little microwave for YOUR CAR! It plugs into the CIGARETTE LIGHTER! Oh, SkyMall! You never fail me.

Anyway, the point of my story is that I think I broke my toe. It's running a fever and the nail is turning black.

*no,i would NEVER EVER wear a ring on my toe. and if you thought this even for a second, you are dead to me.

laundry day

2009-07-20T06:34:00.003-05:00

Sunday night. It’s the night that everyone in Manhattan does laundry.

I’ve always felt fortunate that I have never seen someone in the laundry room. Which, now that I see it in writing, is kind of scary, because my laundry room is the perfect backdrop for a gruesome crime scene: flickering lights, low humming in the background, and a mystery room (a door with 4 deadbolts on it – what’s in there? Bodies, that’s what). Nevertheless, I still feel fortunate, because having to wait for a washer/dryer is really annoying.

This Sunday night was different. I went to the “LL” floor and for the first time in over a year, there was another person in the room. She was very tiny. Like a child. But she wasn’t a child because she had a red thong in her hand. And I don’t know any children who wear red thongs. Even in Manhattan. Anyway, I knew then and there that our cycles were off. Our laundry cycles, that is, because she was putting things and thongs in the dryer. And everyone knows the dryer is on a 60 minute cycle while the washer is on a 34 minute cycle. WTF? are industrial use washer/dryers made by the same people who package hot dog and buns in off-ratios, too?

I place my clothes in the washer as she finished placing hers in the dryer. There was no way this was going to work. I watched exactly 34 minutes of “Old School” on TBS and then went to go check on my clothes.

My cycle was done. Hers was still humming away as i knew it would be. What to do?

I did what any college student would do. I took her laundry out and put it in the metal basket. Then, because we live in adult land, I took it a step further and began folding her clothes.

I nervously looked at the elevator light. It was firmly on “6”. If it started to creep downwards, I knew I had approximately 3 minutes to finish folding, put MY stuff in the dryer, and sprint up the back stairs to my room and remain the anonymous Laundry Fairy. I shook out a pair of jeans. HOLY COW she’s tiny! Size 24? Who the hell wears size 24? A CHILD, that’s who. I folded them and place them in the cart. An “I Heart Obama” T shirt. Most likely educated, consensus-building, and a student, as most Liberals who wear their political proclivities in public tend to be. I continued folding. Oberlin College…aha. Maybe that’s where the pot smell always comes from. So far, she was a red thong wearing pot smoking child genius who would have voted for Obama if she were old enough, interning in Manhattan. I pulled out one Mens Boxer shorts. Boxer briefs (nice) but size T for Tiny. They must be a good match. But…only one pair of boxer briefs in this whole pile of laundry? A one night stand ending in a Commando dash back home? Who knows. Heh. This is kind of fun, folding the laundry of a red thong wearing pot smoking child genius who would have voted for Obama if she were old enough, interning in Manhattan, doing Tiny Men.

Oh SHT!! The elevator is going down! 3 minutes and counting! I started folding like a folding maniac. Matching gym socks with knee socks, wadding up her camisoles and throwing them back into the metal basket. It was too late. It was GAME OVER. Like a DVD on rewind, I started putting everything back into the dryer. Hurry hurry hurry!

The door opened just as I slammed the dryer door shut. I casually leaned on it, and smiled what I hoped was a serene smile.

Tiny Person: “WEIRD. My T shirt came out of the dryer perfectly folded.”

Me: “Huh! Hey, I love Obama, too!”

haha - this is why working with people in asia can be funny

2009-07-02T07:56:00.002-05:00

From: xx, xx: Research
Sent: Thursday, July 02, 2009 4:52 AM
To: xx, x: Sales
Subject: RE: Feedback: REITS

Hello XXX,

Basically unemployment rate tends to be lagged with office vacancy rates and market expects vacancy rates will still continue to go up for a while so the question is when it will stop deterioration.

Sorry for not allowed to provide you any onion at the moment.

Regards

ASIAN CO WORKER

and he calls them "beetles"

2009-06-22T13:34:00.004-05:00

Not even a week ago, I blogged about my ability to see disgusting things that others do not.

I am squiggling in my seat bc I can't decide whether I want to VOM on my keyboard or do the Chicken dance. Ok, so my team took the head of Asia XXXX (I am making this work generic…just know that he's very very senior. Let's call him Mr. Asia) to a Thai restaurant. I was sitting at the head of the table, he was to my right. My coworker, we'll call him MR. BLIND, was to my left.

Our entrees had just arrived. I got Beef with Chilies and Scallions and a side of Brown Rice. It was GOOD! And then I saw it. A 3 inch Cockroach on Mr. Asia's right wrist. It was rapidly making it's way up his arm. I looked over at Mr. Blind - because there was NO WAY he could have missed the cockroach since he was sitting DIRECTLY ACROSS from Mr. Asia, unless he was, well, blind.

Mr. Blind saw my pleading and silent eyes and pushed my water glass closer to me because(in his own words) he "thought your dish was too spicy" Useless bag of turd.

I closed my eyes and I made a decision. I would excuse myself and discreetly brush the Cockroach off onto the floor, which was now on Mr. Asia's back. No one would even know. I had to take one for the team.

When I opened my eyes, I realized the Cockroach had already made its way down his LEFT arm. Fast little ucker-fay. Without thinking, I slapped at Mr. Asia's forearm with my BARE HAND. Mr. Asia looked up at me with a "what's wrong with you, girl?" look on his face. I clamped my hand over my mouth to supress a scream and pointed to the Cockroach that had just flown over two tables and was doing a Zulu Backspin like a B-Boy on the floor.

So, I understand that there are Cockroaches in New York City. I just don't understand why I have to be the one to spot them first.

I AM

2009-06-16T12:18:00.002-05:00

SO DISGUSTED.

everyone has a special talent. and mine is to gross myself out. i'm also very good at cracking myself up. but one talent at a time. what I am very good at doing is noticing things that people are not supposed to see. i mean, things that humans do in secret or on accident and then hopes that that no one caught them "doing that."

examples? nose picking. everyone does it. i barely blink an eye when I see someone casually brushing their nose with their digit and allow their finger to linger. but i seem to take it a step further and spot the people who not only pick their nose, they also lick their fingers afterwards. correction. they SUCK with RELISH on their fingers afterwards (you know who you are - and i always see you! STOP, PLEASE!). another example just happened two minutes ago and is the inspiration of this blog entry: i just saw a co-worker, who I swear is one lab test away from being diagnosed with the swine flu, cough out plegm halfway out his mouth, and slurp it back in.

(I'm cracking myself up right now! that’s how unbelievable it was! talent number two!)

the worst part is, he furtively looked around to see if anyone saw him. and we made eye contact (TERRIBLE!) to which i started reciting hamlet's soliloquy "To Be, Or Not To Be" very loudly so that my randomness would abate our mutual embarassment because i'm so...random. similar to the time my dad passed gas very loudly in a movie theater and so I burped even louder so that people would forget that he arted-fay (that's farted in pig latin).

Blech. I feel ill.

yo

2009-05-12T15:36:00.003-05:00

I almost scared myself death this morning. TO DEATH.

I was taking a shower when I noticed that the bandaid I put over my blister was coming off. I gently peeled it off and placed it on the edge of my tub, telling myself not to forget that it was there.

As I bent down to inspect the blister in closer detail, I saw a cockroach surf down a rivulet of shower water towards the foot I was standing on. I screamed. Nay, I ( more like) SHRIEKED, "YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Yo?

You see, I was so frightened that I couldn't decide whether to say, "YEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" or "NOOOOOOOOOOO" so instead I said both, i.e., "YOOOOOOOOO!" which sounded like exactly the wrong thing to say at the time.

I mean, seriously, I said YO? YO was actually in the running for the last words uttered by me? (Not being melodramatic here, just very realistic...I slipped and saw grades K through 5 scroll through my brain before I grabbed onto the towel rack).

I felt silly. And then felt really silly when I realized that the cockroach was actually the bandaid that I just placed on the side of the tub, yo.

crunch

2009-05-05T15:22:00.000-05:00

S turned me on to these little crostinis. Simple ingredients - durum flour, olive oil, water. delicious and a real satisfying crunch.

I was munching on some when I came up with the MOST BRILLIANT experiment. How Many Crunches Before You Get A Real Person While Waiting On The Phone For Time Warner?

I was a nerdy knocked-kneed girl in 8th grade (incidentally, that was the vertex of my intellectual parabola (the kind of parabola where a<0). i was valedictorian AND i won the spelling bee). and even tho i may have looked really cute in my uniform, i was tooootaly a nerd. por ejemplo, i didn't know why people giggled when i said, "i'm going to wear my maryjanes to school." who knew that meant marijuana? not me, that's who. anyway, that year, i won the 8th grade science project with my scientific method approved "testing plants with bleach." (the same year, i believe, erin won for her year for inventing the "pooper scooper"...a tool that scooped the poop rabbits ooped!)

i knew i was up for the task.

THE EXPERIMENT:

Overview
The purpose of this experiment is to disprove that it actually matters if English is spoken when in the grips of the Time Warner IVR (interactive voice recognition) system.
Safety
Glass of water to mitigate chocking hazards.
Chair to administer self Heimlich should subject choke.
Procedures
1) Dial 212 358 0900
2) whenever prompted to speak, CRUNCH on a crostini
Equipment
1) Crostini
2) Phone
Bias
Previous experience dealing TW.
Control
Navigating IVR with English
Outcome
IT DOES NOT MATTER IF YOU SPEAK CROSTINI OR ENGLISH. YOU STILL DON'T GET A REAL PERSON.

why does that not surprise me?

isn't it interesting (mildly) that

2009-04-28T12:55:00.003-05:00

Vaseline and Baseline don't rhyme?

I'm just saying that it's okay to spend 2 seconds thinking about it, that's all.

...the size of your leg...

2009-04-14T13:38:00.004-05:00

On my way to the subway on 18th and 7th last week, I saw a cuuuuuutie pie Yorkie. Actually, it was only cute because it was tiny and everything tiny has a better chance of being cute (like Vern Troyer. A life size Vern would be terrifying. Just terrifying). The Yorkie was about the size of three apples (exactly the size of Hello Kitty, btw), and it had a RED FLOWER behind its ear. iiii know! RIDICULOUS, but also so adorable that you wanted to smash it because it was so cute it was causing you intense pain in your chest.

Anyway, the Yorkie was quivering…as if it's Burberry trench coat was doing little to keep out the Spring chill. But WAIT. It wasn't the chill that was causing the Yorkie to quiver like a bowl of jello on a vibrating bed…it was TOTALLY DOING A POOP!!!! (EWWWWWWWWWWWWWW).

This has always grossed me out and always will. The thought of having to pick up warm POOP through a plastic bag makes me want to violently retch. But I was just FASCINATED by the size of the poop. It was at least 3.5 inches long. This is LONGER than the Yorkie's LEG. CAN YOU IMAGINE IF HUMANS DID THE EQUIVALENT? Um, let's not imagine.

i'm MAGIC! (use me wisely, soldier)

2009-04-14T13:14:00.004-05:00

lostsomething99: ok so I lost something I don't want to tell you what bc it will make it more real but send good vibes and pray I find it ok?

irenejkim77: ok...i know that feelign and can empathize. (sending vibes)

lostsomething99: OH MY GOD

lostsomething99: You are magic

lostsomething99: I was just putting on my sweatshirt

lostsomething99: and heard a loud noise

lostsomething99: and I found it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

lostsomething99: THis is amazing

lostsomething99: it is my diamond locket

irenejkim77: ARE YOU SERIOUS?

irenejkim77: wow! (i have magical powers...and i never knew)

lostsomething99: YOU ARE MAGIC!!!!!!!!

irenejkim77: I'm MAGIC!

lostsomething99: it was like seconds

ok friends - giving all of you guys *one* chance to use this trick. IM me if you lost something. let's see if it works again!

the WORST

2009-04-09T14:55:00.003-05:00

I did the worst thing this morning. The absolute worst thing.

Instead of drinking this:

(Coconut Water (full of potassium and electrolytes. Good for muscle cramping and hangovers!))

I drank this:

CHICKEN BROTH!!!!!

Gggalahchachalahaachhh!

inappropriate giggle syndrome

2009-03-29T14:51:00.005-05:00

CONFESSION: i have inappropriate giggle syndrome. i've had it for about 20 years now, and as far as i know, there is no known cure.

i remember the exact moment when i thought to myself "gee, it feels so right and so wrong to be laughing right now." my brother and i were horsing around in front of our 344 surrey drive house in bonita, ca. i was lacing up my old school roller skates and my brother was working on his bicycle. he was tossing a screwdriver up in the air and catching it with the same hand. except something went all a bit wrong. the screwdriver slipped through his fingers and drove right through his foot and into the grass underneath. as time stopped for both of us, our jaws slack at the grotesque sight of foot shish kabob, i burst into laughter. and i'm not talking about a little giggle. i'm talking - DYYYYING of laugher.

WAIT WAIT WAIT! before you pass judgment on me, let me clarify the situation...the screwdriver didn't actually pierce his skin. it somehow wiggled its way right into the crack between his big toe and his second toe. I KNOWWWW! that's why it was SO FUNNY. well, no, that is NOT why it was so funny because i was laughing even before i knew it didn't pierce his skin. it's more accurate to say, "that's why it was funnIER".

before you go thinking that i'm a insensitive troglodyte, i did roll over to my brother with one pink roller skate THROUGH GRASS (do you know how difficult this is???) with my arms outstretched. mentally, i was prepared to pull the screwdriver out of his foot and suck all of the poison out of the wound (oh wait, i think that's what you do in a rattlesnake emergency). but, look. i was ready to put my mouth on his foot. that counts for something, right?

i don't get it.

2009-03-26T12:47:00.000-05:00

so...i'm asian, not hispanic, or latino? thanks for clearing that up.

booooop!

2009-03-19T14:23:00.004-05:00

I'm on the phone for about 75% of my day, talking to clients and getting voicemails.

You know what is really confusing?

