what's your number?

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

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

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!

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.

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!"