When this happens:

*ring ring* *ring ring*

Client: Hi, it's CLIENT
Irene: Hey Client, it's Irene from xxx. Glad I caught you live because ---
*booooooooooooooop*

Listen people - don't make it so that your voicemail sounds like you're actually answering the phone. Even the standard automated voicemail is preferable. You know, the *robotic voice* "EYE-REEN KIM BOOOOOP" voicemail.

Don't play mean tricks on me. Change your voicemail.

2009-02-24T17:23:00.006-05:00

I saw the above sign on the subway the other day.

It said, "When that cold, fresh Budweiser pours out of a clean tap into a beer clean glass, it just might be the pinnacle of perfection."

First of all - GROSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This ad is only calling attention to the fact that 99.9% of Buds poured across bars in America is probably NOT poured out of a clean tap and into a clean beer glass! Ew.

Second of all - pinnacle of perfection? Come on, really? Bud: you're reaching.

Third of all - did they mean "…pours out of a clean tap into a CLEAN BEER glass" not a "BEER CLEAN glass"?

It didn't make sense that Bud would make a mistake with their bajillion Ad dollars, so I did some googling.

Definition of Beer Clean Glass from www.about.com: That glass may look clean, but invisible residue (like soap or grease) can cause beer's foam to dissipate quickly. A "beer-clean" glass is completely clear of residue.

Oh. It's still a confusing poster.

you go, girlfriend!

2009-02-24T15:59:00.004-05:00

irenejkim77: so i just got a bday card for my mom.
irenejkim77: and i didn't look inside to see what it said. the front is a really beautiful peacock design.
irenejkim77: but inside, it says, "you go, girlfriend!"
irenejkim77: isn't that kinda...incongrous?

irenejkim77: i mean, can i really send this to my mom?

irenejkim77: um. hello??

can i ask you a question?

2009-02-23T16:39:00.006-05:00

Am I a human dog whistle? Do I speak at a decible imperceptible to the human ear? When I talk, are dolphins crashing into the window of the room that I'm in?

The reason why I ask is because last night I went to a little Oscar get together. When the announcers for Best Supporting Actress came onstage, we started chattering about the alien looking, pale woman on stage. "Whoa, who is she? What's her name? When did she win? Why does she look like a tall glass of milk?"

I knew the answer, so I said, "That's Tilda Swinton. She won last year." Apparently, this is what I sounded like: " ____________" because people continued to look at each other with their hands in the air and the Dubya expression on their faces. I turned to Schuyler who hears every sniffle and sigh I make and asked, "Did I actually make noise just then?"

Anyway, when the announcers for Best Costume came onstage, I was not surprised that "The Dutchess " won. I mean, come on, it was the only period piece!

So, this is what i said:

Irene: Well, that's not very surprising...it was the only nominated period piece.

Then...

Jamie: Do you guys think it's that surprising that The Dutchess won? It IS the only period piece.

Then...

Chad: The only reason why that movie won is because it's the only period piece.

It's all so confusing. Until I wiki-ed the properties of human hearing. And what I found was very interesting. "Humans are equipped with very sensitive ears capable of detecting sound waves of extremely low intensity. The faintest sound which the typical human ear can detect has an intensity of 1*10-12 W/m2 (ok, whatever whatever). A sound with an intensity of 1*10-12 W/m2 corresponds to a sound which will displace particles of air by a mere one-billionth of a centimeter (emphasis added). The human ear can detect such a sound. WOW! (Surprisingly, I did not add this "WOW!". It was already there). The faintest sound which a human ear can detect is known as the threshold of hearing. The most intense sound which the ear can safely detect without suffering any physical damage is more than one billion times more intense than the threshold of hearing."

Then I found this chart. I guess sometimes I'm below the Threshold of Hearing. So ironic because I feel like my whole life people have been telling me to be more quiet.

yes, yes it's true

2009-02-20T18:03:00.002-05:00

i wrote a blog detailing my recent stomach flu and my ()oop's resemblance to magic sand, the sand that repels water...but i took it down.

so, to all of you who wrote me, you weren't imagining things. it was up for a day and then i deleted it.

love,
irene

hmph

2009-02-09T19:40:00.003-05:00

i'm so perturbed. faithful reader a. shau brought to my attention that in the trailer for "confessions of a shopaholic", the main character is seen breaking her credit card out of a block of ice.

THAT'S MY TRICK! (see may 5, 2007 blog "people who wear glasses just know")

hmph.

addendum to my last post in IM

2009-01-22T16:34:00.002-05:00

16:32:08 REBECCA CHAMBERS : why is that a cervical traction system?
16:32:11 REBECCA CHAMBERS : i am confused
16:32:19 IRENE KIM : I KNOW
16:32:23 IRENE KIM : i need to put something in there
16:32:30 IRENE KIM : allegedly, cervical also means neck
16:32:33 IRENE KIM : who knew?
16:32:36 REBECCA CHAMBERS : omg that is even funnier!
16:32:41 REBECCA CHAMBERS : i was already peeing my pants

For you men out there, "cervical" reminds women of the part of our bodies that gets probed with an archaic torture tool called a "speculum" once a year.

a speculum is an instrument used to explore body cavities. i'm done with this blog.

worst idea ever

2009-01-22T14:02:00.005-05:00

DANGER DANGER!

I can see this scenario ending in many different ways, none of them good. come on SKYMALL!

***

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Extraterrestrial Sadness

2008-12-28T20:03:00.009-05:00

the other day i stepped into the "1/2/3" subway line and tried to make myself as small as possible next to the greasy, fingerprinted, kid slobber pole. I was trying not to touch anything except for the pole, which i was essentially only poking with my forefinger so as to minimize surface area in contact with said pole. i kept my neck stiff and at a slight bend backwards because someone's hair was getting dangerously close to my forehead (shudder). if there's one thing i can't stand, it's strange hair on or near my forehead. i can still remember the day i saw a tiny louse jump from sylvia beng's hair to debbie gold's hair in kindergarden. so if anyone knows of the dangers involved with strange hair to hair contact, it's ME.

anyway, that's not what this blog is about. it's about ET and feeling sad. let's continue.
everyone poured out at the 34th street stop and i had a little more room to move around, i.e. widen my stance to a wrestling pose (see pic) so that i didn't have to touch ANYTHING. that's when i noticed a bumbling, mumbling looking man cradling a swaddle of cloth. i almost expected him to look up and say, "hi, i'm lenny from 'of mice and men' and this is my rabbit. i am about to crush him with my love." the man was rocking the swaddle back and forth and i needed to know what was in his arms.

i casually walked over to him, careful to keep my balance (sidenote: i once fell into the lap of a man when the subway lurched to a stop bc i was poking the pole as opposed to gripping it as most people do. to clarify, i sat on him. to further clarify, i SAT ON HIM. the worst part of it was when i stood up, i realized that he had two broken legs. NOT FROM ME. they were like that already. but it was terrible. just terrible.)

"lenny" saw me coming so he snuggled the bundle closer and said, "...pecker". i recoiled in horror! he was a total perv! luring curious women to his lair and then muttering juvenile synonyms for a man's dingaling! then he said it again. "WOODpecker." oooh, a WOODpecker! amazing. i didn't even know that they existed in new york city, i said. he solemnly nodded. they do exist in new york city. and this one was dying.

when i saw the tiny, barely born bird, I felt an awful sad nostalgia wash over me. because once, when my brother and i were young, we saw a small figurine on the asphalt outside of baskin robbins (always got bubble gum ice cream, spat out bubble gum, saved them for later). look! i said. a toy! we ran over to it and i said, "it's E.T! it's E.T!!! YAHOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" it wasn't until i picked it up that i realized it was actually a tiny little bird that had fallen out of its nest. not E.T. at all. and it looked exactly like the pecker (woodpecker, that is) on was on subway. i didn't finish my ice cream and i cried secret tears on the way home.

i'm not sure what to do with this blog, other than to observe that kids feel real sadness that stays in your brain for a really long time.

the zidane

2008-11-15T10:37:00.003-05:00

yesterday, i flew back home to san diego. because of my gold status, i was graciously allowed to board with the first class members. i slipped into the red carpeted, purple velvet roped off line (not kidding) and tried to make myself invisible to the other non first class/non gold status passengers. They were looking at me with longing for they (i will never know why) also wished to board first and sit in fart air for 45 minutes as the rest of the plane filled up. *i* had my guitar with me so i wanted to make sure that i secured enough space for it early on. that's my excuse for boarding early.

i have to admit that i felt like a total poser. as everyone dropped off at rows 1-8, i continued on to row 27, seat b. i felt like a party crasher, except there was no food, no music, and no drinks. so, maybe i didn't feel like a party crasher, after all. i just felt like...a poser.

you know, it's weird waiting for the plane to fill up around you. you inadvertantly make eye contact with people you will never see again and make a small connection. people look down and smile at you, uncomfortable you, sitting in your seat as butts and bags brush your head. they are little, pursed smiles, but still, smiles that say "here we go again! WE'RE IN THIS TOGETHER!" or "50% of us will order Tomato Juice even tho we never order Tomato Juice outside of an airplane!" or "I smile at you now, but if i'm next to you, it's ARMREST DOWN!"

the middle aged chinese man in row 26A was struggling with his suitcase. i found myself strangly fixated on his success. i was urging him along in my head, "come on! come ooooon-uh! you can do it! push in that corner. oh no, it's the front zipper pocket...do you have a book in there? take the book out! TAKE IT OUT!" my hands were twitching, as if it was clutching an invisible joystick that was maneuvering the suitcase into the overhead compartment.

i nervously glance at the backlog of people who are growing more and more impatient as seconds tick by. all eyes are on him. i mop my brow in nervousness and my stomach feels tight. he glances down at me (probably bc he feels my death ray stare boring holes into the side of his head) and it's all i can do to restrain myself from flashing him an encouraging, toothy grin and give him the double thumbs up sign. instead, i blink away and pretend that there is nothing more fascinating than the runway control man with his giant headphones and mini light saber.

i see a flight attendant pushing her way through. but i want him to do it on his own. because i tho say there is no shame in a little help from your friends (break into beatles song here), there's something a tiiiiiny bit emasculating about a softly padded 50 year old woman named shirley being able to deftly push your suitcase in the compartment in 2 seconds when you, a presumably stronger man in his 40's , just spent the past 5 mintutes trying to so. then he did a marvelous move that i call "the zidane". he used his HEAD to successfuly push in his suitcase and i almost wept with joy.

i uttered a "yesssssss!" under my breath and did a mini version of the hockey goal fist pump that i learned from schuyler. i was so relieved! and so was the middle aged chinese man. he looked down at me and gave me a little pursed smile.

i am so frustrated that i can no longer say...

2008-11-11T15:12:00.004-05:00

"SUCH AS" without thinking of:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lj3iNxZ8Dww

What's in a (Korean American) Name?

2008-10-28T14:22:00.004-05:00

There are only two demographics in the U.S. who have old lady names. Old ladies (duh) and Korean American women between the ages of 26 and 36. Names of people I personally know include: Irene Kim (me!), Eunice Jung, Grace Rhee, Eunice Park, Ethel Hong, Esther Lee, Susan Lee, Ingrid Lee, Deborah Lee.

My theory is that we were named after the actresses that ruled Hollywood around the time our parents immigrated to America. I'm talking about Grace Kelly, Ethel Merman, Susan Hayward, Deborah Kerr, Eunice, um… can't help you out with that one, Ingrid Bergman, Irene Dunn. I even know a Vivian Lee who may have been named after Vivian Leigh of Gone With the Wind fame.

I don't love my name. If I had a penny for everyone who said, "Irene? That's my great aunt's name!" I'd be rolling in the Abe Lincolns (which are far inferior to rolling in the Benjamins, but we're in a recession). When I volunteered at a retirement home in high school, old men would sing "Good Night, Irene", a song that reached the Billboard magazine Best Seller chart on June 30, 1950 and lasted 25 weeks on the chart, peaking at #1.

Then there's the issue of the Dexys Midnight Runners. You guys DO KNOW that it's actually "Come On EILEEN" not "Come On Irene", right? So stop swarming around me at weddings and at bar mitzvahs and at cheesy Murray Hill bars. Stop pointing at me and yelling "Dance! Dance! Dance!" Stop making me wiggle to a song that's not even about someone with my name. Sheesh.

I guess it could be worse. When I did some research for this blog, I came across a very popular name in the 1880's: DORCUS. And I laughed quietly to myself. DORCUS? Oh my.

creepiest things EVER

2008-10-23T16:39:00.009-05:00

creepy things, not to be confused with scary things or gross things:

long leather black trench coats - CREEPY!!!
james blunt - ewwwwww
james blunt wearing a long leather black trench coat - omg just got the chills
chicken feet - cooked OR raw
(it's too obvious, but...james blunt eating chicken feet - cooked or raw)...
awkward winking - usually administered by a male

what else, guys?

tacos

2008-10-17T09:54:00.003-05:00

My dear friend Heidi invited me to a gallery opening last night (College Blanchard Gallery) where I met several of her post crunchy, neo new york cool, transplated Seattle friends. I was talking to one dude, we'll call him, oh...Lincoln, about my latest research project with schuyler: tacos! When I told him that we were going to schlep up to the UWS to pay a visit to the fabled taco truck on 96th street, Lincoln told me to STOP.RIGHT.THERE because as long as I didn't blog about it, he would tell me about his favorite taco secret hovel on 4x and x0th (I am a woman of my word - I told him I *would* blog about it, but not reveal it's exact coordinates). When I asked him what the taco stand was called, he said "Watso Wingo". WATSO WINGO? Would you go to a taco stand called Watso Wingo?

what wild animal do you think salon writer neiwert and cnn's sanchez is talking about?

2008-10-15T19:09:00.003-05:00

During a very intense workout on the treadmill (7 minutes total, 39 calories expended - YESSSS! i can eat the creme filling in an Oreo!), I read this (via closed captioning) on CNN:

NEIWERT: Well, that was -- of course, that was an individual lone wolf who was associated with the patriots, but, yes, they basically come from the same sort of ideological background. That's correct.

SANCHEZ: Are they dangerous?

NEIWERT: Potentially, mostly when they feel that they are being threatened. But, for the most part, they are a pretty benign organization as far as that goes.

Because I was gasping for air, slumped over my machine, and feeling extremely light headed, I (silly me) thought they were talking about a wild or rabid animal (I was thinking Moose, Elk, or glowy - red - eyed rabbit) but you know what they were really talking about? Sarah Palin and her connection to the Alaskan Independence Party.

http://transcripts.cnn.com/TRANSCRIPTS/0810/14/cnr.07.html

Scarier than a threatened glowy - red - eyed rabbit.

rudy huxtable was cute but...

2008-10-14T12:50:00.003-05:00

she was definitely sporting an 8 year old mustache:

carton of irregular cat hats - i know you want them

2008-10-05T21:36:00.003-05:00

Spotted on Craigslist San Diego. Who the HELL does this to their cat?

Carton Of Irregular Cat Hats

Date: 2008-02-07, 11:01AM PST

Hello. I have a big box of used cat and kitten hats that I have collected over the years for various occasions. As of recently my cat, Snowman, is no longer living and thus I am forced to get rid of these precious memories. I would not feel right asking money for them so I am offering the whole box for free. There are many styles from formal to cute and funny.

There is a variety of 14 different hats total. I just hope you and your pet can find as much joy in these hats as me and Snowman once did.

E-mail me if you are interested and I will give you my address where you can pick them up. I can also arrange for a free delivery if you are not too far away.

Thank you, Patty

signs

2008-09-06T20:19:00.010-05:00

there are a lot of weird signs out there. i'm not talking about signs like crop circles or other paranormal signals that m. night shyamalan makes movies about so that you shit in your pants in fear. i'm talking about signs made by man himself.

"The Most Frustrating Sign" on view at the denver international airport:

"I'm a piece of paper. May I help you?"

MAY I HELP YOU? Is this some kind of a JOKE?

"The Most Ill Advised Emergency Plan Sign" also at denver international airport.

I don't know about you, but a bathroom is quite possibly the LAST place i would want to be during a tornado...

Lastly, the "Overly Specific Sign" as seen in the NY Subway.

"Lean on your best friend for the $50 he owes you. But don't lean on the subway car doors."

Isn't this sign strangely specific? It's as if the copywriter's best friend owes him $50 and he is either really really MAD and wants to tell everyone that his BEST FRIEND is not paying him back or he's just really passive aggressive.

I can think of a zillion things that make more sense than "Lean on your best friend for the $50 he owes you. But don't lean on subway car doors."

Like:

"Lean on your best friend." FULL STOP. none of this "for the $50 he owes you.
or
"Lean on your Pro Med Walking stick. But don't lean on the subway car doors."
or
"Lean towards Socialism when the current administration seems to be f-ing everything up. But don't lean on the subway car doors."

Sky Mall: More Non Solutions to Problems that Never Existed

2008-08-18T21:00:00.010-05:00

Hello Readers. I know it's been, as Audris said, "Ten Years" since my last post. And I apologize. I will make more of an effort to prioritize Blogging above all else.

Since I am a little rusty, and I refuse to blog about the time a dirty gym sock was stuffed in my mouth (but if you catch me live, I'm sure with a little arm twisting that story will come right out), I fall back on old faithful: Sky Mall.

Check this New (!) product out: The "Stealth Secret Sound Amplifier":

WHAT, pray tell, is "stealth" OR "secret" about this device?

The ad CLEARLY states that it measures 3 3/4"H x 3 1/2"W x 1 1/4D". Even if you're Michael Phelps (God bless him), there is no way that the Stealth Secret Sound Amplifier can be any LESS than 80% of your entire EAR.

Oh, what I wouldn't give to be a synapse in that woman's brain as that lecherous cad looms closer.

Second: "The Pizza Pro"!!!

Readers, can you help me think through this? I went over the hypothetical logistics of owning the Pizza Pro, and I just can't wrap my bird brain around it.

Step One: You cut a hole in the box. Oh wait, that's a different set of directions. Ok. Step One: you cut through the pizza pie.

Step Two: You pull the Pizza Pro away from the pie and you move it to the left 3 inches. Wait no. You move it to the RIGHT three inches if the spatula is affixed to the LEFT of the scissors. You move it to the LEFT if the spatula is .... Gosh darnit. What's wrong with an ordinary pizza cutter. And let's face it. When does pizza ever not come already cut into 8 slices? When you think you're Mario Batali, that's when! And if you're a 300 pound Italian celebra-chef, you probably shouldn't be eating pizza anyway.

(Mario straddling a chair. Wearing clogs. MUST. LOOK. AWAY. *Shudder*)

detention was my middle name

2008-07-18T07:41:00.007-05:00

In elementary school, I was always in detention for STUPID THINGS. All detention meant was that I had to stay after class for an additional 15 minutes. It was okay because my mom was always 15 minutes late in picking me up so as I was walking out of detention for STUPID THINGS, a big red Cherokee Jeep with a tiny Asian lady (my oma!) with big permed hair and sunglasses would be peering over the steering wheel…waiting for me.

Example of STUPID THINGS:

I was in love with Donnie Corn. I don't know why I was in love with Donnie Corn because he had opaque white skin and orange hair. ORANGE. In fact, he looked like this:

Very appropriate that his name was Donnie Corn, now that I think about it. Donnie took advantage of my brains. Meaning, he loved to ask me questions when he didn't want to think for himself.

Donnie: Psst. Irene - how do you spell "cow"?

Irene: "um, REALLY?" (why do I have a crush on you, Donnie? why why why, you are so DUMB!) "CEE. OH. DOUBLEYOU. COW".

Donnie: Rad. Now, how do you spell "dog"?

Irene: leave me alone! I'm going to get in trouble. Ok fine, it's "DEE OH GEE. DOG".

Donnie: Ok, smartypants...how about RAT?

Irene: "S-M-A-R-T-Y-P-A-N-T-S"

Thing is - I wasn't being cheeky. I really thought Donnie was asking me how to spell smartypants and I was THRILLED that he had graduated to polysyllabic words!! I practically sang it to him. SMARTYPANTS!! LA LA LA!

TEACHER: Irene, I've already asked you once. SHUT YOUR TRAP. You're close to getting detention.

Irene: Sorry, Teacher. (sad Irene - I was always getting in trouble).

But Donnie was looking back at me expectantly and urgently. It nearly broke my heart. So I peeled a piece of masking tape that was holding my name card to the front of my desk and wrote, "R-A-T." Rat. I rolled it up into a little ball and flicked it off my desk towards Donnie.

Except.

It hit Teacher SQUARE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE EYES.

Teacher took the masking tape ball, unrolled it, and read out loud, "ARE.AY.TEE. RAT".

I had detention for 2 hours that day.

the rise and fall of: AC SLATER

2008-06-24T21:49:00.010-05:00

Hunky Minority in "Saved By The Bell" (as AC Slater)

Slightly Washed Up Hunky Minority in "Saved By The Bell (The College Years)"

Celebrity Dancer in "Dancing With The Stars"

WIFE CHEATER
http://blog.vh1.com/2008-06-17/ladies-dont-date-mario-lopez/

Master of the Pelvic Thrusting Stink Eye Maneuver

I don't think he fall down farther...but I'm excited for his next move...

sigh

2008-06-23T14:36:00.002-05:00

i'm confused

2008-05-28T15:06:00.003-05:00

so....is it hot or "hot"?

in other words...

hot or NOT hot?

more airport hijinks

2008-05-27T04:54:00.005-05:00

5:35 am is not a good time to make a Junior Varsity move.

On the morning of 5/9/08, on my way to Playa de Carmen, I stood in front of the United Airlines self check in kiosk and swiped my credit card. The following words flashed across my screen: “Your flight is actually on US Airways, Dumbass.”

Frustration!!! My instinct in situations such as this (any situation, really), is to turn to the nearest Co2 emitting mammal for solace and comfort. Unfortunately, the small boy standing to my left started to cry as I approached him with outstretched arms and a worried look in my eyes. I ran outside to catch the employee airport bus instead.

Airport buses are strangely similar worldwide, aren’t they? I think they must be manufactured by the same company the world over. It wouldn’t even surprise me one bit if the airport shuttles on flippin' MARS bounced to the same bussy rhythm, and had the same sticky upholstery (blue with yellow and orange lightening bolts).

By this time, low grade panic was pulsing through my body. I was going to be late. So…I asked the only other breathing being on the bus for help and comfort (obviously…). Enter cantankerous driver with Tourette's Syndrome.

Irene: Excuse me. Hi. Are we close to US Airways?
Driver: Grunt. Issalastah (translation: Grunt. It’s the last stop.)
Irene: Ok, thank you.
Driver: Oil fire! Oil fire! Tire fire! Tire fire! SKAAAAA! (translation…???? NO idea. None whatsoever.)

Interlude: Doo doo doo…Irene listens to some music to sooth nerves. Takes a Vicodin and does breathing exercises.

Driver: Grrr, Geta hera wa!! (translation: girl, get out here and walk!)

Sigh. It’s only 5:53 am and it’s already been a long day.

OMG: I just saw something to add to my airport observation list: People who pre-wear their neck pillows and walk around with them on BEFORE THEY ARE IN THE PLANE!!!

why is it that i STILL press "9" whenever i make a phone call from my parent's home?

2008-05-20T15:20:00.002-05:00

i'm at home hanging out with my family. turns out that it's a good time to be away from work with layoffs hitting the financial markets pretty hard.

it's a bad habit of mine, but i checked my blackberry during lunch with my mom yesterday.

me: wow. looks like there are going to be a lot of layoffs on wall street this week. even at lehmans.
mom: whaaaaaa? neimans? who's going to make sure their yearly sale happens?

it's so nice to be home.

Would you immediately chop off your arm or take your chances?

2008-05-05T20:26:00.003-05:00

Something unfortunate happened to me the other day.

A co-worker walked over to my desk and wanted to talk to me about his upcoming wedding. I swiveled around in my twirly chair to face him. He was standing up (looking down at me), I was sitting down (looking up at him). Ok, everyone have a visual?

Right then and there, God pressed the "slow mo" button on life. A foamy chunk of spittle gracefully arced out of my co-worker's mouth and headed straight to my face. Despite my frantic ducking and dodging, there was no escaping this heat seeking missle. It implanted itself in the worst possible place EVER: IN.MY.EYE.

I immediately slapped both hands over my left eye and exclaimed, "YOU SPIT IN MY EYE!!" *sound of chuckles across the trading floor*

OK, NORMAL.

THEN, I said, "Do you have any diseases?" *sound of awkward silence across the trading floor*

NORMAL???

Ok, ok, so I know I'm a bit of a hypochondriac. But I think it's because I grew up in the 80's where my greatest fear was to contract a blood borne disease. Like that nurse who accidentally dropped test tubes of blood plateles on her face and got AIDS. Or the story where a kid was stuck in the arm with a dirty syringe by a maniacal crazy person and died. I replayed this scene many times over and over in my head. If this happened to me, would immediately chop off my arm or take my chances?

the great questions of 2008, YTD

2008-04-25T15:42:00.002-05:00

I have a little black book that I carry with me at all times. It’s my life in calendar format. The last 10 pages are dedicated to ‘Great Questions of 2008”. These are stumpers that come up during my conversations with friends. See how many you get right! Take the Challenge. Answers follow the questions.

What do Water Chestnuts look like in its natural form? Like normal chestnuts?
Are green peas the inside of green beans?
Is Bob Dole’s hand REAL or FAKE?
Did African American men or Women get the vote first (technically)?
Are coffee beans red?
What are macaroons exactly?
Do Asians metabolize alcohol faster?
How any cabs are there in Manhattan?
Irene, why is salt water taffy so special?
How do dogs lap water?
What is the difference between liquor and liqueur?
What do you call people who live in Myanmar, formerly Burma?
Is there a test to see if a pilot passes out when flying an F16?
Are Snapple facts true?
Snapple Fact: Seals sleep in 90 second increments
Snapple Fact: Beavers was once the size of bears (!!!! What happened????)
What is the origins of SARS?
What is Trazodone?
What is the Mongolian Blue Mark? And does Irene have it?
Is “Knightrider” Michael’s last name?
Can dogs be autistic?
Is Jon Stewart 5’2”?

Answers:

In fact, yes. Yes they do.
No silly!
Real, but only 1.5 fingers of his right hand work
African American Men
The coffee tree produces red or purple fruits (drupes). DRUPES!! Hooray for drupes!
Macaroons are cookies or confections. The macaroon is a close relative of of the macaroni and the Macarena. JUST KIDDING! Can be made of almonds, coconut, hazelnuts.
not faster, just differently.
13,000. still not sure if this answer is correct.
Friends, it’s special for so many reasons. But interestingly enough, there is no clear connection between “salt water” and the“taffy” it precedes apart from the fact that it contains both salt, and water. (duh)
OMG! They lap it with the tongue scooping it pointing downwards! "A dog's tongue curls down and back (NOT UP) in a sort of fishhook shape and he literally pulls the water up and it falls into the floor of his mouth," explains Stan Coren, professor of psychology at the University of British Columbia and author of "How Dogs Think."
A liqueur is a sweet alcoholic beverage, often flavored with fruits, herbs, spices, flowers, seeds, roots, plants, barks, and sometimes cream. Liqueur = Liquor
Burmese even tho their country is now called Myanmar.
I DON”T KNOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But one can pass out bc the G force is so great when doing the loop de loop in an F16.
Yes. But no one believes me
it’s true.
also true!
From eating civit cats: A team of researchers from China and Hong Kong has found a genetic link between SARS in civet cats and humans, thus the disease seems to have been transmitted across species.***OR***From bats: SARS may have originated in wild bats in China, an international team of scientists report this week in Science.
a psychoactive compound with sedative, anxiolytic, and antidepressant properties.
Mongolian spots are blue, bluish-gray, bluish-green or blue-black flat skin markings that appear at birth or shortly thereafter during the infantile age ON THEIR BUMS. Common among Asian, East Indian, and African races, but rare among Caucasian and other races. I am fairly certain i still have mine or else it’s a bruise that won’t go away.
Knight
Yes. Tho not clinically diagnosed as autistic, dogs can have autistic symptoms
No. 5’7” seems to be the most common answer out there.

SNAPPLE FACT: You are smarter for having read this entry.

george michael has chiclets for teeth!

2008-04-05T18:42:00.005-05:00

it's just wrong. someone needs to inform him that his teeth look like Chiclets.

self strangulation

2008-03-27T17:50:00.006-05:00

In 1974, Dr. Henry Heimlich published findings on what was to become the Heimlich Maneuver. A week later, the first choking victim was saved by the method. In 1978, New York City passed a law requiring that every establishment, regardless of size or design, “where food is sold and space is designated specifically as eating areas shall have posted in a conspicuous place, easily accessible to all employees and customers, a sign graphically depicting the Heimlich Maneuver or a comparable technique instructing on how to dislodge food from a choking person.” The bill was passed unanimously by the City Council in 1978 (five days before Christmas and its feasts.)

http://www.backspace.com/notes/2002/08/16/x.html

Take a closer look at this poster:

...doesn't it look like...she's CHOKING HERSELF?

I can just see this scenario play out at The Spotted Pig:

Asian Lady: "That's it!" (throws napkin down) "I just can't take it anymore!" (choking noises)
White Lady: Lady! Hey lady! Chill out! You're going to be ok! You have so much to live for!" (taking her tenderly from behind) ... i love you...
Asian Lady: "aaahhhhhghhghhghahgghhgurglegurgle"

Is this poster a "how to" for the Heimlich or is it really an expertly disguised PSA for the Suicide Hotline?

i know it's a kid's thing, but i swear someone on my floor has this

2008-03-27T08:28:00.003-05:00

CROUP (http://www.kidshealth.org/parent/infections/bacterial_viral/croup.html)

Signs and Symptoms

Croup is characterized by a loud cough that may sound like the barking of a seal and may be accompanied by fast or difficult breathing and sometimes a grunting noise or wheezing while breathing.

Flying Sucks

2008-03-13T20:56:00.003-05:00

I spend a lot of time in airports. Enough to say that they should be renamed Sinkholes of Productivity or Bastions of Boredom. I’ve clocked in at least 10 dog years at airports and I want to take this time lay out my observations for you. The first two observations have been blogged about (ad nauseum) in previous posts:

Observation #1: “Man and his Hidden love of Tomato Juice when aboard an aircraft”.
Observation #2: “SkyMall is Great!!!”

The next two observations are new:
Observation #3: “The Man and the Teeny Tiny Rolling Backpacks. Why?”
Observation #4: “The Onboarding Process as the Ultimate Proxy for the Hierarchy of Man and Display of Pomposity."

I’d like to focus on #4. I have never understood the rush to get into an airplane. This isn’t the Chinatown bus, everyone. We all have assigned seats. What’s the upside to getting on the plane FASTER? An extra 20 minutes to marinate in stale airplane air while you Observe #5: The Man and his difficulty in putting small suitcases wheels first into the Overhead Bin? Sign me up!

Airlines have stratified the onboarding process to a startling degree. And this stratification wafts an “I’m better than you” fragrance throughout waiting line. As the first class are invited to board the plane first, people are watching JEALOUSLY as they are given the dubious honor of sitting in fart air before the rest of their airplane peers. And I swear airlines are making up more and more categories with each passing day. Does this sound familiar? “We’d like to invite all first class passengers to board at this time. After our first class cabins have been seated, we’d like to invite all Platinum members and Group 1 to board at this time. After Platinum members and Group 1, we would like to invite Diamond members in the following order: Brilliant Cut, Princess Cut, and dead last, because you are ugly: Pear Shaped Cut. Following ALL Diamond members, we would like to invite the Titanium Infused Onyx class along with Groups 2,3,4,5,6. Lastly, we begrudgingly invite the Poopy Pants class to get on the plane.”

Even if my points or my company has paid for me to sit in First Class, I always join the Poopy Pants class and walk on the plane dead last. And if I bought my ticket on Travelocity and my seat is in 2987 B (middle seat, last row), must everyone make me feel like Rosa Parks?

a new meaning to cabbage patch

2008-02-19T15:50:00.003-05:00

look what my roommate (aka honey) found!

running out of luck

2008-02-06T23:06:00.001-05:00

i came back from Chicago today, on UA 682. it was literally the only flight not canceled or delayed out of ORD to LGA (see picture). as i stared at the departure board in disbelief, i thought to myself, “great, i totally just used up all of my luck for the rest of the week.”

i wasn’t very surprised, then, to find myself wedged between the window and the belly of a very large man from oregon. before i even had a chance to give him a pursed, but sincere, smile of acknowledgment, he asked if he could leave the armrest up so as not to cut into his excess baggage. well, he didn’t use those words exactly, but it was something like that.

i’m the first to admit that at times i may appear to be fickle. boyfriends, dear friends, family, and wait staff have all told me that. but i swear there is, to use a tired cliché, a method to my madness.

example of a "method":

at any given day, i will or will not talk to the person seated next to me on a plane if:

said person orders tomato juice – no talk
said person orders liquor on a morning flight – no talk
said person smells – no talk (too busy breathing through my mouth)
said person is a weathered female who looks like she has a good story to tell – yes talk
said person is hot – yes talk
said person is reading a book that i have read – yes talk, but usually only to say “i read that book!”, then no talk.
said person is drinking Heineken with shots of Jack irrespective of time of day – no talk

my fellow passenger fell into category #7. i immediately put on my headphones and tried to lose myself in Depeche Mode.

it didn’t work. he (and i am not kidding you), removed my right ear bud and said:

man: do you live in new york?

irene: yes

man: so how far is my hotel from laguardia airport?

irene: (shrug)

man: i’m staying at the crown plaza times square

irene: maybe 30 minutes by cab

man: but how many miles?

irene: no idea. i don’t drive. i have a bad sense of direction.

man: why don’t you drive?

irene: do you mind if i put my headphones back on?

***two songs worth of time elapses***

man: do you know if i can buy hats and “i love new york” t- shirts near my hotel?

irene: yes, you are in times square.

man: so…i’m close?

irene: you are not only close, you are IN times square. crown plaza TIMES SQUARE.

man: so, then…close.

irene: (in my head) i am so done with you.

i put on my head phones and flipped through skymall. even skymall couldn’t cheer me up.

the last ten minutes of my flight was him staring out the window. unfortunately, my head was in the way and he punished it by staring into the canal of my right ear. then we did the head dance, i.e. i moved back to give him a better view just as he moved back right as i moved forward because he moved back right as he moved forward because he moved back. you get the picture. people do that dance on the street sometimes. we did that same dance, only with our heads and on an airplane. let me tell you, it's a lot funnier on the street. he was annoyed, evidenced by his deep sighs and fidgeting. i almost turned to him and said, “i’m extremely sorry that my head isn’t one big piece of plexiglass.” but i didn’t, and for that, i am very very proud of myself.

i can’t wait for my luck to replenish itself next week.

real blog coming soon...but first...

2008-01-30T21:44:00.000-05:00

i know i know - i have been a bit remiss in my blogging. but things have been busy. and anyway, i never wanted this site to be a "diary", so i'll spare you all the banal details of why my life has been so busy. what i really came here for is to say:

i don't know why they do it, but asian parents put the article "the" in front of everything. for example (and these are real examples):

"did you get my forward about the antarctica?"
"do you live on the street with the gays?" (sorry sorry, nothing malicious meant by this...that's just what happens)
"let's go shopping at the nordstroms!"

...etc. etc. does anyone know why? i don't. but it's cute. and it makes me laugh.

pavlov's dog

2008-01-12T20:47:00.000-05:00

i like to change up my ring tone every so often. for a long time, it went like this: "beep boop BOO doop" also known as the Counter Terrorist Unit/Jack Bauer/24-the show ring tone. these days, it just goes: boop. boop. boop. boop.

it's a nice, clean sound. i just didn't want anything that made me feel like i was sipping pina coladas in a hammock (someone's ring tone at work does this to me - i almost feel like harry belafonte is about to pop his happy head out from behind a computer terminal and hand me a banana to tally whenever it rings).

aaanyway, i digress. the other day, i was in bed, all snuggly and excited to finish off my book when i heard "boop. boop. boop. boop." i LEAPED out of bed and literally SPRINTED to get my phone. i slipped on the newly pledged floor (why does my cleaning person DO this? who puts pledge on the floor? ok fine, i did, but i was in college and i didn't know any better) and slid right into my dining table.

and my phone wasn't even booping!! i had left the TV on. the booping culprit was the scale on "the biggest loser". its boops are at the same pitch and intervals as my phone's boops.

how is it that i have become so conditioned to running after my phone when i hear it beep?

i'm pavlov AND his dog.

let's play M.A.S.H.

2008-01-10T22:24:00.001-05:00

"MASH" stands for Mansion, Apartment, Shack, House. it's a game that i used to play in grade school. the point of it was to "predict" your future in neat categories: your future husband, your future car, your future car color, your future job, your future husband's future job, your future honeymoon location, your future city of residence, etc etc...

in each category, you and your MASH partner come up with 4 choices. and one of them has to be perfectly horrendous. for example, under "car", popular choices are: mercedes, BMW, corvette, and *gasp* a YUGO!! or under "husband": carlos, donald, jason, *omg* MR. ROGERS! then through a slightly inaccurate process of elimination, you come up with "your future".

it's a real hoot. except when you find out that in your future life, you're a bum, living in a shack with your husband Big Bird who drives a multicolored tricycle to his job as a zebra stripe painter to support you and 1000 kids who are growing up in the bad part of detroit.

well, i played MASH over instant messenger with my friend (who wanted to remain anonymous) today.

MASH friend: can we play MASH please?
MASH friend: i'll do your fortune
irenejkim77: yes.
MASH friend: no shack, i know, don’t worry

*doo doo doo...mash interlude*

MASH friend: ok
MASH friend: let me know when you're ready
irenejkim77: yay! ready!
MASH friend: so, as you're cruising down the streets in your RED VOLVO STATION WAGON ....
irenejkim77: NICE
MASH friend: you get all nostalgic, as the palm trees in california remind you of your dope honeymoon in bora bora!
irenejkim77: woo hoo!!
MASH friend: however, the nostalgia quickly fades
MASH friend: BECAUSE
MASH friend: you miss your husband who is off being an ambassador
MASH friend: and saving the world
MASH friend: you look in the backseat of your car at your TWO GORGEOUS KIDS
irenejkim77: (thank god not 100 like in 5th grade)
MASH friend: who look just like your husband and quickly you're back to nostalgia
irenejkim77: ew...
irenejkim77: who is my hubby?
MASH friend: (WAIT)
MASH friend: as you pull into your LUXURY APARTMENT
irenejkim77: oooh
MASH friend: you get a postcard from your husband
MASH friend: which reads ....
MASH friend: "you're too beautiful to work! i'm glad you decided to become a real housewife from orange county*!"
MASH friend: "love always, your husband:
MASH friend: (deleted for blogging purposes)

yippee. i can’t wait.

*only the best show in the world: http://www.bravotv.com/Real_Housewives_2

celebrity animal look a like

2008-01-07T19:05:00.000-05:00

i have this talent that oft goes unnoticed. i have the ability to pair celebrities with their animal lookalike.

MATT LAUER...

...looks like a GERMAN SHEPHERD! (more specifically, the german shep from "all dogs go to heaven")

AL GORE...

...looks like a COBRA!!!

SURI CRUISE (so adorable)...

...looks like a precious moments (http://www.preciousmoments.com/) doll!

i know a precious moments doll is not an animal, but i wanted to make the comparision anyway since the resemblance is so striking.

what's your number?

2007-12-30T08:41:00.000-05:00

my elementary school had a tire swing. i never understood why tire swings were so popular. the ratio of “fun to comfort” was way off for my liking. monkey bars were fun. yes, they were slightly uncomfortable and i often walked away with pole burns on the back of my knees or calloused hands. but fun enough so that i could overlook these minor discomforts. tire swings were not fun. they were, in fact, lame. they didn’t hang flat, if you know what i mean. the chains were affixed so that the tire hung in the air like this: “O”. i would teeter uncomfortably on top of a mass of thickly treaded vulcanized rubber and try to ignore the wedgie that was quickly forming.

my red headed, freckled elementary school crush asked me if i wanted to ride the tires with him one day. “Ok, but they are not fun, just so you know”. the things i did for my crush! i grabbed the chains and hoisted myself up. i was barely on the tire when the chains gave way and i fell face first into the sand. i hit my teeth hard on something on the way down and i also felt a sharp pain in my knee.

i was FURIOUS at my red headed, freckled crush. “the edges of my teeth feel like sandpaper. oh, and by the way, i HATE YOU for making me do this. you’re not my fake boyfriend anymore!”

i angrily stamped my foot in the playground sand. i was punishing the ground and i was punishing my crush. then he said very sadly, “irene, you’re bleeding”. i could tell he felt really bad and i was GLAD. i had chipped teeth AND i was bleeding!! i looked down at my leg. there was a strangely shaped wound on the top of my left knee cap. i suspect that as the sharp chain whipsawed itself away from the tire, it touched upon my leg. the wound was deep, small, and extremely precise. a rivulet of blood was zig zagging its way down my leg and it threatened to stain my socks (socks, plural, as in two socks on one foot. it was 1983 and doubling up color coordinating socks was en vogue.).

as it turned out, my fake love affair with my red haired, freckled crush carried on well into the 8th grade when he left me for a beautiful filipino girl named lorna. i forgave him for almost killing me because he so tenderly put a bandaid on my knee that day. but mostly, i forgave him because the bloodstain that slowly formed on the bandaid was heart-shaped (i immediately put this bandaid in my picture album, see below. i thought it was cool).

last month, i sat next to a numerologist on an airplane ride from dallas to san francisco. he told me that everyone has his or her own “number”. most people don’t know what their number is because they are not looking for it. but this number will show up more often in their lives than any other number. i told him, “i already know what my number is but i’m too embarrassed to tell you…ok fine, i’ll tell you. My number is 420.” Yes, the numerical icon of cannabis tokers everywhere. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/420_(cannabis_culture))

i don't know why, but my special number is 420. i see it all the time. whenever it’s 4:20 pm, i just happen to glance down at my digital casio. When i pay for a taxi, my fare often is $4.20. my hotel room in Chicago was room 420. the building across from my Montreal hotel room was 420 Sherbrooke Street West. my favorite New Order song is 4 minutes 20 seconds long. my mom’s car had a cracked windshield over Christmas. the replacement car the dealership gave us was an E420.

after we bonded over having found and realized our special number, i felt close enough to him to confide in him that that i also have a special shape. i see hearts. like the heart shaped blood stain and my heart shaped scar. and the heart shaped cloud i saw this morning and the heart shaped clump of algae in bodrum, turkey (picture above). on christmas day, as i was sitting in church, i saw a heart shaped pattern in the tweed holiday sweater in front of me. when i looked up, i saw heart shaped tessellations on the ceiling.

i turned my gypsy numerologist (who wore sunglasses inside the plane and had a fake mole tattooed above his lip) and looked at him intensely. i grabbed his forearm i asked him in earnest, “do you have a special shape?” he looked at me – the NUMEROLOGIST FROM DALLAS WHO JUDGES THE STATE FAIR SPAM COMPETITION WITH THE FAKE MOLE TATTOO – looked at me like i was some kind of crazy.

so, what’s your number? what’s your shape?

EPILOGUE - my friend james is visiting nyc from LA. we’re going to have dinner. i picked a place. i went on eater.com and just picked one that sounded good. we’re going to “the smith”. their phone number? 212 420 – 6500.

Ridiculous.

smom

2007-12-23T19:51:00.000-05:00

it's december 2007 and i’m home for the holidays. this means that in a seven day period, i will experience more laughter, frustration, boredom, excitement, arguments and love than new york city can offer me in an entire year.

sometimes it’s too much. like my heart is being squeezed.

when i’m at home, i’m reminded of a concept that learned in my first year in college: the principles of ego-centric behavior. not to be confused with egotism, egocentrism is basically is when one thinks everyone else sees what he/she sees or thinks what he/she thinks. i'm often faulty of egocentrism. i think it runs in the family.

yesterday evening my mom and i were hanging out at home. we had a late lunch at our favorite hangout (fashion valley) so we had christmas cookies and tangerines for dinner. i was on the computer (on facebook, if you must know) when i heard my mom say, “uh muh nah! irene illyuh wah! national lampoon's christmas vacation is on! nuh moo nuh moo che me suh!” (translation: oh my goodness! irene come here! national lampoon's christmas vacation is on! it’s so so fun!”).

i looked over at my mom – she was in front of the tv on our electric heating pad (in many korean families, couches are rarely used. although we have couches, we only use them when company is here. during family time, we all pile on a souped up electric heating pad and cover ourselves quilts. it’s fun. i think erin – my childhood bff – is the only person who has actually been in there with the entire kim clan. if you ever have an offer to do so, consider it a huge honor. it means you’re family). my mom was propped up and peering over her shoulder at me. she had a huge smile on her face and patted the area next to her invitingly. it was really adorable.

“ok ok mommy. hold on. i’m IM-ing david”, i said. david is my younger cousin.

“david, i have to go – my mom wants me to watch national lampoon with her”
“omg. doesn’t that get raunchy at times?”
“idk. anyway, my mom will just cover up my eyes and we’ll both pretend it never happened.”

“irene hurry up before the house lighting scene is over! nuh moo nuh moo che mee suh!” my mom more urgently this time.

i scooted next to my mom on the electric pad and watched ten minutes of painful slapstick comedy. i really didn’t get what was so funny. my mind was wandering. juliette lewis is in this movie? i didn’t know that. this is ridiculous. there's no way chevy chase's nose is not broken. his wife in the movie is really pretty. the grandma looks really familiar…who is she? mom would know. my mom has the most impressive arsenal of classic movies and pop culture knowledge in her head. she can tell you how many movies ginger rogers and fred astair starred in, she can tell you who dudley moore is married to, she can tell you where anthony bourdain is now and when his new book is coming out.

“oma? who plays the grandma in this movie?”
“diane lane”
“diane lane??? come on!”
“smom”
“what? diane lane smom? what’s that? oh. diane lane’s MOM.”
“you know what i mean”

THIS is what i mean about egocentrism. like, everytime my mom calls my brother “irene”. when i come running over and she looks at me like, what are you doing here? i want to talk to your brother. then i’ll explain why i am standing in front of her and she’ll say, “well, you know what i mean.”

it’s funny and frustrating at the same time. but as i get older, it’s mostly just funny because i know that in her head she's saying what she means. it's just that it gets a little lost in translation.

but making up your own words and attaching your own meaning to them can be very embarrassing.

the whole family was having thanksgiving dinner at my cousin’s house one year. let's see...i was still in college so i’m thinking that it was in the late 1990’s. we were catching up in the kitchen when my aunt came running over us holding out the shiny thing that the toilet roll hangs off of. “this keeps falling off of the wall! can you screw it back in?” she asked.
my cousin and i both looked at her with a “do i look like bob vila?” expression on our faces so she said exasperatedly, “ah rra suh (translation: got it). i’ll give it to your younger brother. he’s very good at screwing.”

i whipped my head over to look at my cousin in horror. his head was on the counter in the crook of his arm. i had no where to look but down. i furrowed my brows and bit my lip as i thought hard about what i should do diffuse this awkward situation. i looked up and slapped my hand on the kitchen counter. i could NOT allow my auntie to go around saying such things!

“sumo?” (sumo means your father’s brother’s wife. emo means your mother’s sister. komo means your father’s sister. three different words for "aunt") “what you just said does not mean what you think it means.”
“what, screwing? what does it mean?”
“it means...uh, it means that…*SHITE! how was i going to get myself out of this one?* "it means that you drink too much.”
“uh muh nah!” she exclaimed. her fingers fluttered around her mouth in horror.

i looked over to my cousin. his head was still on the counter, in the crook of his arm. i couldn’t tell if he was laughing or just didn’t want to deal with the situation at hand.

ah, home. being here makes me feel strange sometimes. i become a kid again. and that can be frustrating. but also liberating. it’s the only place where i allow myself to leave the house looking the way i do. oh, don’t get me wrong, i wear normal clothes. it’s what’s on my head that’s strange. my mother insists i wear a visor with a 14 inch brim on sunny days (i live in san diego, so that's every day). i look like jennifer beals, the welder, not the flashdancer. but she promises that when i'm her age, i will be beautiful. just like diane lane's smom.

mushy foods

2007-12-15T12:13:00.000-05:00

i love mushy foods. baby food, over boiled carrots, the noodles at the bottom of your chicken soup. throw a matzoh ball at me and i'll love you forever.

also, i eat spicy oatmeal.

i take oatmeal, sprinkle it with salted, toasted pumpkin seeds, and then put a dab of hot sauce on it. and then i eat it.

ziva: ummmmmmmmmmm
ziva: how do i say this politely???
ziva: YOU'RE A FREAK
ziva: OATMEAL WITH HOT SAUCE!?
irenejkim77: ok listen.
ziva: (this better be good)
irenejkim77: how is spicy oatmeal different than savory polenta? or salty grits?
irenejkim77: or cheesy risotto? or hot couscous?
irenejkim77: every nation has a savory mushy dish.
irenejkim77: see??????
ziva: hmmm you have a point ....
irenejkim77: thank you.

guess the closed captioning!

2007-12-11T19:01:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago I was in Chicago on a business trip. There are exactly three reasons why I HEART Chicago. (1) the toilets at O'Hare airport have SaniSeat (http://www.saniseat.com/). What is SaniSeat? Only the greatest invention dedicated to the prevention and eradication of feces and urine borne diseases. (2) Chicago’s relative lack of edgy fashion sense means that I can find good stuff in the Sale section of Urban Outfitters (yes, I am 30 years old and I still shop at UO). (3) Ummmmmmm. Oh, did I say I had THREE reasons? I actually meant two. The Saniseat counts for a lot, though.

After a day of meetings, (I stayed at the Drake Hotel where they charge you $10 to USE THE GYM. Don't stay there) I was ready to go to for a run on an artificially monitored and perfectly flat surface, aka a treadmill. And I was simply DELIGHTED to see that my workout coincided with the best of Celebrity TV Journalism available: Showbiz Tonight.

My 45 minute run never flew by faster.

It wasn’t the celebrity va-jay jay flashing contest that kept my mind off of the mind normally mind-numbingly boring run, it wasn’t the break up of Terry and Linda Hogan (I predict that it’s a publicity stunt; they’ll be back together soon), it wasn’t even commentary on J-Lo and her shopping spree for baby clothes. It was the CLOSED CAPTIONING that kept me in stitches. Ok, so for Live Programming such as Showbiz Tonight (p.s. I can’t say “such as” without thinking of Miss Teen South Carolina. And if you don't know what I'm talking about, you're living in a hole) the soundtrack is transcribed by an operator using a stenotype or a stenomask. The phonetic output is instantly translated into text. INSTANTLY. Why is this important? Because this means that a *lot* of mistakes occur.

Let's play a game! Guess the Closed Captioning:

What I Read:
HELL, I'm a Hamster, broadcasting tights and VERY TIGHT from New York City.
Hi dear, everyone. I'm Broke and Son, coming twight from Hollywood! And TWIGHT, weave got opera with fries concessions-- having enough AIR under her men decal crisis. But can OPERA reeling do anything rung? THAT's coming oop!

What Was Said:
HAMMER: Hello, I`m A.J. Hammer, broadcasting tonight and EVERY NIGHT from New York City.
ANDERSON: Hi there, everyone, I`m Brooke Anderson, coming to you tonight from Hollywood. And TONIGHT, we`ve got Oprah Winfrey`s confessions -- having an affair, her medical crisis. But can OPRAH really do anything wrong? THAT’S coming up!

What I Read:
Well, come back to Showbz TIGHT, Tee Vee's most pro vacuum est internment new show. I'm Brook Anderson and Hollywood. Hay, looks like we'll get some may soon be working on a new phelgm, he has made a rare pub lick peer ancela at the cream EAR of "Marrya Gang Stir", starring his end, Russl Crow and then zellington. Showbz TIGHT asked well when he'd be doing mother movie and he said, quote "PRRRRRETTY
SPOON!!"

What Was Said:
ANDERSON: Welcome back to SHOWBIZ TONIGHT, TV`s most provocative entertainment news show. I`m Brooke Anderson in Hollywood. Hey, it looks like Mel Gibson may soon be working on a new film, he has made a rare public appearance last night at the premiere of "American Gangster," starring his friend, Russell Crowe and Denzel Washington. SHOWBIZ TONIGHT asked Mel when he`d be doing another movie and he said, quote, "PRETTY SOON."

And I am *pretty sure* that the only time I laughed harder in the gym was the time my trainer's spandex split as he was showing me how to do lunges and his bum squirted out of his unitard like jelly out of an overstuffed donut.

2007-12-05T19:44:00.000-05:00

I was waiting in line to check in at a hotel the other day when I saw these shoes dangling off of a man's backpack:

I surreptitiously snapped a picture of it (i.e. I fake-yawned and stretched my hand towards the shoes while innocently scratching my head so as not to attract attention to my actions). These beige, suede shoes looked like something a large elf would wear. Or that they had the ability to expel poison darts and had sharp blades hidden in the toe area.

I had well behaving feet. They are a nice size (size 6) and the toes line up all in a row like russian dolls. This may seem obvious, but not all toes do that. sometimes, the second toe is bigger than the first toe. I do not think this is a sign of leadership as some people might tell you. in fact, i believe it is just a way to make one feel better about the fact that ones toes are out of order. it's like saying it's good luck when it rains on your wedding day. no one really wants to have toes out of order, just like no one *really* wants rain on their wedding day. clearly, it's not the end of the world...but one would just rather not.

Other than a nail on the toe that cried "wee wee wee all the way home"(*) all foot parts are present (i think my dad stepped on the little toe a long time ago and popped the nail off. It never fully grew back).

So why am I writing all of this? Because I have BUNIONS and i am just coming to terms with it.

Bunions are:

"a sometimes painful structural deformity of the bones and the joint between the foot and big toe." Bunions are often caused by by wearing shoes that are not the natural shape of one's feet, i.e. 99.999999% of women's shoes. Wiki's definition of the bunion goes on in greater detail, but is filled with words like "valgus", "sac", and "deformity" but my gag reflex kicked in so I stopped reading.

My second appointment with my podiatrist is this Friday. it is upsetting to me that my feet are suffering so much. and it is upsetting to me that Giant Elf Shoes are deemed to be bunion-worthy.

*a childhood game my mom and i used to play. it's very simple. mom wiggles each toe, starting with the biggest toe and sings "this little piggy went to the market, this little piggy stayed at home! this little piggy had roooooast beef, and this little piggy had none. so THIS little piggy cried wee wee wee allllll the waaaaay home!"

575

2007-11-17T12:26:00.000-05:00

masaoka made
small words say big things and made
big words disappear

you call them rubbers, i call them something else, but definitely NOT rubbers

2007-11-11T20:34:00.000-05:00

last friday, my coworker visited the ny office. he lives in hong kong and like many hong kong residents, he throws around the word “honky” with the greatest of ease. mind you, he wasn’t using the word “honky” to mean the pejorative racial slur for people of european descent. instead, he was using the word “honky” to mean anything from the hong kong currency, to hong kong itself, to the people of hong kong. but that didn't matter. it was still embarrassing because everyone around us was collectively bristling each time he screamed “honky” across the trading floor.

i, too, have been in this situation. for example, when i moved to the east coast, i quickly learned that east coasters don’t use the word “thong” when referring to flip flops (i.e. “hey, hold on, let me put on my plastic thongs on before we go to the beach”). another example: the british say “pants” when they mean underwear, underoos, boxers. and let's throw in thongs (of the undergarment variety) just to make things more complicated. when i was a visiting student at oxford, i actually said to my friend “i went to miss Selfridges today and found the most amazing pair of velvet paisley pants that i want to wear to the party tonight…what else am i going to wear with them? probably just a t shirt and heels." REEAAAAAL classy. oh, yeah, and let's not forget the time i told someone that her boyfriend was seen at a black tie event wearing a tux accompanied by a "nice vest and bow tie". how was i supposed to know that in the UK, a “vest” means “tank top”? that’s right, i had just told my friend that her boyfriend went a fancy schmancy ball dressed up as a Chippendale stripper.

all this just means that one has to constantly adapt to the local vernacular. sure, i grew up calling my athletic shoes “tennies”, but now i call them "sneakers" and when i was in england, i called them "trainers". so if *i* make the effort to conform, so should other people.

i was 22 years old when i got my first corporate job at a big consulting firm. i was nervous, unsure, and scared of anyone whose billing rate was higher than mine (which was basically EVERYONE, including joe, our forlorn mail sorter). i knew i’d be in for many new experiences, but never did i think this scene would unfold:

project partner: well good morning Irene! you’re here bright and early!
Irene: (nervously) heh heh. yeah. heh.
project partner: it’s really terrible weather out there with the snow and sleet. did you drive here ok?
Irene: actually, i spun out of control in the bright green, tin can mustang that hertz hands out like stale candy. i almost killed someone on the way to work, but the car stopped spinning after 4 rotations and so i’m -
project partner: well, that’s fantastic! now, let’s get down to business.
Irene: oh ok – here’s the powerpoint deck that i worked ---
project partner: but FIRST (reaching down)let me just whip off my rubbers…
Irene: (covering eyes) AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
project partner: (clearly perplexed) what is WRONG with you?

important distinction: for dorky men over the age of 50, “rubbers” mean small plastic shoes that stretch over your fancy tasseled Florsheims. for people UNDER 50, “rubbers” mean something completely different.

And in England, “rubbers” means erasers.

PS: look what i found on wiki! “Prior to using rubber, white bread (without crust) was used to erase the mark of graphite pencil and charcoal.” i LOVE wikipedia almost as much as i love Suri Cruise. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eraser

please be good

2007-10-30T20:41:00.000-05:00

a few months ago, i wrote a story called “introducing trouble.” if you remember, that’s what my parents called me. it seemed that wherever i went, mischievous drama nipped at my heels.

i have a hazy memory of huddling under a sink cabinet with a Handi-snak clutched in my hand, wondering how long i could survive on 4 crackers and a one square of spreadable, non perishable cheese. if i had to, i would also digest the red plastic stick. the damn S pipe under the sink was scratching my cheek. Everything was a little damp. and i had no bottoms on.

every Sunday my family went to church. my parents woke us up by blasting classical music through our intercom system and singing in a then annoying, now cute way, “Good morning Children!”. my mood when i woke up was wholly dependant on what dream they were interrupting. if they yanked me out of the tracks of a shadowy monster that was about to eat me, i ran downstairs grateful and smiley. i still haven’t forgiven them, however, for interrupting the BEST DREAM EVER. i was dreaming that i had the ability to fly by scissoring my legs back and forth. as i was flying through the rafters of an old medieval church, i turned to grin at my flying partner who was, surprise! the dashing fox from Disney’s Robin Hood.

I had the biggest crush on him, and i have to admit, i still kind of do. when the classical music hit my ears and gently pulled me out of sleep, i remember tossing and turning, squinting my eyes shut and trying to reclaim the dream, but the moment was lost. bye bye Robin Hood. i love you so much. will you be my boyfriend even tho you are a cartoon fox?

my mom dressed me until i was about 6 years old. the Monday after this particular Sunday was the last day she even tried. i was a particularly snazzy dresser, if not an incredibly opinionated one. i liked to wear clothes that made me feel FUN! and HAPPY! and PUNKY! and BREWSTERY!

enter grey wool skirt.

when my mom presented this skirt to me with great flourish, i fingered it’s grey wooliness and immediately thought “please sir, can i have some more?” i probably had a far away look in my eyes as i transported myself to center stage in the starring role of my school’s production of Oliver Twist. this drab, scratchy skirt would be perf!! My oma, on the other, hand, was thinking “Madeline in London” (author Ludwig Bemelmans wrote “Madeline in London” in 1961. It is part of a children book series where a little French girl romped around the world wearing a ridiculous hat).

anyway, when i saw that my mother intended to dress me in what i felt was a step below prison garb, i did what i had to do. i called upon my supernatural powers and willed my skeleton out of my body and fell to the floor in an un-grabbable, wiggly heap. when my mother stood up in exasperation, i quickly re-skelefied and ran away. a quick stop at the pantry and we’re back at scene one: handi-snacks under the kitchen sink.

This time, my parents didn’t try to find me like all the other times i “ran away”. Classical music floated through the air as order was restored. i felt SO disobedient. why was i always the bad kid? not to mention that i pulled this stunt on Sunday – a SUNDAY!! a day when i was supposed to be extra good and go to church and talk about how Jesus Christ is my lord and savior who saved me from my sins and then put a dollar in the offering tray to help those less fortunate than us.

Well, two things go through my head as i recount this memory:

•it’s funny and cute how i thought that the handi-snak incident made me a bad person
•it’s frightening and not cute how my idea of what is bad has grown exponentially with age

i see things around me that are truly evil. not six year old evil, but really really bad. and i probably do a lot of them without knowing that i’m re-circulating bad-ness into the universe. is there a limit to what i grow desensitized to?

anyway, that’s why i don’t watch horror movies. i don’t ever want to walk by a man getting his head cut off in a back alley and think, “huh. that's too bad.”

one more sky mall post. that's it. i promise.

2007-10-26T13:59:00.000-05:00

I'm sorry. I know I keep harping on this SkyMall thing. But given the amount of travelling I have been doing the past few months, SkyMall is as comforting to me as a good old Korean ear picking.

I don't know how I missed this one the first time around. I mean, really. Do people really use these things? Isn't it better to buy one of those mattresses where you can set a glass of red wine in the middle of it and then jump around without spilling a drop of Bordeaux if you are experiencing lower lumbar pain?

Imagine it:

(dim lighting, strewn rose petals, Barry White in the background…)

Lover 1: "We're gonna take the receiver off the phone . . . because baby, you and me, heh . . . this night, we're gonna get it on" (citation: Barry White, Love Serenade (Part 1)", from his 1975 album Just Another Way to Say I Love You)

Lover 2: "mmmph mmphh hppphh hh?" (translation: can't you see my face is in a swedish polythyrene synthetic mattress pad?"

Unreal.

milk me, audrissy!

2007-10-18T11:59:00.000-05:00

audrissy makes me laugh...again.

audrissy: dammit i messed up
audrissy: i told my coworker "milk me" today when we were both getting cereal and he had the milk
audrissy: and he said it sounded weird
audrissy: and then got really embarassed

cornflake girl

2007-10-17T19:02:00.000-05:00

Apocrine glands. Apocrine glands are the glands that make the scents that we usually call “body odor” also known as “B.O." What's really interesting is that the distribution of apocrine glands can differ widely from race to race. In fact, Koreans seemed to have won the apocrine gland lottery because not only do “Asians have an extremely low distribution of apocrines”, but “Koreans are among the least odor-producing people on Earth—50% of them have no apocrine glands at all”. (source: “The origin of “Races” by Bert Thompson, Ph.D.). Ok, fine. Some would categorize Bert Thompson in the "Whackadoodle" bucket what with his kooky creationist theories (and alleged misconduct with boys). So if you don't believe Mr. Thompson, why don't you go to your local Koreatown (every self respecting city should have one) or better yet, any Presbyterian church (we Koreans like the middle of the road Protestant demonimations, particularly those who were instrumental in the Ecumenical movement -I just made that up right now but I'm serious about Koreans = Presbos) and do your own smell test. Come on. Just do it. I'll even offer up myself as a data point, but then you have to buy me a drink.

Hold on. I didn’t start this blog entry with the intention of discussing body odor or to extol the virtues of fragrant (or at least, fragrant-less) Koreans. that would be weird. instead, i want to talk about something else that also is a unique Asian quality: dry ear wax. you heard me right. i want to talk about ear wax.

One can identify Asians from non Asians by their ear wax. i know that sounds weird, but it’s true. and lest you find this claim wholly ridiculous and seemingly unfounded, let me quote NY Times: “The wet form [of ear wax] predominates in Africa and Europe, where 97 percent or more of the people have it, and the dry form among East Asians”…
(source: NYT Article "Japanese Scientists Identify Ear Wax Gene" by NICHOLAS WADE, Jan 2006, http://www.nytimes.com/2006/01/29/science/29cnd-ear.html?ex=1296190800&en=7f6c667589328421&ei=5088&partner=rssnyt&emc=rss)

2006? TWO THOUSAND AND SIX??? Japanese "scientists" discovered this in TWO THOUSAND AND SIX?

I didn't need no NYT article to realize this. When I was 12 (in 1989, might i add, almost TWO decades before the Japanese "scientists" discovered the gene), my caucasian friend stuck a Q tip in her ear and when she pulled it out it was covered in orange, sticky goo. I knew we were different. I also thought she poked her brain out.

Ah ear cleanings! I have great memories about ear cleanings. It takes a strong person to admit this and I am willing to bet that a lot of korean americans share the same fond yet unconventional memory. Ear cleaning was a special and strangely comforting ritual in my household. Step one: You cut a hole in the box*. JUST KIDDING! No, really. Step One: I would either stand and put my head in my mother’s lap (or lie down as i got too tall for her). Step Two: My mom brandish a slender bamboo pick that had a shallow scoop at the end of it and a rabbit hair puff ball at the other end. Step three: she would go to work on my ear. Oh, step four: Mom would say “uh muh nah, Irene! did you put cornflakes in your ears this morning?” and, Step five: Irene would crack up. it’s amazing how that joke never got old.
when she was done, she would dust my ear with the other end of the bamboo pick which had a fluff ball on it. It was the best part of the whole cleaning. It felt … satisfying.

i know this practice seems strange and archaic. And I'm 100% sure that there is a direct (negative) correlation between how many times I have had my ears cleaned vs. how well I can hear a person 20 feet away.

So. Next time your korean friend seems to be ignoring you, maybe she just doesn't hear you. But at least she doesn’t smell.

*i just had to plug my favorite SNL skit ever. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BKOiBZpUKW8

ivr stands for...

2007-10-03T13:16:00.000-05:00

IVR.

It stands for "interactive voice response". From Wiki, it is "a phone technology that allows a computer to detect voice and touch tones using a normal phone call. The IVR system can respond with pre-recorded or dynamically generated audio to further direct callers on how to proceed. IVR systems can be used to control almost any function where the interface can be broken down into a series of simple menu choices. Once constructed IVR systems generally scale well to handle large call volumes."

I have problems with this definition.

First of all, it should stand for "irritating & vapid robot-answerer". Or something like that. Second of all, it has never proven to me to be a system that has directed me on how to proceed. If anything, it has only heightened my creativity for using expletives and rude hand gestures towards inanimate objects, i.e., my cell phone.

A real life example:

Irene: (internal monologue) "shit, I'm going to miss my flight! Why didn't I take the subway to the airport…american airlines 800 number, please come through for me…"
IVR: (overly enthusiastically) HI!!!! I'm Claire!! Thanks for calling AMEEEEERICAN AIRLINES. Are you calling about a NEW reservation, an EXISTING reservation, or OTHER?
Irene: existing reservation
Claire: (contritely) I'm sorry, but I did not understand you.
Irene: EXISTING RESERVATION
Claire: (contritely) I'm sorry, but
Irene: boooooooooooooop! (That's the sound of Irene pressing "O")
Claire: (contritely with a touch of controlled panic to feign urgency) I'm SORRY, but I didn't understand…
Irene: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!!!
Claire: (hopefully) Let's try this again. Are you calling about a
Irene: EXISTING
Claire: (encouragingly) I THINK I heard you say "Existing" is this correct?
Irene: correct
Claire: I'm sorry, I think I heard you say "correct". Is this correct?
Irene : YES.
Claire: (happily) OK! Great! Now, do you have a record locator or flight number?
Irene: NO. I AM RUNNING THROUGH THE STREETS OF MANHATTAN WITH A SUITCASE, A SOMBRERO ON MY HEAD, AND ZINC OXIDE ON MY NOSE. DO YOU THINK I HAVE THE FACULTIES TO LOOK FOR MY RECORD LOCATOR OR FLIGHT NUMBER?
Claire: (jovially) Haha. I'm sorry, was that a YES or a NO?
Irene: NO. for god's sake, that was a NO. No. No. no. no.
Claire: (cheerfully) That's OK! Let's try to look up your record by your last name. What is your last name?
Irene: KIM.
Claire: (incredulously) I THINK I heard you say "PIMP"
Irene: WTF? What kind of last name is PIMP? I said KIM! KIM, YOU MORON! KIIIIIMMMM!!!!!
Claire: (sadly) I'm sorry, but I am having a hard time understanding you. Let me connect you to a American Airlines Customer Service Representative.
Irene: Thank You
Claire: (confusedly, but understandingly) You need to poo?
Irene: Fuck you

FYI - link to the worst job in the world:
http://ph.jobstreet.com/jobs/2007/10/j/50/16074.htm?fr=J

THIS APPEARED ON CRAIG'S LIST

2007-10-03T08:30:00.000-05:00

hello everyone! sorry for the long delay. i have been away for a while but now i'm back. i know this isn't a real irene post, but it made me laugh. it's from craigslist. yes, i was browsing on W4M, so sue me. just kidding, guys. do you really think i'd do that?!

ok, so here it is:

ORIGINAL INQUIRY

What am I doing wrong?

Okay, I'm tired of beating around the bush. I'm a beautiful spectacularly beautiful) 25 year old girl. I'm articulate and classy. I'm not from New York. I'm looking to get married to a guy who makes at least half a million a year. I know how that sounds, but keep in mind that a million a year is middle class in New York City, so I don't think I'm overreaching at all.

Are there any guys who make 500K or more on this board? Any wives? Could you send me some tips? I dated a business man who makes average around 200 - 250. But that's where I seem to hit a roadblock. 250,000 won't get me to central park west. I know a woman in my yoga class who was married to an investment banker and lives in Tribeca, and she's not as pretty as I am, nor is she a great genius. So what is she doing right? How do I get to her level?

Here are my questions specifically:

- Where do you single rich men hang out? Give me specifics- bars,
restaurants, gyms

-What are you looking for in a mate? Be honest guys, you won't hurt my
feelings

-Is there an age range I should be targeting (I'm 25)?

- Why are some of the women living lavish lifestyles on the upper east
side so plain? I've seen really 'plain jane' boring types who have
nothing to offer married to incredibly wealthy guys. I've seen drop dead
gorgeous girls in singles bars in the east village. What's the story
there?

- Jobs I should look out for? Everyone knows - lawyer, investment
banker, doctor. How much do those guys really make? And where do they
hang out? Where do the hedge fund guys hang out?

- How you decide marriage vs. just a girlfriend? I am looking for MARRIAGE ONLY

Please hold your insults - I'm putting myself out there in an honest way. Most beautiful women are superficial; at least I'm being up front about it. I wouldn't be searching for these kind of guys if I wasn't able to match them - in looks, culture, sophistication, and keeping a nice home and hearth.

* it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 432279810

THE ANSWER

Dear Pers-431649184:
I read your posting with great interest and have thought meaningfully about your dilemma. I offer the following analysis of your predicament. Firstly, I'm not wasting your time, I qualify as a guy who fits your bill; that is I make more than $500K per year. That said here's how I see it.

Your offer, from the prospective of a guy like me, is plain and simple a cr@ppy business deal. Here's why. Cutting through all the B.S., what you suggest is a simple trade: you bring your looks to the party and I bring my money. Fine, simple. But here's the rub, your looks will fade and my money will likely continue into perpetuity...in fact, it is very likely that my income increases but it is an absolute certainty that you won't be getting any more beautiful!

So, in economic terms you are a depreciating asset and I am an earning asset. Not only are you a depreciating asset, your depreciation accelerates! Let me explain, you're 25 now and will likely stay pretty hot for the next 5 years, but less so each year. Then the fade begins in earnest. By 35 stick a fork in you!

So in Wall Street terms, we would call you a trading position, not a buy and hold...hence the rub...marriage. It doesn't make good business sense to "buy you" (which is what you're asking) so I'd rather lease. In case you think I'm being cruel, I would say the following. If my money were to go away, so would you, so when your beauty fades I need an out. It's as simple as that. So a deal that makes sense is dating, not marriage.

Separately, I was taught early in my career about efficient markets. So, I wonder why a girl as "articulate, classy and spectacularly beautiful" as you has been unable to find your sugar daddy. I find it hard to believe that if you are as gorgeous as you say you are that the $500K hasn't found you, if not only for a tryout.

By the way, you could always find a way to make your own money and then we wouldn't need to have this difficult conversation.

With all that said, I must say you're going about it the right way. Classic "pump and dump."
I hope this is helpful, and if you want to enter into some sort of lease, let me know.

it's back again!

2007-09-13T10:47:00.000-05:00

heidi curtiss took a snapshot of this REAL LIFE MAN who willingly (i presume since i don't see no gun to his head) bought and wore this outfit. let me guess, your jaw is to the floor and everything else you were thinking of flew out of your head because you just cannot believe your eyes. recall that these pants were first introduced to us from from blog "i don't know what to say", 6/12/07.

can you BELIEVE that his shoes and his belt do not match?!?! that's just ridiculous.

anthurium

2007-09-09T21:04:00.000-05:00

i walked by "ovando" today. it's a hoity toity flower shop near where i live in the west village. in the window was the most gratuitous and wasteful display of anthuriums. what, pray tell, are anthuriums? well, the ONLY reason why i know what anthuriums are is because of this story:

my summers at 381 wagon wheel way were fun. mostly because i got to spend the night with erin, my best friend, at least 3 times a week. we would push up two couches so they were facing each other and for reasons adults cannot understand, this was a comfortable and fun way to fall asleep.

i remember one time erin and i went into her garage after dark to see what the rabbits were up to. they were, for reasons CHILDREN cannot understand, kept in separate cages.

erin and i put heartcakes in cocoa's cage just to see if they would play. and play they did. as cocoa mounted heartcakes (or was it the other was around - i forget which was he and which was she) - we looked on in horror as heartcakes' eyes were filled with fear and rolled around like a loose marble in the cup holder of an All Terrain Vehicle.

when i reached into the cage to save heartcakes, i saw something that i will never forget. it looked like, yes, the stamen of an anthurium.

i tried to erase this memory from my head. but anthuriums are popular flowers. exotic and colorful, they were present in at least 5 of the 14 weddings i went to this year. which meant that i couldn't focus on the most important moment of my friends' lives. instead, i was thinking of rabbit penis. which i find highly disturbing.

i was going to post a picture of an anthurium and indeed, i found several pictures that would do the trick. but i couldn’t bring myself to do it. here’s a link if you really want to know: http://www.video-hawaii.com/dreams/free/anthurium.html

rabbit penis.

Sex, shopping and thinking pink

2007-08-31T07:42:00.000-05:00

Evolutionary psychology
Sex, shopping and thinking pink

Aug 23rd 2007
From The Economist print edition
http://www.economist.com/science/displaystory.cfm?story_id=9682588

The brains of men and women are, indeed, different

WOMEN really are better than men at shopping. And they really do prefer pink. And, surprisingly, it is possible that these facts are connected. The first conclusion was drawn by Joshua New of Yale University and his colleagues. The second was drawn by Anya Hurlbert and Yazhu Ling of Newcastle University in England. The connecting theme is that in the division of labour that forms the primordial bargain of human hunter-gatherer societies, it is the men who do the hunting and the women who do the gathering.

Blackberry-picking aside, urban humanity does little gathering from the wild these days, so Dr New decided to look at what seemed to him to be the nearest equivalent—shopping at a farmers' market. There is a fair amount of evidence that men are better than women at solving certain sorts of spatial problems, such as remembering the locations of topographical landmarks. Many researchers suggest such skills may have been important in the past for man-the-hunter, who needed to be able to find his way round the landscape. If that is the case, then woman-the-gatherer might have been expected to develop complementary skills not shown by males. And that, as he writes in this week's Proceedings of the Royal Society, is what Dr New found.

Dr New used the market to test two hypotheses. The first was that women remember the locations of food resources more accurately than men do. The second was that the more nutritionally valuable a resource is, the more accurately its location will be remembered.

To prove these conjectures he recruited 41 women and 45 men and led each of them individually on a merry dance around the chosen market. In the course of this peregrination, each participant visited six of the 90 food stalls in the market. At each of those stalls, participants were given a piece of food to eat. They were asked their preference for the taste of the food, how often they ate that food in normal life, how attractive they found the stall and how often they had made purchases from that stall in the past. After visiting all six stalls, they were taken to the centre of the market and asked to point toward those stalls, one at a time, using an arrow on a dial. In addition, they were asked to rate their own sense of direction.

In the pink
On average, women were 9° more accurate than men at pointing to each stall—a significant deviation if you have to walk some distance to get to a place. This was not because those women had more experience of visiting the market than the men had. Nor did the women rate themselves as having a better sense of direction—indeed the men rated their own navigating skills more highly.

Dr New suggests that these results show women are better than men at the particular task of relocating sources of food. That contrasts with the idea that men are better at navigation in general. In other words, women's minds are specialised for their ancestral task of gathering the sort of food that cannot run away.

That such food is in a different mental category from the one occupied by general landmarks was suggested by the answer to the second hypothesis. The higher the calorific value of the food sold by a stall, the more accurately Dr New's volunteers were able to point towards it. And that result applied to both sexes, though women still did better than men.

How much the participants liked the food did not have an effect on this accuracy. Indeed none of the secondary attributes of the food or stall in question (taste preference, the frequency of an item in a volunteer's normal diet, the appearance of the stall and how often a volunteer used that stall in daily life) were found to affect pointing accuracy. Only the calorific value of the item in question was relevant.

For their part Dr Hurlbert and Dr Ling, who report their study in Current Biology, used coloured patches flashing on a computer screen to find the preferences of their set of volunteers. These volunteers were men and women of British and Chinese origin who were in their early 20s.

Mostly, the two researchers found that people of different sexes and from different continents did not differ in their colour preferences. But there was one exception. Among both the British and the Chinese, women preferred reddish hues such as pink to greenish-blue ones. Among men it was the other way round.

Moreover, though anatomical sex is binary, mental “gender” is more pliable. To see how masculine or feminine the brains of their participants were, Dr Hurlbert and Dr Ling used what is known as the Bem Sex Role Inventory, which asks about personality traits more often associated with one sex than the other. This showed that the more feminine a brain was, regardless of the body it inhabited, the more it liked red and pink.

All this suggests a biological, rather than a cultural, explanation for colour preference. And Dr Hurlbert and Dr Ling have produced one. They suggest that their result may be connected with the fact that the colour of many fruits is at the red end of the spectrum. An evolved preference for red, pink and allied shades—particularly in contrast with green—could thus bring advantage to those who gather such things. And if they can also remember which tree (or stall) to go and visit next time, then so much the better.

hazy memories

2007-08-30T15:43:00.000-05:00

if you have been reading my blog, you’ll notice that a lot of my stories involve my shenanigans as a little girl. a few of my dear readers have commented on how good my memory is. not to be a braggart, but i do have a pretty good memory. ask me what we were doing when i first met you and 9 times out of 10, i’ll be able to tell you. i’ll also probably remember what you were wearing (e.g. audris shau: i saw you, you didn’t see me and you were wearing a hat. jen parks: first year, warren hall at a rugby meeting, you were wearing cool pointy shoes. sylvana sinha: on the bus, i just remember your eyelashes, chris pollak: on the rugby pitch eating cheetos).

my first real, cohesive memory takes place in San Diego, circa 1982. the kim family had just moved to san diego from los angeles, the city where i was born. we chose a nice cul-de-sac that had a mere 6 houses on it at the time. it was peppered, however, by empty construction lots that would one day be filled with homes that would one day be filled with families who would one day experience laughter, sadness, love, divorces, contentment, scandal, empty-nest syndrome, dog bites, pet deaths and lost baby teeth.

side story: a man who would eventually become my ophthalmologist moved in across the street in 1987 with his family. he was softspoken and gentle. his name was dr. montgomery. my dad (and i swear every other korean dad with a korean accent will do this) called him dr. MUNGLEMERRY. it wasn’t until i was 16 yrs old and getting fitted for glasses at his office that i realized my mistake. “DR. GORDON MONTGOMERY” was written in neat golden block letters on his door. i had called him dr. munglemerry for 6 yrs. heh).

my family and i went to the construction lot almost every day to see how the house was coming along. it was fun for me and my brother because we would find neat things like arrowheads and dead birds and interesting shaped pieces of wood.

one day i saw a nice big piece of white sidewalk chalk just hanging out in the dust. i could hardly believe my good fortune! what a serendipitious day! today, i thought, will be the day where big smiley faces are drawn on the sidewalk. but when i tried to pick it up, i realized that it was not a piece of chalk. it was a piece of dog shit that had been bleached white by the sun. it just looked like a piece of chalk. the white log of shit crumbled into a fine powder between my fingers when i touched it and i felt disgusted. i remember thinking "this thing fell out of a doggy bung hole. grody."

i wasn’t really sure what to do. i walked over to the adults trying to decide if i should tell them what happened. they were too busy talking to each other and i remember feeling ignored. so i just stood there with my fingers outstretched as far away from each other and my palm as possible. i was contemplating my next move. but then something really funny happened: my parents and the contractor were sniffing the air and lifting up their shoes to see if they had stepped in something like poo. i found this really amusing bc they still didn't realize i was there and certainly had no idea that the odorific fumes were emanating from my tiny right hand.

so, i never did tell them what happened. it was too complicated and i just wanted to go home and wash my hands. when we got back into the car, i sat in the backseat and rubbed my hands on the fuzzy underpart of the car seat over and over again until my fingers were burning.

everyone should try it. think back to your first memory and see what you come up with.

Milkshake bah buh better than yours, ba boo buh better than yours

2007-08-30T15:15:00.000-05:00

04:07PM jparks1: What are the lyrics to the Milkshake song?
04:08PM jparks1: its been in my head all day, and I just realized I actually only know 3 of the words I'm singing
04:08PM ikim3: "my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard, and they're like, it's better than yours, damn right it's better than yours i can teach you, but i have to charge, my milkshake...
04:08PM jparks1: awesome!
04:08PM jparks1: thanks
04:08PM ikim3: it used to be my ringtone.
04:08PM ikim3: why?
04:09PM jparks1: I was singing. Milkshake bah buh better than yours, ba boo buh better than yours

sky mall is an undiscovered gem

2007-08-19T18:52:00.000-05:00

i take a lot of flights. whether it's to my home home in san diego or any one of my client locations, i always do two things as soon as i settle into my seat: (1) i check to see if the arm rest is in its horizontal position and if it's not, i make sure it is. this sends a firm signal to the person sitting next to me that i am in no mood for small talk, and (2) i study the SkyMall magazine.

SkyMall is an underdiscovered gem. i have found many relevant gifts for loved ones from 35,000 feet in the air.

here's a list of six things - categorized into "cool" and "why why why?"

(1) COOL:

if there's EVER a reason to do the Beyonce Bounce in the shower, here it is. a wall mountable back scratcher.

(2) COOL:

i am SO MAD at myself for not thinking of this portable pillow myself. it's so much better than the neck pillow. the only drawback is the slight embarrassment of blowing it up and then feeling awkward about deflating your breath into recycled airplane air after you land.

(3) COOL:

also useful if you're into sex with little people. i'm just saying that there are other uses to this Pet Staircase. i'm just saying.

...on to "why why why":
(1) WHY WHY WHY:

there's really nothing i can say about these tailgate chairs. it left me speechless.

(2) WHY WHY WHY:

i can see this conversation piece kicking up a lot of trouble at cocktail parties. one drink too many and a compromising photo of you and the sumo wrestler will be tagged in facebook faster than you can say "yokozuna".

(3) WHY WHY WHY:

this is a FAKE security camera. i've seen similar burglar retardant devices and think they are all dumb. included in this list is the fake dog barking tape and the blowup man.

check it out for yourself: www.skymall.com

also, learn about the etymology of the word "midget" and why it's not politically correct: http://www.arturogil.com/m_word.htm

look a little closer and you will see...

2007-08-14T14:50:00.000-05:00

A few months ago I blogged about the quadri-colored trousers by Vineyard Vines (Blog "not sure what to say" 6/12/07).

If I ever saw someone wearing those trousers, I would (after I pick myself up from the ground from shock) immediately look around to see if I was at the entrance of the Octagon, New York City's first municipal insane asylum, around closing time.

If I were, I would probably also see someone wearing these (tip sent in by loyal blog reader Sylvana):

All I have to say is that it's lucky for her (and for us) that she wasn't fibbing like the rest of us when she put down "attention to detail" as one of her more marketable attributes on her resume. "what's wrong with that skirt" you ask? Well, look a little closer:

HOT TRAMP? Who thought this was a good idea? I'd really like to be in the design room when this skirt was being discussed. It may have gone something like this:

X: I think the problem with fashion these days is that nothing really sticks out anymore. Everything looks the same. It's always blah blah blah.
Y: I agree with you. We live in a homogenous society filled with fashion lemmings. We need something that SAYS something. Something that makes a statement. Something that makes me say, I AM WOMAN. HEAR ME ROAR!".
X: I got it!! HOT TRAMP.
Y: It's brill. Break out the Beadazzler*, everyone.

Come on people. Hot Tramp?

*The Beadazzler: a popular gadget from the 1980's, the beadazzler is still a stunner at just $19.95. this little blue plastic object, closely resembling a stapler, can be used with special sets to add sparkle to just about anything from scrapbooks to clothing TO THE BUTT OF REALLY EXPENSIVE SKIRTS WITH THE WORDS "HOT TRAMP" ON IT. When you purchase the beadazzler, it comes with plastic rhinestones and studs as well as amini version of itself (cute! but what for?). Since today's fashion is all about glimmer (Paris Hilton's phone is crystallized with Austrian crystals) girls might really enjoy having this handy little bling tool to add a little magic to their wardrobe, OR THE WORDS "HOT TRAMP" TO THE BUTT OF YOUR REALLY EXPENSIVE JEAN SKIRT.
http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/69809/ten_great_gifts_for_teen_girls_under.html (with some editoralizing by irene j. kim in BOLD)

the hungarian guy spy

2007-08-05T20:46:00.000-05:00

my parents were extremely inventive when it came to halloween costumes. i find this very impressive considering that Halloween is a tradition that is nonexistent in their homeland of korea. My parents were REALLY good. as in, my brother and i won contests.

My earliest memories of Halloween begin in San Diego, around age 5. at the time, I was attending the allan school which was just down the hill from where i grew up. One day, as I was running down our big ass hill, my feet wanted to go faster than my hip joints were capable of churning out rotations. do you know what i mean? anyway, i fell on my face and for a moment it felt like inertia was going to lift my feet clear over the top of my head. “i’m going to be the world’s first human slinky!” i thought. it got me kind of excited even tho i was in a lot of pain. alas, i only did one flop down and before i knew it, my mother was already picking me up and giving me a good shake to make sure nothing was broken. "Irene, you have a hard head!" Apparently, even tho my mother was a good 20 feet behind me, she could hear the loud crack of my forehead against the sidewalk.

allan school had an annual Halloween fair. i entered the costume contest, as did my brother. My parents got creative. They put an itchy rainbow clown wig on my head, dressed me up in my father's hospital scrubs and his white coat, and wrote "MAD SURGEON" in squiggly letters on the back of it with a red "Marks A Lot" permanent marker. Fake blood stained operating gloves hung out of my side pocket and a stethoscope was draped around my neck. Sarah P, my best friend at the time, ran up to me in her sugar plum fairy costume. blond and angelic, she asked me if i was a crazy clown. i rolled my eyes and said, "i'm a mad surgeon", as in, "you are so dumb for not getting it, sarah" but wished that i was also in a princess costume. I stuck the stethoscope on her forehead and said very gravely "I'm very sorry, but you only have 3 days to live. let's go do the cakewalk."

my brother was darth vadar. he wore black cords and a black long sleeve t shirt with a black polyester cape. brother had a complicated 2 part mask that dad bought from Kay B toy store. the piece de resistance, however, was the tape recorder that hung from his neck. in the tape recorder was a tape that had 60 minutes of "hhaaaaaaaaaa huuuuuuuuuuuuu hhhaaaaaaaaaa huuuuuuuuuuuuuu" over and over and over again. and in case you were wondering what "ha hu" is, that was my onomatopoetic version of darth vadar's creepy breathing. can you believe it? my dear father spent an hour breathing into a tape recorder! 3 years later, he would spend an hour blowing up a 5 foot inflatable raft for my 8th birthday. I sat in it gingerly, holding my breath to make myself lighter. I was deathly afraid of popping the raft and then marinating in the miasma of someone else's breath. Ingrate that i was.

Anyway, my brother and i handily won the Halloween contest.

In 8th grade, my mom got really inventive. She dressed me up in her long skirts (several of them), wrapped my head in a colorful scarf, clipped 5 earrings on my earlobes and bought me a ba-zillion bangles. I was a gypsy...a HUNGARIAN gypsy, in fact.

Again, people asked me what i was. "Are you a bag lady?" And again, i sighed and explained, "no, i am a gypsy, a HUNGARIAN gypsy". By this point, i was kind of used to explaining my costumes every year. "i'm a traditional korean girl wearing a traditional korean dress. it's called a HAN BOK. a HAN BOK."... i'm charles dickens - can't you see that this jacket is English tweed? feel it"... "i'm a orthopedic surgeon, look how strong my hands are. they can fix your bones," i would say with a bored look in my eyes.

As expected, I won the costume contest tho my victory was severely undermined by the fact that my teacher introduced me as a HUNGARIAN GUY SPY. "WTF? You actually have credentials to educate young minds?" I thought. "What the hell is a guy spy?"*

It was during one Halloween that my heart broke for the first time. It happened when my best friend forever erin and i were trick or treating. we heard a pitiful mewing in the distance. it sounded just awful, like a squeaky hamster wheel. no, like a squeaky hamster wheel where the exercising hamster was also singing the rodent version of "rigoletto". we discovered that the noise was coming from a beautiful Persian cat who was trapped under its owners garage door. the door was pressing on the cat's back and a stream of urine was zigzagging down the driveway. erin and i gasped in horror and we ran to ring the doorbell. "your cat your cat! peeing on your driveway! open the door NOW." i am pretty sure our voices dropped a couple of octaves when we said the word "NOW". I may have even rolled my eyes into the back my head for special effect.

the owner lifted up the garage door and picked up the cat as if it was dryer lint. he didn't even canoodle it or ask it if it was ok. i ran up to the cat and tried to speak to it through my eyes. "If you want me to rescue you from your horrible horrible owner, lick your nose, okay? lick your nose, you hear me? i'll rescue you!" the cat didn't lick its nose so i tried another method, "mew mew meeeeeeeeeewww. mew mew, mewmew!!!!"

The weird thing is, i don't even like cats very much. I think they are sneaky. But no one wants to see a beautiful thing suffer. no one wants to see an ugly thing suffer. later, i found out that the cat had broken its back and died. and i cried as if it were my own cat. i cried because no one cared and my heart felt sad for weeks. it felt even sadder than when i accidentally starved my own pet turtle, shelly, to death and found him dessicated atop his rock. Because indifference is colder than ignorance.

*Actually, there is a Guy Spy. "Guy Spy and the Crystals of Armageddon: In this interactive cartoon, you are brave English soldier, who must stop Fascist Von Max, who wants to build a Doomsday Machine with the special crystals. http://www.mobygames.com/game/guy-spy-and-the-crystals-of-armageddon"
Fine. But in 1990, there was no such thing.

sorry, mole

2007-08-03T09:44:00.000-05:00

the mole came back benign.

i *really* miss it now.

http://www.justicedenied.org/

my mole martyr

2007-07-30T19:56:00.000-05:00

jalvles100: so how is everything
jalvles100: I mean
jalvles100: now that the mole is gone
irenejkim77: i miss it a little.
irenejkim77: it was adoooorable.
irenejkim77: super tiny and brown. just a little freckle, really.
irenejkim77: but then it raised itself - probably bc it was trying to get closer to the sun.
irenejkim77: but by doing that, it called attention to the fact that it could turn into a malignant baddie and got itself violently dug out of my shoulder.
irenejkim77: so. moral of the story is - don't speak up bc there's a chance that you'll be executed.
irenejkim77: anyway, it's a martyr. it's my mole martyr.
jalvles100: wow
jalvles100: I suspect the mole will be immortalized in your blog
irenejkim77: what.
irenejkim77: oh yeah.
irenejkim77: good idea.

vacation planning

2007-07-27T13:47:00.000-05:00

I'm trying to plan a vacation with a few friends. Becky and I are trying to convince Pasy to go to Colombia. This is what happens when you get three girls in finance trying to reason things out…

ORIGINAL EMAIL WHERE BECKY AND I ARE TRYING TO CONVINCE PASY THAT COLOMBIA IS SAFE:
From: Chambers, Rebecca M
Sent: Monday, June 18, 2007
To: Pasy Wang
Cc: Kim, Irene (EQ - New York)
Subject: RE: Vacation

I definitely don’t want to go if you don’t feel comfortable. That being said, I think that is just an outdated perception. Also, there is that article from NYTimes, I can’t imagine that they would highlight the city as a great place.

Here’s the Colombia kidnapping index on Bloomberg!!

(COLOMBIA MONTHLY KIDNAPPINGS - COKPMON INDEX GP GO)

PASY HAS A TRADING IDEA:
From: Pasy Wang
Sent: Monday, June 18, 2007
To: Kim, Irene (EQ - New York); Chambers, Rebecca M
Subject: RE: Vacation

I just sent the index to my co-workers and they said, 3 unaccompanied American girls going to Colombia, they’re going long for sure.

(note: as in, they are going to buy this index in the hopes that we get kidnapped so that the graph goes up so that they make money).

IRENE'S RESPONSE:
From: Kim, Irene (EQ - New York)
Sent: Monday, June 18, 2007
To: Pasy Wang; Chambers, Rebecca M
Subject: RE: Vacation

were they joking?

PASY HEDGES HER RISK:
From: Pasy Wang
Sent: Monday, June 18, 2007
To: Kim, Irene (EQ - New York); Chambers, Rebecca M
Subject: RE: Vacation

No and they told me I should too, to hedge myself.

(note: as in, if you're going to get kidnapped, you might as well make money. nevermind you will be in the back of a car, bound and gagged. at least your portfolio is doing well)

Btw, I’m laughing out loud at my desk, people just keep staring at me.

PASY RUMINATES SOME MORE:
From: Pasy Wang
Sent: Monday, June 18, 2007
To: 'Chambers, Rebecca M'
Cc: Kim, Irene (EQ - New York)
Subject: RE: Vacation

This is hilarious…and yet not funny at all. Irene, can you please practice your Spanish? I asked my Venezuelan friend, “will i die in Colombia?” He said “does someone in your group speak Spanish?”

IRENE PUEDE HABLAR ESPAÑOL!!
From: Kim, Irene (EQ - New York)
Sent: Monday, June 18, 2007
To: Pasy Wang; Chambers, Rebecca M
Subject: RE: Vacation

por favor, no quiero morir.
(pls, i don't want to die.)

PASY IS SCARED:
From: Pasy Wang
Sent: Monday, June 18, 2007
To: Kim, Irene (EQ - New York); Chambers, Rebecca M
Subject: RE: Vacation

Oh, we’re going to die for sure.

IRENE DISAGREES:
From: Kim, Irene (EQ - New York)
Sent: Monday, June 18, 2007
To: Pasy Wang; Chambers, Rebecca M
Subject: RE: Vacation

ALTO PASY!
(stop pasy!)
estoy muy fuerta!
(i am very strong.)

well, my friends, that was entirely the wrong tactic. pasy ix-nayed colombia. quiero estudiar espanol mas en escuela!"*

* my colleagues on the european sales desk tell me that the correct way to say "i wish i studied harder in school" is: quisiera que yo hubia estudiado mas en universidad. dammit. maybe pasy was right.

mean thoughts

2007-07-23T20:35:00.000-05:00

sometimes when i see morbidly obese people standing passively on the down escalators, i want to tap them on the shoulder and say, “excuse me. this is an escalator, not a ride. this may be why you have a Body Mass Index of 50*. you are resting when you should be burning calories.”

is that wrong? ok, i feel bad now.

*http://www.nhlbisupport.com/bmi/

puff, the magic irene

2007-07-18T20:11:00.001-05:00

Every morning I try REEEEEEALLY REALLY hard to remember to take my vitamins. They are exactly one inch long and a muted orange-y yellow color. These gel caps are filled to the brim with a mysterious and magical powder. I dread taking it every morning because it feels like a dry piece of crack pipe as it makes it's way down my esophagus.

This morning I did something stupid. I stuck the vitamin in my mouth and washed it down with my hot Dunkin D. I sat there, blinking back tears of pain, and tried to calculate the rate at which a gel cap would deteriorate when surrounded by fleshy esophageal varices. By my rough calcuations, I figured that even the speed of light would not be fast enough.

I solved this problem by inadvertantly letting out a super loud, bodacious burp (the body works in amazing ways) and I felt the pill pass through my throat. But the coolest thing happened to me next. Right when everyone turned around to see who burped, a cloud of orange powder floated right out of my mouth. I think they all think I'm a dragon!